My jaw tightens slightly.
Because there’s only one reason that would matter—
“She was supposed to check in three days ago,” Russ says.
Calm.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
“She didn’t.”
Something in my chest shifts.
Small.
Sharp.
Unwelcome.
“She?” Miles asks.
Russ doesn’t look away from me this time.
“Dr. Hannah Bowers.”
Everything—
Goes still.
Not the room.
Not the team.
Me.
Like something just locked into place.
Hard.
Final.
I don’t move.
Don’t react.
Not on the outside.
Inside?
Different story.
“She was working with a medical relief unit near the border,” Russ continues. “Routine assignment. Low-risk.”
Low-risk.
That’s a joke.
