Page 129 of Dose

ISLA

The convoy stops two miles from the Montana property. Engines die one by one beneath a stand of pine, and Nikolai’s voice comes low through the comm.

“Final positions. Isla, confirm the Nursery route.”

I bring the stolen contractor plan onto my wrist display.

“East service entrance to the second sublevel. The Nursery is behind the clinical wing. Its ventilation is isolated from the rest of the site and fed by two pressurized reservoirs. We have the commissioning plan, not Korte’s final modifications.”

Three days ago, the property was still a fortified question.

Then Marcus breached the account of a controls contractor in Billings. Six minutes of cached maintenance footage showed eleven children wearing Project Architect biometric bands. A later frame caught Korte entering the clinical wing. The transfer schedule showed every child leaving before dawn today.

Assessment became evidence. Evidence became an operation.

“The audio library contains files tagged SUMMER and C-08,” Marcus says from the Nexus in Chicago. “Assume the internal broadcast system activates with the breach alarm.”

He remains there with Jenna and the local protection team. Three Korte search teams are still operating in the city; we do not empty the household facility to strike Montana. Dominic remains in the Midwest with Ezra’s recovery cell.

“We know what she’ll try,” Theon says beside me.

His mask hides everything but his eyes. Mine will do the same for him.

“We know one thing she’ll try,” I correct.

Nikolai spent most of the planning review arguing against putting me inside a facility Korte had designed around my conditioning. I spent most of it showing him why Theon and I were the only two people who could identify her chemical changes quickly enough to protect the children.

Damon tested the plan. Marcus tested it again. Raphael defined the point at which either my body or Theon’s would make us liabilities.

I was cleared as the chemical specialist, not as bait and not because anyone surrendered to my temper.

“Darius and Lucien, hold the extraction route,” Nikolai says. “Damon, utilities and transfer vehicles. Raphael is with me on the west entry. Marcus remains on systems. Theon, Isla—you do not separate.”

“Understood,” I say.

The transfer clock has thirty-eight minutes left when we leave the vehicles.

The property sits in a shallow fold of land south of Billings, where scrub gives way to pine and the access road disappears behind an ordinary ranch gate. From the air, the long metal barn and two equipment sheds look agricultural. Most of the facility is buried beneath them.

Camouflage would have drawn more attention than the truth.

Marcus blinds the thermal cameras for twenty seconds. Damon opens the ranch gate without disturbing the alarm wire. We cross open ground while the wind moves through dry grass hard enough to cover our steps.

At the east entrance, Theon checks the seal of my respirator. I check his.

“Nine minutes until the scheduled transfer team reaches the outer road,” Marcus says.

The service door unlocks before Damon touches the bypass.

No one mistakes it for luck.

“She opened it,” Theon says.

“Yes.”

“We can change route.”

“All three interior routes meet at the clinical choke point.” I show him the plan. “This invitation was built into the building.”