Sloane takes it from me gently, reading the words with a sharp intake of breath. Her fingers trace the ink like she's gathering evidence. She lifts it to her nose, testing.
"It's blood."
The word ignites something primal in my skull. I spin through the space, my mind clicking snapshots like evidence markers, each detail screaming louder than the last.
Rope fibers on the chair legs. Fresh cuts.
Empty cans in the corner. Recently opened.
Boot prints in the dust—heavy, deliberate.
Military issue. Size twelve.
This was his hideout.
His staging ground.
And we missed it.
The realization burns like acid in my throat. I should have known. Should have checked here first. Should have?—
My fist connects with the wall before I can finish the thought. Pain shoots up my arm, but I barely feel it.
All I see is Lucia's face.
All I hear is Rosa's voice when she trusted us to keep her safe.
Sloane moves through the space like a crime scene photographer—documenting details, analyzing patterns, building a profile in real time. Her eyes miss nothing.
But Granger's too good.
Too clean.
Toometiculous.
He's been planning this longer than we realized.
My comm crackles. "Logan."
Asa's voice is strange. Tight.
"Report."
"We just got a flagged packet. Echo-13 frequency."
My blood runs cold.
Only one man will use that frequency now.
"What kind of packet?"
"Heavy encryption. Multiple layers. Buried in a dummy file masquerading as boot firmware."
My jaw clenches. "Can you crack it?"
"Not me."
"Then who?"
