Pav pulled out his binoculars and scanned left to right. A generator hummed somewhere out of sight. Not the erratic churn of a farmer’s backup unit, but something sized to run lights and heat for multiple structures.
Two guards at the main gate. One pacing, one stationary. Neither slouched. Rifles hung muzzle-down, hands close. No cigarette burns in the snow near the gate. Disciplined.
Tracks cut through the snow toward the compound. Wind had combed the top layer smooth, but the compressed edges of the tracks held their shape. Slow speed. No panic. The fence was topped with razor wire.
He set his jaw.
The fence wasn’t there to keep anyone out. Too high. Too much wire. Sightlines facing inward. This was containment.
Fox crawled up beside him, his own binoculars out. “Which building?” His voice was barely a breath.
“Center barrack.” Pav pointed with two fingers. “That’s where they’d keep her. This doesn’t feel like ransom.”
Fox grunted. “Doesn’t matter what it feels like. She’s in there. We’re getting her out.”
Movement at the small shed near the admin building. Pav zoomed his binoculars, adjusting the focus. Two guards emerged, dragging someone between them.
A woman.
Pav’s pulse kicked.
The guards hauled her across the yard. She wasn’t fighting, too cold or too broken.
Beside him, Fox went rigid. “Fuck.”
Pav adjusted the focus. Dark hair. Bruised face—swollen as if someone had backhanded her. She moved stiffly, favoring her left side, thinner than in the photo.
The cold disappeared. Only the compound remained. They’d put their hands on her.
Harper Fox.
7
Harper was stillawake when the engines came.
Outside. Not the usual generator hum or the crunch of guards changing shift.
She lifted her head from the ratty pillow. Engines revving. Multiple vehicles, moving fast, then cutting out all at once. She sat up and the blanket slid from her shoulders.
The engines grew louder. Then nothing. The sudden absence of sound pressed against her eardrums.
Boom.
The entire barrack shuddered. The overhead bulb swung wildly and threw jagged shadows across the walls. Women screamed. Harper rolled out of bed, her boots hitting the floor.
God, what now?
Gunfire erupted. A staccato rhythm that escalated in seconds to a continuous roar. Close enough, the vibration thudded in her chest.
Women scrambled from their beds, dropping to the floor, hands over their heads, while a few ran for the walls and pressed against the brickwork, eyes wide in the artificial light.
Polina jumped down from the upper bunk and grabbed Harper’s arm, her fingers digging in. “What’s happening?”
Harper’s mouth was too dry. “Don’t know. We should?—”
The lock blew, and the door punched inward, hinges warping, smoke pouring through the gap.
Harper dove for the floor, dragging Polina down with her. Pain lanced through her knees as she hit the wood. Two guards burst through the smoke, rifles up, faces red and furious.
