“Us.” One word. Fox let it sit.
Pav looked up and met Fox’s gaze across the hood of the vehicle.
A flicker crossed Fox’s expression. Enough. He knew.
“We’ll get her back. Both of them.”
Pav nodded. Speaking felt dangerous.
Fox pointed at the service road on Zak’s tablet. “Supply trucks come through here every three days.”
“We intercepted an earlier run a mile back.” Zak zoomed in.
“Truck gets waved through after inspection,” Fox said. “There’s a maintenance crawl space behind the auxiliary tank. Tight fit, but it gets us inside the perimeter.”
“I already hate this plan,” Zak muttered. “How anal are they?”
“They don’t inspect underneath,” Pav said. “Gate guard checks the cab and the manifest. That’s it.”
“You’ll be wedged between the chassis and the tank. Don’t fall asleep under there.” Fox tapped the map. “Rear breach here.”
“I’ll take point.”
“No.” Fox didn’t look up. “You’re hurt. I need you alive long enough to reach her.”
Pav’s hand spread against the hood. “Understood.”
“If they split the hostages?” Zak asked.
“Safest to assume they have,” Pav said.
The plan consolidated fast. Rear entry. Quiet breach. Main building first. Contain the auxiliary blocks unless the intel shifted. Satellite imagery put the holding rooms in the central block—old classrooms converted to storage, offices on the upper floor.
Pav shrugged into his jacket against the cold. The one Harper had worn for four days through snow and forest and helicopter wreckage. He pulled the collar up and caught the faint trace of her scent trapped in the lining.
His throat tightened hard enough to hurt.
His hands stilled, and for a few seconds, he just stood there with the collar against his mouth. Then he zipped the jacket and went back to work.
Zak sat against the Land Cruiser’s front tire with an earpiece in, tablet balanced on one knee as he monitored the compound frequency. Guard chatter. Shift changes. Complaints about the cold. Men settling deeper into routine because nothing bad had ever happened to them at three in the morning.
Fox caught his arm before Pav moved off. “Hold still.” He peeled back the bandage on his chest, then spotted the bruising from the dislocation. “Jesus Christ.”
Pav looked toward the trees. “I’m functional.”
Fox checked the wound, then rotated Pav’s shoulder carefully through its range of movement. The rotation caught halfway. Pain bit deep enough to wipe the edges of the clearing for a second. Pav breathed through it.
Fox noticed anyway, his eyes narrowing.
Pav met his gaze, unblinking.
Fox snorted softly. “That word’s doing a lot of work tonight.”
“Only has to work till morning.” Pav buttoned his shirt back up.
Fox looked at him for a long moment. Concern sat openly beneath the operational calm. Understanding too—that Pavwould walk into that compound bleeding out if Harper was inside.
“You good to go?”
