8. Clay
Clay
The clock in my head keeps counting down.
Fifteen minutes.
Fourteen.
Thirteen.
Every second feels wrong.
I lie flat against the ridge overlooking the compound, watching that second-floor window like if I stare hard enough, Hannah will appear again.
She doesn’t.
Wind cuts across the mountainside, cold and sharp against my face, carrying the distant smell of smoke from somewhere farther east.
Not close enough to matter here.
Yet.
Below us, guards continue their rotations.
Steady.
Predictable.
Relaxed.
They have no idea we’re here.
Lucas adjusts beside me, checking the suppressor on his rifle one final time.
“East tower rotates every forty seconds,” he murmurs.
Miles nods from the other side of the ridge.
“South patrol overlaps blind spot for six seconds near the gate.”
Russ studies the compound through binoculars.
“Entry team hits west wall. Quiet first. Loud if necessary.”
Standard.
Controlled.
Clean.
My pulse still pounds too hard anyway.
Because she’s in there.
Or at least she was.
I grip my rifle tighter and force myself to breathe slower.
Focus.
Emotion later.
Movement catches my attention near the courtyard.
Two armed men emerge from the main building dragging another man between them.
Blood trails behind his boots.
Still alive.
Barely.
I watch one guard shove him hard toward the ground.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
My jaw tightens.
The hostage collapses face-first into the dirt while another guard laughs about something in a language I don’t recognize.
Beside me, Miles mutters quietly.
“These guys are organized.”
Yeah.
Too organized.
This isn’t random kidnapping.
This is infrastructure.
Funding.
Leadership.
Discipline.
Which means whoever took Hannah had resources.
And resources make people harder to kill.
Russ lowers the binoculars slowly.
“Move.”
Everything shifts instantly.
We descend the ridge fast and silent, boots sliding through loose rock while darkness swallows us whole.
My breathing steadies automatically as we approach the western wall.
Training takes over.
Weapon up.
Angles clear.
Check corners.
Advance.
Simple.
The closer we get, the quieter my head becomes.
No fear.
No hesitation.
No distraction.
Just the mission.
Lucas reaches the wall first and crouches low near the breach point.
Miles takes overwatch.
Russ signals silently.
Three.
Two.
One.
The charge detonates with a muffled thud.
Concrete cracks inward.
We move immediately.
Fast.
Precise.
Violent.
I clear left.
First guard dies before he can even raise his weapon.
Second turns too slowly.
Suppressed shots echo softly through the courtyard.
Body drops.
“Clear,” Lucas whispers.
We push deeper into the compound.
Everything happens fast after that.
Doorways.
Hallways.
Corners.
A guard rounds the corridor ahead—
I grab him before he can shout, slam him into the wall hard enough to crack concrete, then drive the knife under his ribs.
Hot blood spills across my glove.
He drops instantly.
We keep moving.
Room after room.
Empty.
Storage.
Weapons.
Medical supplies.
No Hannah.
The pressure in my chest starts building again.
Too slow.
We’re moving too damn slow.
“Second floor,” I snap quietly.
Russ nods once.
We stack near the stairwell.
Lucas moves first.
Then me.
The second-floor hallway stretches long and dim beneath flickering overhead lights.
Steel doors line both sides.
My pulse starts hammering again.
Because one of these doors—
Jesus Christ.
One of these doors might finally lead to her.
Miles checks the first room.
“Clear.”
Second room.
“Clear.”
Third—
“Movement.”
I’m already moving before he finishes speaking.
I hit the door hard enough it slams against the wall.
Weapon raised.
Heart punching violently against my ribs.
And for one split second—
I think it’s her.
Small frame.
Dark hair.
Terrified eyes.
Relief crashes into me so hard it’s almost painful.
“Hannah—”
The woman flinches violently backward.
Not Hannah.
Not even close.
Everything inside me stops cold.
The woman stares at us in pure terror from the corner of the room, wrists bruised, face pale beneath tangled dark hair.
Not Hannah.
Dammit.
My chest drops like a stone.
Behind me, Miles swears softly under his breath.
The hostage starts crying immediately when she realizes we aren’t part of the compound.
“It’s okay,” Lucas says carefully, lowering his weapon. “We’re here to help.”
But I barely hear him.
Because my brain is already spiraling.
If this isn’t Hannah—
Then where the hell is she?
The woman’s breathing turns ragged as Lucas cuts the restraints from her wrists.
“You’re safe now.”
Her eyes dart toward me.
Then widen suddenly.
“Doctor,” she blurts out brokenly. “They took doctor.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
I step closer instantly.
“Where?”
The woman recoils slightly at the force in my voice.
Russ appears beside me immediately.
“Easy.”
I force myself back half a step.
Barely.
The hostage swallows hard.
“They move her,” she whispers. “Yesterday.”
Yesterday.
Too late again.
Something dark twists sharply through my chest.
“Where did they take her?” Russ asks calmly.
The woman shakes her head quickly.
“I don’t know. North maybe. Fighting area.” Tears fill her eyes again. “She help people. She help everyone.”
Of course she did.
Even here.
Even captured.
That tightness in my chest turns almost painful.
“What fighting area?” I demand.
“She hurt one guard,” the hostage says quickly, voice shaking harder now. “They angry. They take her away after.”
A strange flicker of pride cuts straight through the dread.
Yeah.
That sounds exactly like Hannah.
Russ studies the woman carefully.
“How long ago?”
“Morning convoy.”
My stomach drops.
Hours.
We missed her by hours.
The room suddenly feels too small.
Too hot.
Too tight.
I turn away sharply, dragging a hand down my face while rage coils violently beneath my skin.
I saw that window.
Thought I found her.
Thought—
“Clay.”
Russ’s voice stays calm behind me.
Controlled.
Grounded.
I don’t feel grounded.
Not even close.
Because all I can think is—
She was here.
And now she’s gone again.