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Leo reached forward, his gloved hand pressed to the surface. He glanced back, eyes meeting each of theirs in turn.

Ready?

She gave a single nod, gun raised, shoulders braced.

Leo pushed and the door spun on a central pivot—like a bank vault—grinding open with a seismic groan. A rush of cold air curled from the dark beyond, metallic and sterile.

But not silence—there was a hum, deep and mechanical, like something vast breathing in the island’s belly.

Leo moved first.

Kat shadowed him, sweeping left. Zak angled right. Fox covered the rear.

No shouting. No shots.

Just the rasp of her breath and the soft shush of boots on smooth floor in the sterile tunnel.

“All clear,” Leo murmured.

Fox exhaled behind her. “Creepy as hell.”

Leo nodded toward the corridor stretching out beyond them. “No time for creepy. Stack up.”

A burst of static buzzed above them. Then a voice—male, British. Almost bored. “Attention all personnel. Broadcast initiation in thirty minutes. All research teams to observation stations.”

Kat’s head jerked.

No. We’re supposed to have three hours.

Leo looked over his shoulder. “They moved up the timeline.”

Zak swore under his breath. “They know we’re here.”

Kat’s heart slammed back into gear.

Thirty minutes.

That was all they had to shut Nightshade down.

The race was on.

43

The air tastedmetallic to Leo, scrubbed clean of the wild salt sting of the cliffs. He took shallow breaths of the recycled air.

Ahead, the corridor split—twin arteries veering off into shadow.

He halted, raised one hand, his jaw flexing as he studied both. Protocol said stay together, but protocol didn’t have a ticking clock. “We split. Fox left. Kat and I’ll take right.”

“Copy that.” Fox moved past him, Zak on his heels. “Watch your six.”

Leo caught Kat’s eye, saw his own urgency reflected there. She gave a sharp nod, and they moved down the right-hand passageway.

Blank doors gave way to something far worse. Glass observation windows punctured the walls at regular intervals, revealing sterile rooms beyond. Hospital beds lined the spaces, their white sheets pulled taut over empty mattresses. IV stands stood like metal sentinels beside each bed, tubes coiled and waiting.

He worked his tongue against the dry roof of his mouth. Where the hell were the patients?

The whisper of voices drifted from ahead. Leo threw up a fist, and Kat froze mid-step behind him. He pressed his body against the cool wall, listening.