I’m already inside that building in my head.
Already reaching her.
Already getting her out.
“We move in fifteen,” Russ says.
Fifteen minutes.
My fingers tighten around my rifle.
Too long.
“She could be moved before then.”
“She could,” Russ agrees. “Which is why we do this smart.”
I look back toward the compound again.
Toward the dark second-floor window where she disappeared.
Eight months.
Eight damn months.
And somehow seeing her for less than two seconds just shattered every wall I’ve spent all night trying to hold in place.
Because now this is real.
She’s in there.
Breathing.
Fighting.
Waiting.
And God help the men holding her when I get through that door.
8
Clay
The clock in my head keeps counting down.
Fifteen minutes.
Fourteen.
Thirteen.
Every second feels wrong.
I lie flat against the ridge overlooking the compound, watching that second-floor window like if I stare hard enough, Hannah will appear again.
She doesn’t.
Wind cuts across the mountainside, cold and sharp against my face, carrying the distant smell of smoke from somewhere farther east.
