Chapter 14
Jen executed the lockdown sequence for clamps two and three. The screen pulsed green as each one engaged.
She tapped her fingers lightly against the counter. Slow—but progress.
Her headache had settled into a constant, low burn she ignored. Her hands were steadier than they’d been an hour ago, though dried blood still rimmed her fingernails. Wyatt’s blood—dark and rust-colored under the harsh bay lighting.
She could still feel the heat of his thighs braced either side of her as she’d worked on his wound. The way he’d held perfectly still for her despite the pain. The way his breath had caught when she’d pressed harder than she meant to.
She’d glued him back together with adhesive and basic medical training.
Now he stood a few feet away, talking quietly with Caro about ammunition counts.
He’d rolled his sleeves up while she wasn’t looking.
The bandage on his forearm was stark white against tanned skin, her neat wrapping stretched tight over muscle that shifted every time he moved his hands.
Jen noticed. More than she should have.
Not now, Jen.
A slow warmth spread through her chest as she forced her attention back to the console.
Millions of lives were on the line.
Clamps two and three were secure. Three and four were loading.
The screen flashed.
ERROR: REMOTE OVERRIDE DETECTED
CLAMP RELEASE—OVERRIDE PENDING
Her stomach dropped.
No.
No, no—
She pulled up the diagnostic tree. System logs scrolled fast—external access attempts, privilege escalation requests, a remote terminal pushing against her commands.
The terrorists were in the system again, and they were fighting her.
“Wyatt.” Her voice came out tight.
He was beside her in seconds, Caro close behind. “What is it?”
“They’ve gained access.” She pointed at the screen. “I don’t know how—but they’re actively trying to override the clamp lockdowns.”
Wyatt scanned the display, absorbing fast. “Can they?”
“Eventually.” She dragged in a breath, rolled her shoulders. “If they reboot the grid and reset the system to factory defaults—”
She swore under her breath, arms locked on the console, her head hanging. I should have seen this coming. “Yes.” She raised her face to meet his eyes. “And judging by how clean this access is, they know exactly what they’re doing.”
Caro leaned in, eyes wide. “So… we’re not stopping them.”
Jen didn’t look away from the screen. “We’re slowing them down.”
As if to underline it, pressure readings spiked—hydraulics straining as the system tried to reconcile conflicting commands.
And beneath it all, another sound emerged.
Metal grinding against metal.
Wyatt moved to the bay doors, palm flattening against the steel. He listened for a beat. “Plasma cutter. Top hinge. Working their way down.”
An icy shiver crawled up her spine. “How long?”
“They’re not rushing.” He stepped back, already scanning the bay with that quiet predatory focus she’d stopped pretending she didn’t notice. “They know we’re trapped. They’re being methodical.”
He dragged a steel equipment cart in front of the bay doors without a word. Then he shifted position. It wasn’t random. He’d placed himself where he could see the entrance and reach both her and Caro in seconds.
“How long, Wyatt?”
His gaze met hers. “Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty.”
Less time than she needed to complete the lockdown and less than it would take them to undo it, anyway.
She was fighting a losing battle—on two fronts.
“Chief?” Caro’s voice was small.
Jen looked at her. Only twenty-six. Pink t-shirt clashing with orange coveralls. Scared out of her mind and still standing.
“It’s going to be okay, Caro.” The lie came out firm enough to believe.
Jen turned back to the diagnostic screen. The elegant weapon management system she’d helped design. The one she’d spent eighteen months maintaining, protecting, keeping operational.
A thought crystallized—clear and inevitable. “I can stop trying to lock it down.”
Wyatt turned. “What?”
“They can undo anything I do electronically.” Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Reset it. Override it. Reboot it.” She pulled up the core control interface. “But they can’t undo physical damage.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “You want to break it.”
“I’m going to break it so badly no one can fix it tonight.” Her hands settled on the console. “Fry the boards. Corrupt the firmware. Ruin the hydraulic pressure regulators. Turn the entire system into scrap metal.” She looked up at him. “And then we get out.”
Caro’s eyes went wide. “Chief—that’s… you were part of designing this system. You keep it running—”
Jen stared at the screen.
Clive had taken credit for her breakthrough and burned her reputation so thoroughly this exile had been her only option—babysitting weapons systems on a platform no one cared about, proving herself to an audience of zero.
Seven had been her penance—eighteen months proving she could still do the work even if no one was watching. And now she was going to destroy it.
Her throat tightened. Her hands curled into fists.
“I’m choosing to kill it,” she said quietly. “To save lives.”
“Jen—” Wyatt crossed the room to her, urgency in his stride.
“If they get those missiles, millions of people die.” She didn’t look at him. “Cities. Families. People who don’t even know Seven exists.” Jen forced herself to breathe. “No one can break it harder than I can, and I’m going to wreck it so completely it’ll take months to rebuild.”
Wyatt stood close enough that his arm bumped hers. He didn’t speak or try to talk her out of it, or tell her it would be okay. He just stood there, solid and silent, letting the decision be hers.
When she glanced at him, there was a rawness behind his eyes. It wasn’t pity, he knew better than that. It was closer to grief—as if he understood exactly what she was about to sacrifice.
“Do it,” he said quietly.
She stared at the keyboard. Her fingers refused to move.
Wyatt’s hand settled on the back of her neck. Warm. Sure. Not pushing. Just there.
She breathed in. Breathed out.
And typed the first command.
HYDRAULIC PRESSURE OVERRIDE: MAX LOAD.
A warning flashed.
UNSAFE PARAMETERS.
She confirmed it.
The deck shuddered beneath their feet as the hydraulics surged beyond tolerance, metal groaning under the strain.
“What’s that doing?” Caro whispered.
“Burning out the pressure regulators.” Jen pulled up the next interface. “They’ll rupture in about two minutes. Once they do, the clamps are dead. Manual, remote—it doesn’t matter.”
Caro made a small sound. “Bloody hell and a half. You really are torching it.”
“Completely.”
Caro bounced from foot to foot with nervous energy. “My mum’s going to kill me when she finds out I was part of sabotaging a nuclear missile platform.”
Jen almost smiled. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“Tell that to my mum.” Caro’s eyebrows arched in tandem.
Another command window opened.
FIRMWARE CORRUPTION PROTOCOL
IRREVERSIBLE DAMAGE TO CORE SYSTEMS
Jen hit ENTER.
“Chief—” Caro pointed.
Bright sparks showered through a seam in the entrance doors, cascading down like metallic rain.
The console in front of Jen sputtered. Smoke curled from a vent, sharp and acrid.
This was it.
There was no coming back from this.
She executed the final command.
Every screen went black.
The emergency lighting surged—once, twice—then stabilized. For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then a deep, grinding failure echoed through the bay. Hydraulic fluid hissed, and the smell of burned electronics filled the air.
Jen stared at the dead console. At the system she’d just destroyed.
“Is it done?” Caro whispered.
“Yup.” Jen’s voice came out hollow. “It’s done.”
Wyatt’s gaze was on her. Not the door. Not the sparks showering through the hinges.
Her.
For a second something shifted behind his eyes—a crack in the composure he’d worn all night.
“You did the right thing.” His voice was low, the words meant only for her.
She nodded once but couldn’t speak.
His jaw firmed into a rigid line. Then the operator snapped back into place. “Now we get out of here before they get through that door.”
Static burst from the radio on his hip—the one he’d taken from the dead terrorist hours ago.
And a voice. Accented and calm.
“Chief Engineer James.”
Jen froze, her stomach in freefall.
Wyatt’s hand went to the radio slowly. When his eyes found hers, she read something she’d never seen there before.
Not exactly fear. But the absolute stillness of a man recalculating every variable and not liking the answer.
They knew who she was.