“A satellite requestfinally came back from Leif’s friends. We flagged all industrial properties connected to dummy corporations Dr. Rhys had access to. One of them has unusual heat signatures.”
I stand so quicklythat the chair crashes back. “Where?” He shows me the image, a thermal map of a massive, remote facility.
Secluded.Armed. And in one wing of the building, continuous heat spikes. Repetitive timing. An oscillating pattern.
“What is that?”I demand.
Axel’s voice goes low.“Rhythm patterns consistent with industrial pumps. A lot of them.”
My vision narrows. “Oh my god,”he whispers. “Erik… they’re milking.” My stomach drops.
My knees almost buckle.She’s there. She has to be there. A pulse of violent, desperate hope slams through my chest so hard it hurts.
“Showour brothers and alert Leif’s friends. I want everyone armed and ready. We leave in?—"
“Erik,”Axel interrupts, voice cracking, “there’s more.” He zooms in.
One tiny anomalyglows a faint yellow in the corner of the thermal map. Small. Warm. Human-sized. A single room. A solitary occupant.
He whispers,“This signature… it’s consistent with someone being sedated.” My world tilts. My breath stutters. My vision burns. “Claire…” I choke on her name.
Axel nods,tears in his eyes. “We think so.” I grip the table as if I’ll fall through the floor.
Then I straighten. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. My voice steadies into something lethal. “Gear up,” I say. “We go in at dawn.”
His eyes widen,not at the violence in my tone, but at the clarity. Erik Halvorsen is back. Not the broken version. It is not the ghost that is walking through the house. The soldier. The predator. The man who promised he would burn the world to reach her.
I stand alonein our room that night. I touch her pillow. Her books. My throat closes. “I’m coming,” I whisper to the empty room. “So help me God, I’m coming.”
Outside,dawn creeps closer. Inside me, a sense of clarity finally emerges. Hope. Rage. Love. Purpose. All of it. And the world should tremble for what I’m about to do.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Erik
The convoy leavesthe freeway just after dawn, with engines low and controlled. It's the kind of controlled power that feels planned, as if even the cars know how important it is to get there and what will happen when we do.
Everyone is quiet.The SUV is hushed, with only the soft hum of the engine and the faint crackle of radios from the cars in front of and behind us breaking the silence. The air tastes like metal, sharp and dry against my tongue. I can feel it working its way into my lungs, threading through anticipation, through adrenaline, through the kind of fear that doesn't spike or scatter, but sharpens, condenses, and becomes something sharp enough to cut.
I takea breath that feels almost like oxygen for the first time in three months. Not enough. Not even close. But enough to bring back memories of how it felt before everything got so small.
They are here.We're here. Slowly, the facility comes into view, rising out of the flat industrial sprawl at the far edge of Houston like something that was meant to be forgotten. The buildings are uniform in their design, clean in their lines, and too quiet in a way that has nothing to do with peace. There are no markings, no visible identifiers, and nothing that makes you want to look closer or gives you an explanation.
Not a hospital.Not a doctor's office. No one goes there to get better. The SUV hasn't completely stopped yet, but I'm already moving. The door opens under my hand, and I go out onto the pavement. The air in the early morning feels cooler than it should, or maybe that's just how my body registers everything now: through tension, through readiness, and through the constant feeling that I'm already too late unless I prove otherwise.
Bjorn isnext to me before my feet are fully on the ground. His presence is solid and unshakable, like my own pulse.
Leif moves closer to me,quieter but just as precise. His eyes are already scanning the area for movement, exits, and angles. Soren and Rurik fall into place behind us without thinking about it. Their spacing is automatic and practiced. Stellan and Ivar close the formation from the back, making us all one unit.
We don't talk.We don't have to. When it matters, we move as one. We're not just brothers; we're something stronger than blood, something that's been built over years of standingshoulder to shoulder in situations like this, where any hesitation costs more than any of us are willing to pay.
A wall.That's what we turn into when the world gets smaller. And right now, it has gotten tiny.
Behind us,the rest of the convoy moves in a controlled way, with doors opening and closing in a staggered rhythm as federal agents, local police, and tactical units get out and take their places. There is no chaos or wasted movement. Instead, teams are moving out in an orderly way, forming a perimeter, and communicating quietly with each other using low voices and hand signals.
They're good.Disciplined. But that's not why I'm here. Detective Ramirez gets to us first. He is already flipping open a folder as he walks toward us. His pace is quick, and his posture is calm, as if he has done this before. I can tell he's struggling to mask it, even from a short distance. His eyes betray a subtle tension, and he keeps adjusting his hold on the folder, a nervous tic.
"Federal warrant is active,"he states, his voice low and precise, each word carefully enunciated. "Two blocks from here, tactical units are standing by. The Texas Rangers are prepared to move on your command."
