Chapter Fifty-Four: Carol's POV
I took the driver's seat, Marcus in the passenger seat—he had more experience, could discuss situations on the road.
Leon and Derek sat in the back, not interfering with our conversation but able to hear everything they needed to.
Marcus had already pulled up the map on the tablet, overlaying the patrol routes and rogue activity areas, making everything clear.
The engine roared to life. I started the car and drove out of the garage, heading west toward the coast.
I drove fast but not recklessly, afraid of an accident that would delay the rescue.
Marcus was relaxed. He trusted my driving, or maybe didn't but it was too late now.
We drove west, the city lights gradually disappearing behind us.
In their place was the primeval forest that predated human settlement, dark and impenetrable.
The scent of salt began drifting through the vents, mixed with pine and earth.
I realized this was exactly the kind of wild place where rogues could hide for years, and my chest tightened.
The curve ahead was swallowed by darkness. I suddenly thought of those three young wolves.
They might be scared, injured, not knowing if anyone would come save them.
I also thought of Vasquez's warning that this mission might be a trap, either to test me or to eliminate me directly.
And Edmund's appearance, Isabella's unfinished sentence.
If I made one mistake in judgment or action, this rescue could completely fail.
The road continued stretching ahead, like both a promise and a threat. I gripped the steering wheel and kept driving.
What lay ahead would only get harder.
The sky was turning that particular shade of gray-blue before dawn, the light making everything look faded and uncertain.
My hands gripping the steering wheel had stiffened from maintaining this position for six hours, my shoulders tight from the tension, but I couldn't let myself feel tired.
Not yet.
Marcus spread the tracker on his lap, the screen casting a faint green glow on his scarred face.
"First location is two miles ahead," he said, his voice hoarse from not speaking for so long. "Abandoned warehouse complex. Intel says it's been used as a rogue waypoint for the past month."
I nodded, already rehearsing the approach in my mind.
Leon remained silent in the back seat, very steady. Derek kept shifting positions, very nervous.
I looked at him in the rearview mirror, that eagerness to prove himself—I was too familiar with it. Eight years ago after Simon pulled me out of that casino, this feeling followed me every day.
"Stay alert," I said, turning the car from the main road onto a dirt path almost hidden by overgrown vegetation. "We don't know what we're walking into."
The warehouse was dilapidated—rusted metal walls, broken windows, and weeds growing through cracks, giving the whole place an air of long abandonment. I stopped the car a quarter mile out, then approached on foot. Marcus took point, I walked in the middle, Leon and Derek covering the flanks.
The first building was empty, just some old shipping containers and a heavy smell of rust. The second had cigarette butts, food wrappers, and a sleeping bag, proving someone had been there recently, but no guards, no hostages, no clues.
I was about to signal Marcus to move to the third building when I caught a scent that made me freeze—wolf, fresh, heading toward the perimeter fence.
I raised my fist, and the others immediately stopped. We all crouched down as I focused on tracking that smell through the competing scents of industrial waste and sea salt.
Whoever it was, they were alone, trying to be quiet but not quite succeeding—their footsteps too heavy, breathing too loud.
I moved toward the sound with Derek behind me, leaving Marcus and Leon to cover other approach angles.
The sentinel was young, maybe early twenties, built like someone who'd learned to fight on the streets rather than in a proper training yard.
He was smoking a cigarette and checking his phone, completely unaware he'd just walked into the most dangerous mistake of his life.
When I emerged from the shadows, his hand went for the knife at his belt, but I was already moving, closing the distance before he could draw the blade. My palm struck his solar plexus and he folded with a wheeze, dropping both phone and cigarette. I grabbed his collar and slammed him against the chain-link fence hard enough to rattle the metal but not knock him unconscious. Not yet.
"Where are they?" I asked. As soon as I spoke, that warmth in my chest surged up. I didn't fully understand it, but I'd learned how to use it when I needed quick answers.
I pushed that force toward him, watching his pupils dilate, watching his will to resist collapse bit by bit under the pressure of whatever this thing inside me was. "Tell me where the hostages are."
"Not here." His voice was hollow, like coming from far away. "Cannery. The old fish processing plant, about four miles south."
I held the connection for a few more seconds, making sure he wasn't lying or holding anything back, then released him and watched him slump against the fence. One strike to the side of his neck and he lost consciousness before hitting the ground.
Derek stared at me, his expression complex—somewhere between fear and admiration. I had no time to worry about what he thought.
I crouched down, looking at the sentinel on the ground.
If those in the Council who questioned my methods saw what just happened, I wonder what they'd say.
But I didn't care. As long as I could save those three young people, any method would do.
"Let's go." I stood up, gesturing toward the car. "Cannery. About four miles away."
Marcus nodded, his fingers quickly moving across the tablet, pulling up satellite images. "I know that place. Used to process salmon in the eighties before the industry collapsed. Large building complex, many structures, lots of places to hide or set ambushes. We need to approach carefully."
The cannery was more dilapidated than the previous warehouse, all rusted metal and broken windows.
Six main buildings arranged in a rough semicircle around what was probably once a loading area. From our position on the ridge overlooking the site, I could see two guards at the main entrance, both alert, weapons in hand.
"Marcus, Leon, take the flanks." I stared at the buildings below, quickly calculating angles and timing in my mind. "Derek, you're with me. We go in through that broken ventilation shaft on the east side. Once Marcus and Leon take out the entrance guards, we move to the main building."
Marcus opened his mouth as if wanting to object to me taking the direct route.
But he'd worked with Simon too long and knew when to trust someone else's judgment.
He just nodded and left with Leon.
The two were quickly swallowed by darkness, their movements more like beasts hunting in nature than men—fluid and silent.
I crouched in place waiting, counting the time in my head, observing the patrol pattern of the two guards at the entrance, adjusting my breathing to stay calm.
Derek was right beside me. I could see he was nervous but not fidgeting.
I glanced at him and saw again that eager look from the car. He wanted to prove he deserved to come. Underneath was a bit of fear, but he controlled it with sheer willpower.
The guards fell silently. One second they were standing alert at the entrance, the next they were crumpling to the ground, Marcus and Leon emerging from darkness like ghosts.
I was already moving, Derek matching my pace as we crossed the open ground and slipped through the broken ventilation shaft into the cannery.
The smell hit first—blood, fear, and something else, a rotting smell that turned my stomach.
The main processing floor was like an abandoned industrial cathedral, support columns rising to a ceiling full of holes.
Old machinery rusted into strange shapes, casting eerie shadows.
There, chained to three central columns, were the young wolves we'd come to rescue.
They looked terrible. One was unconscious, head lolling, the other two awake but dazed, blood crusted on faces and arms. The girl had a gash across her temple still seeping blood, the boy's wrist bent at an angle that said it was broken.
When they looked up as we approached, the hope flaring in their eyes was so bright it was almost painful to see.