Chapter twenty-Six
Kiera's been awake for thirty-six hours straight.
I can see it in the way her hands shake when she reaches for another file, in the dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes, in the way she sways slightly when she stands too fast. “Kiera,” I say, watching her scan another document with unfocused eyes. “You need to sleep.”
“I'm fine," she says automatically, not looking up from the page. She's said those exact words seventeen times in the last four hours. I've been counting.
“You're not,” I reply, taking the file from her hands. She tries to snatch it back, but her reflexes are sluggish, her fingers closing on empty air. “When was the last time you ate something that wasn't coffee?”
She blinks at me, processing the question as if I asked it in a foreign language. “I...yesterday? Maybe?”
“Maybe,” I repeat, softer this time. “Thorn, you killed your dad, burned down a house, and discovered your mother is alive…all in the span of twelve hours. Your body is running on fumes and adrenaline.”
“We have work to do,” she protests, reaching for the file again as her hands continue to shake. “The raid is in…”
“Ten hours,” I cut her off firmly. “Which gives you time for a four-hour nap, a shower, and actual food before we gear up.”
Lila looks up from her laptop across the room. “Listen to him, Ki. You look like a zombie. “She offers a tired half-smile. “A hot zombie, but still.”
“I don't need…” Kiera starts.
“That wasn't a request,” I say, my voice dropping into the tone that makes grown men reconsider their life choices—the one I use on jobs when negotiation is over.
"You're going to lie down for four hours.
If you can't sleep, you're at least going to close your eyes and let your brain stop running at a thousand miles per hour.”
She glares at me, eyes flashing with exhausted defiance. "You can't just order me around."
"Watch me," I say. Before she can argue, I throw her over my shoulder in one smooth motion and head toward the back room where we've set up makeshift sleeping quarters.
She claws at my back, half-heartedly and exhausted. "Sterling, I'm serious. Put me down. I need to…"
"What you need," I interrupt, turning her to face me, "is to not collapse in the middle of a firefight because you're too fucking stubborn to admit you're human.
" My hands come up to frame her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones, forcing her to look at me.
"I need you sharp tonight. Not half-dead on your feet.
Not making mistakes because your brain is too fried to process threats.
" Something in her expression cracks. The fight drains out of her shoulders.
"I can't stop thinking," she admits quietly. "Every time I close my eyes, I see Wade's body. My childhood home on fire. My mom's face on that screen. The corrupted data where my pairing should be. If I stop moving…if I let myself think about it all…"
"You'll fall apart," I finish, pulling her closer.
"Yeah," she whispers, the single word heavy with reluctant surrender.
I press my forehead to hers. "Then fall apart. You've earned it. But do it somewhere soft where I can put you back together after."
Her laugh is broken, watery. "You can't fix this."
"No," I agree, my voice low and steady against her temple. "But I can hold you while you break. And I can make sure you don't have to do it alone." She stands there against me for a moment, then finally nods.
I guide her to the back room. It's not much—a mattress on the floor, a pillow, a blanket that's seen better days.
But it's dark, quiet, and far away from the monitors, the files, and the constant reminder of what we're about to walk into.
Kiera sits on the edge of the mattress, her movements mechanical and slow.
She tries to take off her boots, but her hands are shaking too badly to manage the laces.
"Let me," I say, kneeling in front of her.
I unlace her boots carefully and set them aside.
She watches me with heavy, exhausted eyes, too tired to protest the help.
When I reach for the blanket, she catches my wrist. "Stay," she says.
Not a question. A plea. I kick off my own boots and lie down beside her, pulling the blanket over us both.
She curls into my side immediately, her head finding the hollow of my shoulder like it was made to fit there.
Her breathing is already starting to even out, exhaustion finally winning the war against adrenaline.
I hold her, feeling the tension slowly drain from her body as sleep pulls her under.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out carefully, trying not to wake her.
Cam: You get her to sleep?
Me: Yeah. Don't wake her
unless the building is on fire.
Cam: Copy. Lila's mapping the perimeter
surveillance. I'm working on a loop for
their security feeds.
Me: Good. What about the
guard schedule?
Cam: Shifts change at 2300 and 0300.
We hit them at 0001, right after midnight.
New guards will still be getting their bearings.
Old guards will be mentally checking out.
Me: Perfect. Send me the
full breakdown when you
have it.
Cam: Will do. How is she? Really?
I look down at Kiera's face, sleeping peacefully for the first time in days. The tension lines have smoothed out. She looks younger like this. Softer. Like the girl she might have been if Wade hadn't killed her mom and stolen her childhood.
Me: She's surviving. That's all any
of us can do right now.
Cam: That's not an answer.
Me: It's the only one I have.
I set the phone aside and close my eyes, just for a moment. Just to rest them.
I wake to darkness and the rich smell of coffee.
Kiera is gone from beside me, the blanket still warm where she was.
I find her in the main room, showered and dressed in tactical black, her wet hair pulled back in a tight braid.
She's eating a protein bar and reviewing Cam's security breakdown on the monitors, her eyes sharp and focused. "You let me sleep," I accuse.
She glances over her shoulder, a small, tired smile playing at her lips. "You looked peaceful. Figured you needed it as much as I did."
"I told you four hours…" I mutter, rubbing my hand over my face as I step closer.
"And I slept for three and a half," she interrupts, smirking like she’s proud of doing the bare minimum. "Then I woke up, showered, ate, and let you have another hour. You're welcome."
I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest. She leans into me automatically like she’s decided I’m safe. "You feeling better?" I ask, my voice low against her ear as I keep my arms wrapped around her waist.
"No," she says honestly, her voice quiet but steady. "But I'm functional. That's enough."
Lila walks in carrying a duffel bag that clanks ominously. "Goody bags are ready,” she announces. “I've got flash-bangs, smoke grenades, and enough C4 to level a city block if this goes sideways."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Cam says from his corner, eyes glued to the monitor. "But if it does…at least we'll have Lila’s signature ‘subtle’ demolition package ready. Nothing says low profile like leveling half the mountain."
I check my watch. 1900 hours. Five hours until we leave. Seven until midnight. "Final gear check," I announce. "Weapons, comms, body armor. Cam, you're moving to the cabin close to the Nesting House to run surveillance?"
He nods in confirmation. "I'll have eyes on every camera, control over their locks and alarms. If anything moves that shouldn't, you'll know about it before they do."
"Lila, you're on the perimeter with the truck?"
"Yep," Lila flashes a quick grin. "Engine running, back doors open, ready to haul ass the second you come out with the kids."
I look at Kiera next. "You and I are going in through the east service entrance. We clear the dormitories first, get the kids out, then we head to the administrative wing for the files."
"And if we run into my mom?" she asks, her voice quiet but steady, the question hanging heavy between us.
"Then we find out if she's really been underground for sixteen years," I reply. "Or if this is another layer of the game."
Kiera's jaw tightens as she stares at the monitor. "She's alive. I know she is."
"I believe you," I say. And I do. The video was too detailed, too recent. But belief doesn't mean I'm walking in blind. Evelyn Hawthorne disappeared for sixteen years. People don't vanish that completely without learning how to lie very, very well.
"What about resistance?" Lila asks, her voice tight. "Guards, staff, whoever's running the place now?"
"We’ll go in quietly," I say. "Suppressed weapons, non-lethal when possible. But if anyone gets between those kids and us..." I didn't finish the sentence. I don't need to.
Kiera steps away from me, moving to the weapons table. She picks up her Glock, checks the magazine, the chamber, and the sight with practiced, efficient movements. When she's satisfied, she holsters it and grabs a tactical vest.
"Seven hours," she says, more to herself than to us. "Seven hours and we find out the truth about everything." She meets my eyes. About whether we were engineered or chosen. About whether her mom is a savior or a monster. About whether the boy in the basement was me or someone else entirely.
I move to my own gear, strapping on body armor, checking weapons, running through the plan one more time in my head. This is what I do. This is what I'm good at. Clean extractions. Precise executions. Getting in and out before anyone knew I was there.
But this isn't a job. This is Kiera's past—and possibly her future. These are seventeen kids living the nightmare we barely survived. These are answers we might not want to find.
I look across the room at Kiera. She's loading magazines with grim, focused determination. She looks like a warrior preparing for battle—someone who has already decided that whatever she finds tonight, she'll survive it. She glances up and catches me staring. "What?"
"Nothing," I lie. "Just making sure you're ready."
"I've been ready for sixteen years," she says, her voice confident. "Tonight, I'm just finally doing something about it."
Cam clears his throat. "Slight problem." We all turn to him. "I've been monitoring the Nesting House security feeds," he continues. "And there's activity. Lots of it. Vehicles are arriving, and personnel are moving equipment. It looks like...they're evacuating."
Kiera freezes, her entire body locking up like a predator sensing danger. "What?"
"Someone tipped them off," Cam says, his voice spiking with alarm as he pulls up the live feeds. "They're moving the kids. Right now." The room explodes into chaos. Chairs scrape back. I feel my pulse slam against my ribs as adrenaline floods my system.
"How long do we have?" I demand, already reaching for my vest.
"They started loading the first transport twenty minutes ago," Cam says, eyes glued to the feed. "If I had to guess, they'll be gone in two hours. Maybe less."
"Fuck the timeline," Kiera says, already moving toward the door with lethal purpose. "We go now."
"Kiera, we're not ready…" Lila starts, her voice tight with concern.
"We go now," she repeats, her voice like steel. "Or those kids disappear, and we never find them again." She's right. We all know she's right.
I grab my go-bag and throw it over my shoulder. "Change of plans. We hit them during the evacuation. Use the chaos as cover."
"That's insane," Cam argues.
"That's the job," I reply, moving toward the door with Kiera. "Lila, you drive. Fast and aggressive. Cam, I need you to kill their communications. No calls in or out. No coordination."
"On it," Cam says, already typing.
Kiera stands at the door, hand on the handle, her whole body vibrating with barely contained violence.
"Let's go, Ghost." I take one last look around the warehouse.
At Cam, surrounded by his glowing screens.
At Lila, checking her rifle one final time.
At Kiera, the woman who is about to walk into the place that took her mom away.
"Everyone out alive," I say, my voice low and final. "That's the only acceptable outcome."
"Everyone out alive," the girls echo, their voices overlapping like a haunted melody.
We move as one out the door, toward the truck, toward the Nesting House, and whatever truth is waiting there. Seven hours that turned into two hours became right now. The cicadas are emerging whether we're ready or not.