51. Jonah
Jonah
N ight covers a lot of problems.
Mine included.
The darkness hides how pale I probably look.
How every breath still feels like somebody shoved broken glass beneath my ribs.
Pain rides beside me the entire drive down the mountain.
Sharp.
Constant.
Useful.
Keeps me awake.
Keeps me focused.
We roll dark along a broken service road barely wide enough for the SUVs, engines low and lights dead while the old industrial valley rises slowly beneath us.
The facility sits low between rusted towers and collapsed concrete.
Dead power lines stretch across the ridge like skeletons.
Forgotten place.
Perfect place to hide someone.
“Two hundred feet,” Cal says quietly from the driver’s seat. “We walk from here.”
Doors open immediately.
Cold night air hits my face hard enough to wake me fully.
Good.
I need awake.
Weapons check.
Comms low.
Movement fast and quiet.
Lance glances toward my side while securing his rifle sling.
“You good?”
“Define good.”
A short breath almost passes for a laugh.
“Alive enough.”
“Working on it.”
Ahead of us, Sienna drops to one knee beside the ridge with the tablet balanced against her leg.
Satellite overlays glow across her face while she builds movement paths in real time.
Patrol routes.
Blind spots.
Thermal sweeps.
Not guessing.
Calculating.
“Front entrance is fake.”
Nobody questions her anymore.
Good.
“They want us coming through there.”
Ronan crouches beside her. “Secondary?”
She shakes her head immediately.
“Thermal sweep every thirty seconds.”
“Then what’s left?” I ask.
Her eyes lift slowly toward the structure.
Toward the collapsed western wing sagging inward against itself.
Exposed rebar.
Broken concrete.
Dark opening half-buried in debris.
“Unstable access point,” she says quietly.
Lance studies it. “Could collapse on us.”
“Exactly.”
She points toward the shifting terrain map.
“Too many variables. ORACLE can’t model movement cleanly through unstable terrain.”
I nod once.
“That’s our door.”