7. Clay
Clay
The compound sits dark against the mountainside.
Too dark.
No perimeter lights.
Minimal movement.
Just enough activity to tell me somebody inside knows exactly what they’re doing.
I study the structure through night vision from our position along the ridge.
Concrete walls.
Two guard towers.
One main gate.
Vehicles parked inside the courtyard.
And armed patrols moving in controlled patterns.
Definitely not random militia.
“Thermal confirms at least twelve hostiles,” Lucas murmurs beside me. “Possibly more inside.”
I stay silent, tracking movement near the eastern wall.
One guard pauses near a side entrance.
Another circles the courtyard slowly with a rifle hanging loose against his chest.
Disciplined.
Comfortable.
That bothers me.
Because comfortable men don’t expect trouble.
Which means nobody’s hit this place before.
Russ crouches beside me, studying the tablet in his hands.
“No confirmation she’s here yet,” he says quietly.
Every muscle in my body tightens at that.
No confirmation.
We came all this way, and we still don’t know if Hannah’s inside.
My jaw locks hard enough to ache.
“She’s here.”
Miles glances toward me.
“You sound real sure about that.”
I don’t answer.
Because I am sure.
I can feel it.
And maybe that sounds insane, but I don’t care.
Eight months.
Eight months since I last saw her, standing in that medical bay, glaring at me like she wanted to punch me and save my life at the same time.
Eight months since she walked away for that survival training course.
I remember laughing when she first told me.
“You voluntarily signed up for six months of hell?”
“It’s called preparation.”
“It’s called insanity.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
“Funny coming from a man who jumps out of helicopters for a living.”
Fair point.
But I still remember the look on her face before she left.
Focused.
Determined.
Like she already knew she’d need those skills someday.
The memory twists something sharp in my chest.
“She’ll survive,” I say quietly, mostly to myself.
Russ hears it anyway.
“So will you,” he replies.
I glance at him sharply.
His stare stays fixed on the compound below us.
“You go into this emotional,” he says calmly, “you miss details.”
“I’m not emotional.”
Miles snorts under his breath.
Lucas mutters, “Sure.”
I ignore both of them.
Because now isn’t the time.
I lift the binoculars again, scanning the western side of the compound.
Then—
Movement.
Small.
Quick.
Second-floor window.
I freeze.
My pulse slams hard once against my ribs.
A figure.
Gone almost instantly behind dirty glass.
But I caught enough.
Small frame.
Dark clothing.
Female.
Every nerve ending in my body lights up.
“There,” I snap quietly.
Lucas shifts immediately beside me.
“Where?”
“Second floor. Far left window.”
The team raises optics instantly.
Seconds crawl by.
Then—
The figure moves again.
Briefly illuminated beneath weak overhead lighting.
And even from this distance—
I know.
Jesus Christ.
It’s her.
Something hits me square in the chest so hard it almost knocks the air out of me.
Relief.
Violent.
Immediate.
Overwhelming.
Alive.
Hannah’s alive.
The figure disappears from the window again, but it’s already burned into my brain.
I saw her.
I know I did.
Russ lowers his binoculars slowly.
“That’s our confirmation.”
But his voice sounds farther away now.
Because my mind’s already moving.
Entry points.
Extraction routes.
Guard rotations.
Distance to target.
I’m already inside that building in my head.
Already reaching her.
Already getting her out.
“We move in fifteen,” Russ says.
Fifteen minutes.
My fingers tighten around my rifle.
Too long.
“She could be moved before then.”
“She could,” Russ agrees. “Which is why we do this smart.”
I look back toward the compound again.
Toward the dark second-floor window where she disappeared.
Eight months.
Eight damn months.
And somehow seeing her for less than two seconds just shattered every wall I’ve spent all night trying to hold in place.
Because now this is real.
She’s in there.
Breathing.
Fighting.
Waiting.
And God help the men holding her when I get through that door.