Page 62 of Wraith: Lethal Impact

It's never enough.

I look at Lily one more time. The green glow of my watch illuminates the curve of her cheekbone, the dark sweep of her lashes, the slightly parted lips that⁠—

Move. Now.

I open the door and step into the main facility.

The workbench is alive with the blue glow of Cipher's rugged laptops. Bronco sits on the rusted oil drum, his M249 broken down on a canvas tarp, the barrel assembly gleaming with fresh lubricant. Rook leans against the support pillar, arms crossed over his Kevlar, chewing the inside of his cheek. Ivy stands at the end of the workbench with a tin cup of instant coffee, watching a scrolling wall of data. Hammer sits on the concrete with his back against a crate, the demo satchel open between his knees, building charges by feel.

Cipher is the only one who looks up.

"Route's mapped." He taps the center screen. A satellite overlay of the northern Thai jungle fills the display, a winding dirt road cutting through dense canopy toward the mountain ridgeline. "Ivy's analysis gives us three logistical blind spots on the eastern approach. Service entrance, loading dock, and a drainage culvert that feeds into the subterranean level."

I study the map. The Cold War-era radar installation sits in a natural bowl between two ridgelines—a defensible position with limited approach vectors. The canopy overhead is dense enough to block thermal satellite passes. Whoever chose this location knew what they were doing.

"Exfil routes?"

"Two." Cipher drags a finger across the screen. "Primary is the same road we're taking in. Secondary is a fire access trail running north into Myanmar. It's rough terrain, but passable with the right vehicle."

"Guard rotation?"

"Based on the satellite pass from twelve hours ago, they rotate exterior patrols every forty-five minutes. The gap between shifts is roughly ninety seconds."

Ninety seconds. Enough time to breach a perimeter if the entry team knows what they're doing. Not enough time if anything goes sideways.

"How do you want to play this?" Bronco doesn't look up from the M249, but his words are for me.

"Lily stays with Ivy." I keep my voice flat. "She can help Ivy run comms overwatch from the laptops and relay real-time intel. Walk Lily through the boards and let her help—it'll keep her hands busy. Cipher, you're with me. Rook takes point on the eastern approach. Hammer, you're on entry—every door between the culvert and the staging area is yours. Bronco, you're rear security on the exfil with the two-forty-nine."

"Nothing in a bunker that old opens quietly.” Hammer buckles the satchel. "The second I work, they'll know exactly where you are."

"Then I'll tell you when."

"I've got your girl." Ivy sets down the coffee. "She'll be a pro by the time you're back."

"When do we move?" Bronco racks the barrel assembly back into the M249 with a metallic snap.

"Five minutes." I check my watch. 0410. "We need to be in position before the patrol rotation at 0530. That gives us seventy-five minutes of transit on the jungle road."

Cipher closes the laptop and slides it into a Pelican case. Bronco feeds a fresh belt of 5.56 into the M249's feed tray. Rook checks the action on his M4, the snap of the charging handle loud in the quiet facility.

I walk toward the secure room.

The door is still closed. I press my palm flat against the rough wood and stand there, breathing, for three seconds.

Go in. Wake her. Tell her⁠—

Tell her, what? That I'm terrified. That leaving her here feels like putting a bullet in my chest. That every time I close the distance with someone I care about, the universe punishes me by taking them away.

My hand drops from the door.

I turn my back on the room and walk toward the vehicles. Time enough for that when we make it back.

The jungle road is a rutted single-lane track carved through dense tropical canopy. The headlights of the lead vehicle cut harsh white tunnels through the pre-dawn mist.

It's a battered Toyota Hilux that Rook procured from a logging camp—the armored SUVs are burned, their plates and profiles in every Consortium spotter's hands since the compound. The second vehicle, a diesel Land Cruiser with a cracked windshield and suspect brakes, follows twenty meters back with Bronco behind the wheel and Hammer riding shotgun.

I ride in the Hilux's passenger seat, my M4 across my lap, the barrel resting against the dashboard. Cipher sits in the back, his left hand scrolling data on a tablet, his right pressing a comm earpiece deeper into his ear.