"They didn't," I say, gesturing to the road. "They escaped. We should radio for drones to search the area."
As if on cue, our comms crackle to life.
"Mathieson, Chen, Prakash," Hayes' voice cuts through, sharp with authority. "Status report."
Perfect. Another complication. Hayes on comms means Hayes on site, and his paranoid scrutiny is the last thing I need right now. Between Sherlock's analytical stare and Hayes' ruthless suspicion, keeping my cover intact feels increasingly impossible.
"Lower level secure, sir," I respond immediately. "Guards neutralized, some prisoners escaped through a hidden exit. We've located their escape route, but no sign of their current location."
"Casualties?"
"Ten guards down, sir. At least four dead, the others are unconscious."
There's a pause on the other end. "Meet me at the front entrance. Immediately."
I mentally prepare for the inevitable face-to-face while standing in evidence of my treason. "Copy that. On our way." I nod to Ghost and Sherlock. "Hayes wants us at the front."
We turn away from the trough and begin walking along the perimeter of the compound, heading toward the main entrance. The air is crisp, a welcome relief after the stale atmosphere inside.
As we round the corner of the building, Sherlock falls into step beside me. "You don't seem particularly concerned about an extra twenty or so unaccounted for magickal hostages. We all saw the runes on those cages. They weren't holding humans down there."
I keep my pace steady, not taking the bait. "I am most concerned about rescuing the human hostages, not hunting escapees. We'll get them later."
"Still," he presses, "it's an unusual reaction."
"What would you prefer, Sherlock?" I snap, the words sharper than intended. The dangerous edge in my voice isn't from impatience—it's pure self-preservation. Each question he asks is another thread pulled from my carefully constructed facade. If he keeps tugging, everything unravels. "That I throw a tantrum because prisoners escaped during our rescue operation? We completed our primary objective. The rest is cleanup."
My heart hammers against my ribs as I hold his gaze. This is the dangerous game I've chosen. Every interaction is a minefield. Every question is potentially fatal. I won't just lose my badge, I’ll be executed publicly and painfully.
Ghost clears his throat from behind us. "Can we focus on the positive? Twenty-two humans freed, no casualties on our side. I'd call that a win."
I shoot him a grateful look as we continue along the perimeter wall, passing tactical vehicles and teams securing the compound.
It is a win. We saved people.
The facility's front entrance comes into view, illuminated by floodlights. The scene is organized chaos. Medical personnel tending to freed hostages. Tactical teams processing captured Enclave agents. Forensic techs documenting everything. The aftermath always looks the same—clinical, procedural, a mess being methodically catalogued and then erased.
Hayes stands near the entrance, his broad frame silhouetted against the wall of the next building. His expression reads more pissed off than usual.
"Sir," I acknowledge him as I approach. "We've secured the complex. Twenty-two human hostages rescued, no casualties on our side."
Hayes doesn't acknowledge the success. His face is all cold fury, eyes like chips of ice as he surveys the chaos around us.
"What about this lower level that wasn’t on the plans?" Hayes demands.
"Cleared," I report. "Prisoners gone. We found a hidden exit at the rear of the complex. Looks like they escaped during the chaos."
"And you didn't pursue?" His question carries an edge.
"We attempted to track them, but the trail ends at the gate. Just footprints around an animal trough." I stand at parade rest, shoulders squared, giving my report. My hands remain steady as I indicate the direction of escape with a crisp gesture. "We need drones."
He sighs heavily, running a hand over his face. This momentary crack in his armor softens his features, revealing the exhaustion beneath his commanding presence.
"I've got additional teams coming in to help process this scene," he says finally. "They’ll have to hunt for them, but I need you elsewhere, effective immediately."
I blink, surprised by the sudden shift. "Sir?"
"The Chimeras." He leans in closer, jaw tightening until a muscle twitches beneath the skin. Each syllable emerges through clenched teeth. "They've been spotted again."
