Chapter 46 Damian
Damian
Morgan’s promise echoed in my head as we loaded up. No books. No twisting this into fiction. Cozy mysteries, cats, quirky neighbors. I almost smiled at the thought—almost. But the truth was, she’d just proven something none of us could ignore: Morgan wasn’t dabbling. She was in this fight.
And now she was guiding us. I told her to stop, but I had my doubts that she would.
Cyclone’s laptop pinged with the third breadcrumb as we pulled away from the cottage. He zoomed in on the coordinates, his brow furrowing. “Abandoned textile mill. Been shut down for years. But…” He tapped the screen. “There are heat signatures. At least half a dozen moving inside.”
River leaned forward between the seats. “Finally. A real lead.”
Roger’s eyes narrowed, steady as stone. “Could be a trap.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’re going.”
The mill rose like a skeleton against the night sky, its windows busted out, rust eating through the metal frame. But the faint glow of lights inside said it wasn’t as empty as it looked.
We slipped through a side entrance, boots silent on cracked concrete. The smell of mildew and machine oil clung to the air. Cyclone checked his tablet, pointing toward the far end of the building. “Movement—north wing.”
We crept closer, weapons up.
Voices echoed faintly further away—low, rough, men talking in a language I didn’t need to understand to know it was trouble. Then the metallic clatter of crates being stacked.
River flashed a grin. “We’ve got ’em.”
But when we swung around the corner, weapons ready, the space was bare. Empty pallets. Cigarette butts still smoldering. A back door swinging shut against the night air.
“Damn it!” River slammed his hand against the wall.
“Not again,” Cyclone said, running out the back door. The men jumped into vehicles and took off. We ran for ours and followed; they were too far ahead
Roger’s jaw flexed. “How did she know about this place. She’s not just feeding us breadcrumbs from a distance. She’s in the middle of it.”
A surge of anger, fear, and something I didn’t want to name tore through me. She’d promised me she’d stay out of danger, that she’d keep Ruby safe. And here she was, putting codes in the computer.
River muttered, “Gotta admit… gutsy move.”
I clenched my fists, heat burning in my chest. “It’s not guts. It’s reckless. She’s painting a target on her back.”
Cyclone glanced up from his screen. “Whatever you want to call it, she just handed us our first real trail.” His eyes met mine. “Question is—do we follow it, or do we drag her out of this mess before she gets herself killed?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Both.”