The compound was burning. Fire licked up the side of the admin building, painting everything in orange and shadow. Guards ran in scattered groups, shouting, firing at targets she couldn’t see.
Two men in white moved through smoke with rifles raised. She didn’t know if they were salvation or something worse. Behind her in the barrack, Sasha was sobbing in the corner, arms around another woman.
“Let me go.” Harper wedged her heels against the thin strip of wood across the threshold.
He didn’t stop but shifted his grip to guide her forward.
“I said let go!” She twisted with everything she had, throwing her weight backward, fingernails gouging his wrist.
Those green eyes locked on her. Calculation moved behind them, happening too fast for her to read.
“The others.” Harper’s voice was raw, scraped from her throat. She gestured back toward the barrack with her free hand. “I can’t leave them.”
“I’m here for you.” No reassurance, only fact.
“I don’t care what your mission is.” Her whole body shook—cold, adrenaline, fear churning in her gut until she thought she might vomit. “I’m not leaving them.”
He stared at her. Fresh gunfire erupted across the yard. Harper straightened despite every instinct screaming at her to run, to get away from the guns, the fire and the bodies. Her hands and feet were numb with cold, her heart violent in her chest, but she didn’t care.
“Either we all leave, or—” She sucked in air, lungs shaky. “Or I stay.”
Something exploded to their left. One of the men in white gear shouted from near the fence. “Pav! We need to move!”
Pav.
The name meant nothing to her. But he responded to it, his head cocking toward the voice, then back to her. He could force her. Throw her over his shoulder and run. She couldn’t stop him. His grip tightened for half a second. Decision moved behind his eyes.
Then his fingers opened. “How many?”
For one stunned second, Harper was speechless. Behind him, the women had gone utterly still. Even Sasha had stopped crying.
Hope was a terrible thing to see in a place like this.
Harper swallowed, her throat burning. “Twelve.”
She looked past him, back into the barrack where firelight painted the women’s faces in shades of terror. Tear-streaked. Dirty. She wouldnotleave them.
“Fuck.” The word came out quiet but vicious. He released her wrist.
She rubbed her skin, tender where he’d held her.
He turned his head toward something at his neck—a comms unit, a thin wire running up to his ear. “Change of plan. She won’t leave without the others.”
Static crackled. Then a voice, distant and pissed: “You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Two minutes,” an English voice cut in. Calm and controlled. “Get them ready to move.”
Harper bent forward, fighting for air as the world grew fuzzy at the edges. Her head ached, pressure building behind her eyes.
Pav’s hand settled briefly against her lower back, steadying her balance before pulling away again.
Another figure appeared in the doorway—eyes older than Pav’s, same white tactical gear stretched over a broader frame.
“What the fuck’s going on?”
Harper pushed back up to standing.
Pav didn’t take his eyes off Harper. “She won’t leave without the other women.”
