The screen goes black, then fills with another encrypted data packet. The location key is scrambled with what looks likemilitary-grade compression code—the kind designed to self-destruct if tampered with incorrectly.
"I can crack this," Asa says, leaning forward. "But it'll take time."
"We don't have time," Logan's voice cuts through the room like a blade.
"There's a bomb," I say quietly, the realization settling into my bones. "Or something worse."
Asa's hands move across the keyboard with practiced precision, his eyes scanning the matrix of code. "He wants you to decode it yourself. I can assist—but he left this for you."
I exhale slowly, trying to center myself.
Sixteen minutes.
That's all we have. Every second feels like a hammer in my skull, but I force my hands to stay steady as I begin typing.
The encryption is like nothing I've ever seen—layers upon layers of interlocking codes, each one referencing something from my past.
Article headlines. Source codenames. Even fragments of interviews I thought were lost to time.
Logan doesn't move from my side as I work.
Not once. His presence anchors me, keeps me from spinning out into panic. Because that's what Granger wants—for fear to make me sloppy, to force a mistake.
At twelve minutes, the first layer finally breaks.
A GPS tag appears: thirty miles north. A derelict firewatch station, decommissioned after the 2014 wildfires. It's perfect—off the main grid, abandoned, forgotten by everyone except those who need somewhere to disappear.
My hands shake slightly as I feed the coordinates to Asa.
"Scramble the uplink," Logan commands. "Isolate it from our network. If he's watching, I don't want him knowing we've found it."
"You think he isn't watching now?" Asa's voice carries a hint of dark humor.
"I'm counting on it," Logan replies, and something in his tone makes me look up.
At thirteen minutes, the final firewall shatters.
A live feed flashes onto the screen—Lucia, still breathing, still tied, the timer now down to 3:58 and counting relentlessly backward.
Logan speaks into his comm unit, his voice carrying the weight of command: "We found her. Coordinates sent."
The response is immediate and unanimous. Every member of the Forge team acknowledges in perfect sync.
No debate. No questions. Just absolute trust and readiness.
I stand, already reaching for my coat, but Logan's hand catches my arm. The touch is gentle but firm.
"I know you want to come," he says softly, "but look at you."
I pause, suddenly aware of my body's betrayal.
My breath comes in ragged gasps. The wound in my thigh throbs with every heartbeat. Sweat plasters my shirt to my skin despite the room's chill.
"You've done the most important work," he continues. "Finding Lucia. Let us handle the rest."
I look at him—really look at him. These aren't the eyes of someone walking away. These are the eyes of someone asking me to trust him the way his team trusts him.
Without question. Without doubt.
