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“Let’s go,” Raul says, rising from his seat.

“Hold on,” Helena raises a hand. “It’s Saturday. It’s likely crawling with people. What are you going to do, waltz up and ask for a tour?”

“She’s got a point,” Sam mutters. “Middle of the day’s the worst time for stealth.”

“Why would anyone build a lab out here in the first place?” I ask. “It doesn’t make any sense to build something so far off the grid. That isn’t exactly prime real estate.”

She exhales slowly, eyes meeting mine.

“It could be legitimate,” she says. “Cheap land, maybe—but one way or another, I’ve got a bad feeling. And I trust my instincts. Be careful tonight.”

I nod, but there’s a stone in my gut. Helena knows something. She’s not saying all she knows—she never does—but I sense her unease. Whatever she suspects, it’s unfortunately big enough to cancel my date with Stacy. I pull out my phone and text her.

Hey, girl. I’m sorry, but I can’t make it tonight. Pack business. Hope you understand.

Her reply comes fast.

I’d understand if you told me what it was.

I can’t do this over the phone. Again, I’m sorry.

Whatever. Call me when you’re done with “pack” business.

I close my eyes and sigh. Her anger hits, but I can’t blame her. I bled for this shot. Lifted that damn trunk. And now I’m pulling the ripcord at the last minute. But this is bigger than one night. I’m a lieutenant. This is my duty.

Frowning at my phone I shake my head and slide it into my pocket. She’ll have to understand. This is what life together would be like if we made it work.

Which does nothing to ease the pit in my stomach. I’m putting any chance of an ‘us’ at risk, but this isn’t a choice, this is my duty.

We move under cover of darkness, leaving Dawson on foot. The forest swallows our footsteps, thick with shadows and the hush of nocturnal life. Pickups and bikes are too loud, too obvious. Shifting would be faster—but the noise, the scent trails, the stirred-up dust make it too risky.

Recon only. Raul drilled it into us all day.

We move in silence, every sense stretched tight. For over an hour we push through dense trees and underbrush, alert for anything—lights, voices, movement. The forest remains still. The rustle of leaves, distant owl cries, and the soft thrum of nature continues as expected.

Then we see it—trash. Soda cans, plastic wrappers, straws half-buried in the dirt. Human fingerprints on the land.

We follow the clearly laid trail, my gut tightening with every step. When we crest the last ridge, the structure comes into view.It juts from the forest like a scar—angular, raw concrete and unfinished steel.

“Come on,” Raul orders, taking the first step toward it.

Tall windows line both floors, and a glass entrance gleams in the moonlight. We pass wire fencing ready to be installed piled along the perimeter. Rolls of it stacked like coiled serpents, waiting to strike.

“They’re planning to keep people out,” Sam murmurs.

Raul kneels beside a coil, peering closer.

“No…I think they’re trying to keep someone in,” he says.

“Barbed wire,” I whisper, my stomach twisting. “What the hell are they building out here?”

“Not a prison,” Raul says, shaking his head. “Too small. Not enough cement. No interior cells. Let’s take a look inside.”

The structure looms like a threat, casting deep shadows as we approach. My boots crunch over gravel and loose debris. The door isn’t locked so we step through. Inside is a glass box of a room labeledReception.

Raul heads towards the stairs while Sam and I explore the bottom floor. It’s an open space. The air is stale and thick with dust. Moonlight comes through the windows illuminating a marble floor. On the far wall is the gleam of computer towers.

“Not exactly a prison,” I mutter. “Unless the inmates are hardcore gamers.”