Page 10 of Hollow Trace

Darkness engulfed the forest, the temperature dropping several degrees, condensing each breath into a puff of white mist around her face. Fog threaded through the understory, the tendrils curling around the low hanging branches as the first drops of rain splattered off the large maple leaves.

Scout kept them on track, pausing every few minutes to judge her line — follow the map she’d memorized in the Jeep. Quinn stayed close, his meager light brightening the trail enough she didn’t trip, looking as if he planned on tackling her at the first sign of trouble. He didn’t make a sound, weaving through the deadfall and ferns like a ghost.

Pride warmed her chest, his sheer presence calming the part of her that never quieted. That had been in a constant state of flux since they’d burst into Gus’ cabin carrying Kane that first night.

The part that belonged to Quinn.

Crickets kicked up a chorus around them, a few bats darting through the branches as they climbed over a short rise, closed in on a small clearing in a thicket of old-growth Sitka spruce.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, the previous din cutting off, plunging the area into an unnatural quiet.

Quinn moved in behind her, joining her when she crouched at the edge of the glade. He flicked off his light, staring into the surrounding ferns and trees as if he saw something she didn’t. She waited, that uneasy feeling pressing on her shoulders, before scanning the area with her scope. Nothing moved, just the fog slowly curling through the underbrush, the rain falling between the branches, each drop silenced by the carpet of spongy moss and needles covering the ground.

“Shit.” Quinn removed his scope from his left eye. “Ten o’clock. There’s something in the mud. Looks like a body.”

Scout gripped his wrist, stopping him from bolting. “It could be a trap.”

“And it could be Brea.”

“Which is why we go together. Coulter. Contact, ten o’clock. We’re moving.”

A quick scan of the area, then she crept out, Quinn on her six, his presence like a physical brand against her skin. She stayed low, used the larger branches and fern-choked forest floor for cover, constantly checking the surrounding sight lines as she closed in on the location. A pair of runners appeared amidst the shadows, a man’s heavily muscled frame face-down in the muck.

Quinn’s breathing audibly changed, leveling out as he bent low, checked for a pulse. “Nothing.”

He swung his weapon around to his back, then flipped the guy over. No bullet wounds, no obvious lacerations, just blood leaking from his eyes and ears, his face twisted in either rage or pain. Scout lifted the man’s shirt, revealed a patchwork of black and purple bruises. What looked like massive internal bleeding despite the lack of any noticeable trauma.

Quinn placed the back of his hand on the man’s forehead. “I swear, he’s got a fever, which doesn’t seem possible considering he’s been dead long enough for some of that blood to dry.”

Coulter swept the tree line, body primed for a fight. “Scout. Check for a watch and a patch.”

She rolled up the guy’s sleeve, revealed a sleek, matte-black watch. Only this looked more like the prototype they’d found a few months ago. A slimmer version of the HELIOS watch Gideon had helped design for the legal side of Hyperion’s company.

Quinn grunted. “No patch, but there’s some sticky residue on his hip. Might be from adhesive.”

Coulter shook his head. “That’s discouraging. Though, if it’s a new way of delivering TITAN, this all makes a lot more sense.”

“TITAN?” Quinn glanced at her then back to Coulter. “What the hell is TITAN?”

“It’s that drug Scout mentioned. We intercepted a shipment that contained a watch and several patches, though, they hadn’t been compounded. It’s a bit early to theorize, but it looks like someone’s testing them.”

Quinn was on his feet a heartbeat later, hands fisted at his side, mouth pinched tight. “If Brea’s wearing this TITAN patch, is it killing her, too? Am I already too late?”

“Easy, brother. We have no idea what this is. It could be some new, bastardized version of TITAN or something else, entirely. Was Brea showing any odd symptoms? A fever? Aggression? Suddenly lifting her Jeep without a jack?”

“She was the same person she’s always been. Maybe a bit more energized. Said her runs seemed almost easy, lately. But nothing I’d flag.”

“Then, let’s focus on that. Besides, we don’t even know if she’s part of whatever this is. I’ll call…”

Scout sensed the air shift just as Coulter turned, rifle notched in his shoulder, sights focused behind them. She matched his stance, ready to fire when Neve emerged from the forest, hair dripping from the rain, carbine at the ready. Wynn and Zadie spread out behind her, gazes searching the tree line, weapons raised.

Neve cocked an eyebrow, pausing on Quinn long enough to rake her gaze up and down him a few times before landing on Coulter. “You know, if you guys had waited at the Jeep, things wouldn’t be awkward now.”

Coulter lowered his weapon, half his focus on the surrounding trees. “Talk to the Mountie.”

Neve looked at Scout, then over to Quinn. “Nice to finally meet you, Corporal Taylor. I’m Neve⁠—”

“Monroe.” Quinn looked behind her. “And you’re Zadie Noor and Wynn Whitmore. All looking remarkably well for being dead.”