Page 96 of Knight

There’s an SUV outside the building when we finally leave the apartment. The vehicle screams government issue, but the plates are civilian. Another layer of planning I'm learning to expect from these men.

Rook takes the front passenger seat while I slide into the back with Knight. The interior smells of leather and gun oil. My tactical vest catches on the seatbelt as I try to secure it. Knight reaches across to help without saying a word.

“Everyone ready?”

At our nods, Bishop starts the car. He drives through the city with the same control I've noticed in everything they do. No sudden movements. No unnecessary risks. Just smooth progress toward our target.

The longer we’re in the car, the more my hands shake. I clench my fingers in my lap, focusing on my breathing. In through the nose, hold, then out through the mouth. The rhythm helps a little, but anxiety still claws at my chest.

"We’re five minutes out." Bishop's voice breaks the silence. "Everyone clear on the approach?"

"North entrance during shift change." Knight checks something on his phone. "Three-minute window while cameras reset. I’ll disable the security hub while you two handle any patrols."

The facility appears in the distance—a dark shape against a slowly lightening sky. Bishop parks in the shadow of abandonedindustrial buildings, far enough away to avoid security sweeps but close enough for quick access if we need to leave in a hurry.

"One last comms check." Rook's voice carries a calm authority that somehow makes everything we’re about to do seem less impossible. "Sound off."

We each confirm our connections work. The reassuring presence of Knight's voice in my ear helps steady my nerves. This is really happening. We're really about to breach a military-grade facility on the chance my brother might be inside.

"Remember." Knight turns to face me, his expression intense in the dim light. "Stay behind me. Move when I move. Stop when I stop. No hesitation. Ready?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. His hand finds mine in the darkness, squeezing once before releasing. The gesture steadies me more than it should.

Bishop kills the engine, and the sudden silence amps up my nerves. This is my last chance to back out. To decide this is too risky. To admit we might be walking into a trap we can't escape.

Instead, I follow their lead, and exit the car. We have less than an hour before the sun ruins any chance of surprise.

My brother could be in there. Somewhere behind those walls and security systems, Michael needs our help. That thought keeps me moving forward, following the three men toward the facility's perimeter.

Time to find out if all the planning has paid off, or if we're about to make the biggest mistake of our lives.

I really hope it's the former, because I don't think we'll survive the latter.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Knight

The facility’ssecurity drill provides perfect cover as we approach through the predawn darkness. Every guard is locked into their protocols, movements as predictable as clockwork. My tablet displays the cycling camera feeds—just as expected. Yet something feels off. Drills create routines, but they also sharpen awareness. One mistake, and this whole operation blows up in our faces.

“Drill team moving to sector four,” Bishop’s voice crackles in my earpiece. "Two guards are by the east entrance, three moving north.”

Eva's breathing is quiet but fast-paced behind me. Her presence complicates things, but I’d vouched for her to my brothers. There’s no point second-guessing now.

Sweat beads along my spine despite the chill. The facility looms ahead, its security lights casting jagged shadows across the grounds. Perfect cover—unless someone decides to get curious.

Rook signals from his position near the perimeter fence.

Three fingers.

Two.

One.

The north entrance cameras pivot away for their reset, giving us exactly three minutes. My fingers fly across the access panel, bypassing the lock while the guards stick to their drill. One wrong code, and every alarm in the facility screams. The soft click as the door yields feels deafening.

"Clear." I guide Eva inside, every step planned to avoid detection. The interior hallways stretch ahead, lit by bright overhead lighting strips. The air reeks of industrial cleaner and the artificial hum of electronics—a facility pretending to be legitimate.

A guard's radio crackles somewhere to our left, the sound bouncing off concrete walls. Eva tenses, but stays silent as we press against the wall. My pulse kicks up, blood roaring in my ears. Inside, sound bends in strange ways, twisting distance into something impossible to judge. The static fades, blending into the monotonous backdrop of the drill.

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