Page 89 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Aponi

T he rotors whipped the air into a frenzy as the blacked-out helicopter touched down two miles outside the perimeter.

We moved fast—no lights, no communication chatter, just hand signals and the pounding thrum of adrenaline in my veins. Every step I took down that rocky slope was familiar and foreign all at once. Like muscle memory wrapped in ghosts.

Tag flanked me, his rifle cradled to his chest, eyes scanning the ridge. His presence grounded me. We weren’t walking into the dark alone.

Faron, Raven, and Gideon fanned out behind us, eyes alert. Gage and Cyclone guarded the helicopter, ready for extraction. Kaylie stayed back at the ops site, feeding satellite sweeps and watching every pulse of data like her life depended on it.

Because it did.

Because all of ours did.

We reached the switchback. Just like I remembered—crumbling asphalt, green sign dangling on one bent screw. The bullet holes were still there, rusted over like scars.

I crouched beside the edge of the road, traced my gloved fingers across the dirt. “This is it. Compound’s half a mile down. Keep low. They won’t see us until we’re past the tree line.”

Tag knelt beside me, eyes locked on mine. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” I said. “They trained me to come in this way.”

The irony wasn’t lost on me—using the path they taught me to destroy the home they built.

We moved through the brush like shadows, silent and precise. As we neared the clearing, I could see the faint outline of the tower—just like before. But something was different.

The camp had grown.

More buildings. More guards.

And in the center, floodlights pointed inward toward a small fenced enclosure.

Three girls.

Younger than I’d been. All barefoot. One was crying.

My stomach twisted.

Tag signaled stop. We ducked behind a rock outcrop, watching the pattern of the guards. Two by the tower. One pacing by the cage. Another on a roof with a rifle.

I pulled the rough sketch from my vest pocket—my original map from memory. There had been a hidden crawlspace under the mess hall. If they hadn’t sealed it up, it could get us into the core building undetected.

Faron nodded. “We split. Raven and I take the tower and watch from above. You, Tag, and Gideon go for the crawlspace.”

Tag looked at me. “You good?”

I nodded. “Let’s burn this place to the ground.”

We moved.

Tag and I crept along the side of the mess hall—Gideon providing cover with a silenced pistol, taking out a guard who never saw him coming.

I dropped to the ground and peeled back the old sheet of aluminum siding.

The crawlspace was still there. Smaller than I remembered. Dirt and spiders and old pipes.

“I’ll go first,” I whispered.

Tag shook his head. “No way.”

“I know the way. I’ll signal you when it’s clear.”

He looked like he wanted to argue—but he trusted me. So he nodded once.

I slid inside, heart pounding, crawling through the narrow space. It smelled like rust and old sweat, like the past trying to pull me under. But I didn’t stop.

At the end, I popped the hidden hatch. Peeked through.

Bingo.

Main hallway. Empty. Surveillance room ten feet to the left.

I tapped twice on the pipe.

Tag followed, then Gideon. The three of us slipped out and breached the hallway.

I hit the door to the surveillance room and moved in fast, gun drawn. The guard turned—too slow.

I dropped him with one shot.

Gideon moved to the control board. “Looping the feeds. We’ve got fifteen minutes before the next security sweep notices.”

I nodded and turned to Tag. “Let’s get those girls.”