“What’s that doing?” Caro whispered.
“Burning out the pressure regulators.” Jen pulled up the next interface. “They’ll rupture in about two minutes. Once they do, the clamps are dead. Manual, remote—it doesn’t matter.”
Caro made a small sound. “Bloody hell and a half. You really are torching it.”
“Completely.”
Caro bounced from foot to foot with nervous energy. “My mum’s going to kill me when she finds out I was part of sabotaging a nuclear missile platform.”
Jen almost smiled. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“Tell that to my mum.” Caro’s eyebrows arched in tandem.
Another command window opened.
FIRMWARE CORRUPTION PROTOCOL
IRREVERSIBLE DAMAGE TO CORE SYSTEMS
Jen hit ENTER.
“Chief—” Caro pointed.
Bright sparks showered through a seam in the entrance doors, cascading down like metallic rain.
The console in front of Jen sputtered. Smoke curled from a vent, sharp and acrid.
This was it.
There was no coming back from this.
She executed the final command.
Every screen went black.
The emergency lighting surged—once, twice—then stabilized. For a heartbeat, there was nothing. Then a deep, grinding failure echoed through the bay. Hydraulic fluid hissed, and the smell of burned electronics filled the air.
Jen stared at the dead console. At the system she’d just destroyed.
“Is it done?” Caro whispered.
“Yup.” Jen’s voice came out hollow. “It’s done.”
Wyatt’s gaze was on her. Not the door. Not the sparks showering through the hinges.
Her.
For a second something shifted behind his eyes—a crack in the composure he’d worn all night.
“You did the right thing.” His voice was low, the words meant only for her.
She nodded once but couldn’t speak.
His jaw firmed into a rigid line. Then the operator snapped back into place. “Now we get out of here before they get through that door.”
Static burst from the radio on his hip—the one he’d taken from the dead terrorist hours ago.
And a voice. Accented and calm.
