43. Sienna
Sienna
I don’t cry.
Not today.
Not again.
The tears burn behind my eyes anyway, hot and useless, but I shove them down until there’s nothing left but a sharp, cold edge inside my chest.
Focus.
That’s all I have.
That’s all I can afford.
“Play it again,” I say.
Cal’s fingers still above the keyboard. “Sienna—”
“Play. It. Again.”
He studies me for half a second, then presses the key.
Elizabeth appears on the screen again.
The dim room.
The single overhead light.
Her bound hands.
Her too-thin face.
My heart tries to break all over again, but I don’t let it.
Not this time.
This time, I don’t watch my sister.
I watch everything around her.
The shadows along the wall.
The slight tremor of the camera.
The angle of the light hitting her shoulder.
The echo beneath her voice.
Details.
Patterns.
Clues.
“There.” I step closer.
Lance leans in beside me. “What?”
“The distortion.” I point toward the audio track. “Right there.”
Cal rewinds the clip and plays the sound again.
Elizabeth’s voice trembles through the speakers.
“If you’re seeing this…”
Underneath it, barely there, something warbles.
A faint drag in the sound.
“You hear that?” I ask.
Cal frowns. “Barely.”
“It’s not random.” My pulse starts to pick up. “It’s environmental.”
I reach for the keyboard before I think better of it.
Cal moves aside without a word.
Good.
I isolate the audio, pull the background layer forward, and cut away Elizabeth’s voice because if I hear her say my name again, I might not survive it.
The room fills with static.
Then an echo.
Low.
Hollow.
I freeze.
“That isn’t a small room.”
Ronan steps closer behind me. “Meaning?”
“Meaning she’s not in a cell.” I zoom in on the light spill behind Elizabeth’s chair. “Concrete walls, yes, but open space. The echo has too much depth.”
Lance folds his arms. “Industrial?”
“Maybe.”
“That narrows it down to half the planet,” he mutters.
“We’re not done.”
I filter the audio again.
Static drops away.
The hum rises.
Faint.
Rhythmic.
Consistent.
My heart slams hard against my ribs.
“There,” I whisper.
Cal’s eyes sharpen. “Generator?”
“Yes.”
“Could be anything.”
“No.” I shake my head and replay the hum again. “Listen to the frequency. That isn’t a modern grid system. It’s older. Standalone. Rough output. Probably diesel.”
Ronan’s gaze lifts to mine.
“Off-grid.”
I nod slowly.
“Yes.”
The word settles over all of us.
Off-grid.
Industrial.
Concrete structure.
Old generator.
Elizabeth is alive.
And she left me a trail.
Lance looks back at the screen, his expression changing from grim to focused.
“We can track that.”
Hope sparks in my chest.
Dangerous.
Bright.
Terrifying.
This time, I don’t smother it.