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I connect the transmitter to the relay's input. "Once I activate this, how long before Unity can trace the signal?"

"Three minutes, maybe four. Depends on how close their nearest monitoring station is."

"And how long to complete the transmission?"

"Two minutes minimum." His eyes meet mine. "It'll be close."

I take a deep breath, finger hovering over the activation switch. "Cutting it fine seems to be our specialty lately."

His expression softens momentarily. "We've faced worse odds."

"Have we?"

"Containment breach in Eastern Arcology. Rogue drone swarm in Maintenance Sector 12." A ghost of a smile appears. "That time you decided to improvise during the Chancellor's inspection."

The shared memories trigger an unexpected warmth. "You were so mad."

"I was terrified," he corrects quietly. "You took an unnecessary risk."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"That's not the point." His eyes hold mine. "I've never liked watching you in danger, Zara. Even when it was just standard missions."

The simple honesty catches me off guard. Before I can respond, Vex returns, tension radiating from him.

"We've got company," he announces. "Unity transport, one kilometer east and moving this direction."

"How many?" Trent asks, immediately alert.

"Full extraction team. Eight operators, heavy equipment." Vex's eyes narrow. "They're moving with purpose. Someone tipped them to this location."

My stomach drops. "The relay station is compromised?"

"Possibly," Trent says, moving to check surveillance feeds. "Or they've detected our approach and are converging on our last known position."

"Either way, we need to transmit now," I insist.

Trent nods grimly. "Do it. Vex and I will prepare defensive positions."

As they move to secure the small building, I activate the transmitter. The screen lights up with Reid's preprogrammed message—a complex sequence of genetic markers that only other Haven children would recognize, warning them of Unity's hunt and providing instructions for contacting the sympathizer network.

The transmission bar inches forward agonizingly slowly.

"Status?" Trent calls from the window where he's positioned.

"Thirty percent complete."

"Transport has stopped half a kilometer out," Vex reports. "They're deploying ground teams."

"Standard containment formation," Trent confirms. "They'll establish a perimeter before moving in."

"How long?" I ask, watching the transmission creep to forty percent.

"Five minutes, maybe six."

"Transmission needs four more minutes minimum."

Vex moves to another window, checking sightlines. "Once they detect the active signal, that timeline shrinks considerably."