Page 133 of Dose

“Air first,” Raphael says as he reaches us. “Then the children.”

Theon seals the aerosol reservoir and samples the Nursery return. Raphael watches the portable monitor until every reading remains below its alarm threshold.

Only then does Nikolai override the steel door.

Eleven children wait inside.

The oldest looks nine. The youngest may be five. They sit on narrow beds in two straight rows, hands flat on their knees, watching four masked adults enter without making a sound.

The silence is trained. I recognize it before I recognize any face.

Theon confirms the room air is clean. I remove my respirator and crouch several feet from the nearest bed.

“My name is Isla,” I say. “We’re taking you out of here.”

No one moves.

“You don’t have to come close to me. The medical team will enter without weapons. They can explain every step before it happens.”

A girl in the front row tilts her head. Seven, perhaps. There is a bruise beneath the biometric band on her wrist.

“Do we have to count the steps?” she asks.

“No.” My throat tightens around the word. “You can walk, stop or be carried. Nobody will punish you for choosing.”

She looks at the open door.

“Can I walk first?”

“Yes.”

She does.

The extraction takes fifty-four minutes.

Lucien brings the unmasked clinical team through the cleared east route. Each child receives an identification band, a respiratory assessment and an assigned adult before leaving the Nursery. Two cannot walk safely and go out on stretchers. The girl who asked about counting holds my hand until we reach the surface, then chooses a medic’s instead.

We recover the V-series reservoirs, Korte’s transmitter, the internal audio library and a complete server image. The site remains standing under a hazardous-material seal. Burning a chemical facility would destroy evidence and send whatever Korte stored here into the Montana air.

Her body leaves in a sealed transport.

I walk out on my own feet.

Theon stays beside me, his hand loose around mine.

“Are you all right?” he asks once the respirators are off.

“I don’t know.” I look back at the ranch buildings. Without alarms and armed guards, they have become ordinary again. “I thought watching her die would feel like winning.”

“The children are alive.”

“That feels like winning.”

“Then let that be enough for this morning.”

It is not closure. It is enough.

Marcus breaks across the comm before the first medical vehicle leaves.