44. Russ
Russ
Her hand moves.
Just a fraction.
But I feel it.
Every nerve in my body goes on high alert.
“Olivia?”
Nothing.
But I know what I felt.
I lean closer, eyes locked on her face.
“Do that again.”
The machines continue their steady rhythm.
Then—
there.
Another tiny movement.
Her fingers twitch against mine.
That’s not nothing.
That’s everything.
I sit up straighter, hope hitting fast and hard.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That’s it.”
Her lashes flutter.
Once.
Twice.
Then still again.
But it’s enough.
It’s more than I’ve had.
“She’s responding,” I say, not even realizing I’ve spoken out loud.
A nurse steps in, checking monitors. “That’s good. Very good.”
Good doesn’t even begin to cover it.
I brush my thumb lightly across her hand.
“Come on,” I say softly. “You’re almost there.”
Clay
“We’ve got something.”
Lucas’s voice cuts through the noise.
I’m at his side in a second.
“What.”
He turns the tablet.
A map.
Highlighted.
“There’s a secondary facility—eight miles northeast. Private medical storage on paper, but no real activity logged.”
Off-grid.
Quiet.
Perfect for what they’re doing.
Miles leans in. “That’s too convenient.”
“Exactly,” I say.
Which means it’s right.
We park two blocks out. “We go in quiet.”
Lucas glances at me. “If they’ve got the kids there, they’ll be ready this time.”
“Good,” I answer.
Because so are we.