Chapter 41 A Trail Of Smoke
Mark’s POV
“Then we burn the city until we find her.”
My voice came out low, cold, final , the kind of tone that made even Collins pause halfway through his report.
The air in my office was thick with caffeine, fear, and the faint hum of servers running nonstop for forty-eight hours.
“Sir,” Collins began, shifting uncomfortably.
“The signal went dark just outside Atlanta. The last ping was from an old warehouse near the freight line. Nothing since.”
I didn’t move. My eyes stayed on the glowing red dot frozen on the map.
That tiny pulse; Becca’s tracker had been the only proof she was still breathing.
And now it is gone.
The chair screeched as I stood. “Get the team ready. Off-grid.”
Collins nodded immediately and left the room.
I dragged a hand down my face, feeling the rough edge of sleeplessness scrape against my skin.
My desk looked like a crime scene; half-empty coffee cups, printouts, and photos of Becca.
Every second without her gnawing at my control.
A soft knock followed. Olivia stepped in, her expression cautious, almost pleading. She looked different now , stripped of her usual confidence, guilt settling like ash over her sharp features.
“I can help,” she said quietly.
I didn't respond immediately.
“I still have access to the CCTV footage of that area,” she pressed.
“If you want it,I could get it and we might know if she moved in there. You won’t find her without it,”
I turned to face her. “What makes you think that I would accept your help,”
Her jaw tightened. “No. I’m trying to make it right.”
I stepped closer until she had to tilt her chin up to meet my eyes. “Olivia, if you betray me again,” My voice was steel now. “...I’ll end everything you built. Your name, your career, your freedom. You understand?”
She nodded once. “Perfect,”
“Good,” I said. “Then work.”
She slipped past me, heading for the console near the window. I watched her fingers move fast over the keys, decrypting layers of code while the storm outside rattled the glass.
For a moment, I almost admired her focus. Then I remembered the price of trusting her before, the price it had cost.
The door burst open.
Collins returned, flanked by two men I hadn’t seen in years , Willian and Drek, both from my old unit.
Their presence snapped something awake in me.
“Ready to move,” Collins said. “We’ve scrubbed all digital trails. No one knows this operation exists.”
“Perfect.” I grabbed my jacket, sliding the gun holster back into place. The weight of it against my ribs felt like an anchor. “We are leaving now.”
Olivia turned in her chair. “I’ll send footage to your comm as soon as I finish the decryption.”
I gave her a long look. “You should tell the truth this time.”
Then I was gone.
The rain hadn’t stopped when we hit the outskirts of Atlanta.
The day pressed heavy against the horizon, black smoke bleeding into gray clouds as the SUV roared down the dirt road.
“Warehouse is three clicks ahead,” Drek muttered, checking his tablet.
“The thermal scan shows no movement inside. But it’s… weirdly warm. Could it be a generator running?”
“Or a trap,” William added.
I stared through the windshield, the reflection of the dashboard lights cutting through my face.
“Move quiet,” I said, my voice low but sharp enough to cut through the rain. “No calls. No chatter. We walk in silence.”
The SUVs rolled to a stop about a hundred meters from the warehouse.
The world beyond the windshield looked gutted like steel ribs sticking through what used to be walls, windows shattered into jagged teeth.
Wind screamed through the holes in the roof, dragging with it the sour tang of burnt metal.
I stepped out first. The rain clung to my face, cold, deliberate.
Every sound was too loud, the gravel crunching under boots, the metallic groan of a loose beam, the slow, pulsing thud of blood in my ears.
“Clear the north wing,” I said quietly. “Collins, you're with me.”
The side door gave way at one twitch .
My flashlight sliced through it, beam shaking slightly as it caught streaks across the floor, thin, uneven lines that weren’t random.
There were drag marks and bloodstains.
“Someone fought here,” Collins muttered.
“Not long ago.” I crouched, touched the stain with two fingers. It was still damp.
A clang echoed from deeper inside. Both of us froze. I motioned with two fingers, left, flank. Collins nodded, gun ready.
Something moved fast in the dark. A shape.
Humans.
It was one before the light hit.
“Stop!” My voice cracked through the silence, echoing too loud, too late.
Only footsteps answered, retreating, deliberate, swallowed by shadow.
We followed.
The smell of rust blended with something else, something human.
Then I saw it.
Her necklace.
Half-buried under ash near a collapsed beam, the chain broken, the heart pendant bent at the edge.
Everything else disappeared: the rain, the noise, the men behind me.
It was just that necklace and the silence pressing down like a fist.
Collins spoke softly, as if afraid to break the air. “Sir… that’s hers.”
I picked it up. The metal was cold, but warm in my palm, and something inside my chest burned hot enough to hurt.
She’d been here. She’d fought. And she’d bled for it.
My hand shook. I tightened my grip until pain steadied me.
“Search everything,” I said. “They wouldn’t leave without a mark.”
They began to search, some minutes dragged on.
Then Collins called out, “I have found something.”
He held up a small black tag sleek, with the Davenport insignia etched like a scar.
“Vault 17,” he said.
My heart went still.
That was Davenport's ghost house.
It was a place no one makes alive. Well that was up to gray, because I was going to get my Becca out.
I slipped the tag into my pocket, fingers brushing the necklace again.