Page 160 of What Remains

“Backtrack three hundred meters,” Gwen orders. “To the generator room. Cut through there. It’s a longer route, but you’ll avoid their choke point.”

“We’re losing time,” Gideon grunts in agitation.

“You’re dead if you go straight,” she fires back.

Carter makes the call. “Alpha and Foxtrot, shift. We reroute.”

We peel back, stepping over the bodies we just dropped.

More contact hits us mid-transition. Gray clears left. Constantine right. I slice the pie around a tight corner and drop two tangos before they can shoulder their rifles.

Inside the generator room, alarms layer over the mechanical thrum as Carter holds a fist. “We need to split up. The men waiting for us in that kill zone will come looking soon.” He turns and gestures to Sebastian.

“I’ll stay with him,” Gray offers and orders three other Falcon operators to remain behind as well to buy us time to get to Julian.

Once we exit the generator room, rounds snap overhead from a catwalk. Constantine grabs the back of my vest, yanking me tight to the wall as a round punches into the concrete where my chest just was.

“Shit, thanks,” I grunt.

He nods once and drives forward, covering high while I clear low.

“Alpha Three,” Carter says, nodding toward the catwalk in silent command for Griffin to get up there on overwatch.

Griffin takes off, and we continue forward as Foxtrot converges through the far exit, Gideon now leading the way.

“Signal strength is increasing,” Gwen transmits. “Twenty meters . . . eighteen. You’re closing in.”

My pulse kicks up as we clear the next tunnel and pivot into another corridor. Of course it’s tighter and darker, forcing us single file.

Gunfire erupts behind us.

“Rear contact,” someone snaps out.

“That’s Alpha Three,” Carter says. “He’s holding the tail.”

“The signal’s moving,” Gwen informs us, and everything in me goes still. “It just shifted five meters . . . now ten. They’re relocating the source. You better get the hell out of there. Camila says they’re gonna blow the place up.”

That was always a risk. We know how these assholes operate, and they won’t think twice about taking down their own to cover their tracks.

“We’re not leaving without my brother,” Gideon bites out. “Did Camila see us dying down here?”

The line goes quiet for a half a second too long.

“She doesn’t, no,” Gwen finally replies. “She just sees that the blast will happen, and I’m assuming you don’t have a lot of time before it blows.”

“Then we’ll use what little time we have and make it count,” Gideon grates out.

“This is Alpha One. Rear teams begin exfil. We’re charlie mike’ing and pushing on target,” he says as we accelerate to the reinforced door at the end of the corridor that looms ahead.

Gideon signals breach, and we go in hard. The door caves inward and floodlights slam into our NODs, bleaching the world white.

I rip them up and reacquire⁠—

Shit.

Zoey’s hanging restrained in the center of the room. Wrists bound overhead to a steel support. Her top is off, just her bra and jeans on. Blood is streaking down her torso. She’s been whipped.

There’s a masked man standing behind her, his NODs knocked up to his helmet, with a 9mm pressed tight to her temple. “Take one more step, and she dies.”