Page 36 of Damian
43
Damian
Cyclone’s fingers flew across the keys, the glow of the laptop painting his face in blue. “Got it,” he muttered. “She sent coordinates. Remote storage facility, a couple of miles off the interstate. Nobody goes out there unless they’ve got something to hide.”
River leaned over his shoulder. “Or unless they’re trying to bait us.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. My voice came out harder than I meant, but I didn’t care. “If it’s her, if Morgan’s pointing us there—we follow. So we can keep her off the damn computer.”
Roger nodded once, clipped. “Load up.”
The drive was tense, headlights carving through dark stretches of road. None of us spoke much. My chest felt tight the whole way, the silence filled with things I didn’t want to admit—that I trusted Morgan more than I trusted our intel, that I’d follow her breadcrumbs into hell itself if it meant keeping her safe.
The facility was quiet when we arrived. Too quiet. Chain-link fencing, rusted gates, rows of corrugated steel doors.Cyclone pulled up the feed from a traffic cam half a mile away. “A van pulled in here less than twenty-four hours ago. No record of it leaving.”
River smirked, adrenaline sparking in his eyes. “Now that’s promising. Should we call the authorities?”
We swept the rows, boots crunching over gravel. Nothing moved but shadows and the wind. But then—Cyclone crouched near a unit, his flashlight beam catching on the lock.
“Fresh cut,” he whispered. “Someone’s been here. No time to call the authorities.”
My pulse kicked harder. Morgan’s breadcrumb wasn’t a wild guess—she was right.
Inside, the unit was empty except for a single crate shoved against the wall. Roger pried it open, revealing… nothing. Straw padding. No weapons. No product. Just space where something had been.
River cursed. “They’re always a step ahead.”
Cyclone’s laptop beeped suddenly, shrill in the quiet. His head snapped down, eyes narrowing as he scanned the new feed. Then his mouth pulled into a frown I didn’t like.
“She’s at it again,” he said. “Another breadcrumb. Different coordinates. It’s like she knows we’d find this place stripped.”
I stared at him, heat crawling up my spine. This is way too dangerous for her.”
44
Morgan
The cottage was quiet. Ruby was sleeping down the hall. She slept with nightmares every night, and I should’ve let myself sleep. But I couldn’t. My mind wouldn’t stop turning.
I sat at my desk, recorder beside me, my laptop glowing faintly in the dark. Every note I’d taken, every word I’d recorded, every hunch I couldn’t ignore—they all tangled together, pointing at places the guys hadn’t looked yet.
And if I’d learned one thing from them, it was that hesitation could cost lives.
I traced the keyboard with trembling fingers. Cyclone would see the patterns if anyone did. He was too sharp to miss them. I’d hidden the coordinates in the data stream, folded into noise that would look like nothing to anyone else. To him, though—it would stand out.
I pressed enter, sending the second breadcrumb into the void. My chest tightened as I whispered to the silence, “Please. Please see this. Please trust me.”
The recorder sat waiting on the desk, its red lightblinking like it knew my secret. My words had always been for me, but now? Now they were for them. For him.
For Damian.
45
Damian
The second breadcrumb led us to the outskirts of an old industrial park. Cyclone swore the timing lined up with chatter he’d intercepted—something big moving through here. But before we rolled out, he turned from his laptop with a look that said he had more on his mind than data.
“You know what’s been bugging me?” he asked.
