The rain had stopped, but the air still clung to them like a second skin heavy, wired, too still. Darryl tightened his grip on the radio mic and gave Amara a quick nod as they stood just outside the warehouse compound.

“This it?” he asked, scanning the dim exterior. One rusted loading dock. Faded signage. Blank cameras that looked like they hadn’t worked in years.

“Last GPS ping from Cortez’s burner put him here two nights ago. Power grid shows spikes between 3 and 5 a.m. And I’ve got an encrypted email trace coming out of this address that matches Martel’s back channel.”

“Good enough for me.”

The tactical team filed out of the vans fast and clean no lights, no wasted sound. Kevlar. Night vision. Quiet nods between partners. Everyone felt it.

This wasn’t a bust.

This was a rescue.

Darryl stepped back and let SWAT take lead. A muffled countdown. Then the battering ram hitting the door like a thunderclap.

BOOM.

Steel screamed. Wood cracked. The entry split wide.

“GO! GO! GO!”

Boots flooded the room, slicing through shadow like a tide. Shouts echoed. “Clear left! Clear right!”

The inside was worse than expected clean but wrong. Too clean. Bleach and sawdust and metal. Stainless counters and empty crates. A lab crossed with a butcher’s prep room.

And then one of the SWAT guys shouted.

“Got something! Back wall!”

Darryl pushed through just in time to see two officers pulling a panel off the far side of the room. Behind it: a second door. Thicker. Hidden.

Locked.

“Breach it,” Amara snapped. “Now.”

BOOM.

The second door gave after two hits. The air inside rushed out like it had been holding its breath.

And in the middle of the dark?

A figure.

Slumped. Covered in grime. Blood at the shoulder. But alive.

Bianca.

She blinked up at them slowly, like her mind wasn’t ready to believe what her eyes were seeing.

“You Bianca Payne?” one of the officers asked gently, crouching beside her.

She didn’t speak. Just nodded. Eyes shining. Hands trembling as she reached for something at her neck.