CHAPTER 252: TWO HOURS

By the time we hauled ourselves to the riverbank, my lungs were fire. We regrouped on a slick rock in the forest, bodies hunched and shivering. One of my men pressed a canteen into my hand, another ran to find more fresh water.

I stripped off my torn white shirt without thinking—no room for ceremony—and tore a length to bind Cameron’s thigh where the wound bled hot and fast. The cloth soaked through too quickly. He tried to sit up, then sagged. Finn, pale and efficient, knelt and pressed where I had tied, tightening knots with his hands.

One of the runners returned, breathless. "Boss—our vehicle... left two. We can move when the sky is darker. Two hours. No eyes on us right now."

Two hours. Two hours to stage, to rest, to not let panic make decisions. Two hours to hunt.

"Boss," Gray’s voice cut through, sharp. He crouched in front of me, eyes narrowing. "You’re bleeding. Head and hand."

I pressed my fingertips to the edge of my vision and felt a smear of warmth there. I hadn’t noticed. Running out of a window, the jump—the world had been an instrument and I, a blunt thing. Gray peeled my palm back. A crescent of blistered skin, a burn blackening the surface at the heel of my hand.

Before I could wave him off, he moved to my back, horror darkening his features. His gaze dragged to my back.

"Boss... don’t move."

"What is it?" My tone came out harsher than I intended.

"There’s wood—glass. Burnt skin. It’s bad."

I tried to turn, but a white-hot knife drove through my shoulder blade, halting me. I gritted my teeth and felt sweat immediately prickle my forehead, despite the frigid air.

"Get it out, Gray. Now."

Gray’s face was pale beneath the dirt. He didn’t argue. He pulled a sterile pad and a pair of small, silver tweezers from a waterproof pouch on his hip—part of the emergency kit he always carried. He pressed the pad roughly against the wound cluster on my back, and I inhaled a sharp, ragged breath, refusing to make a sound.

"Boss, I need you to hold still, or you’re going to pass out," Gray muttered, his voice clinical, focusing on the mechanics. "Shrapnel is deep. I can see a piece of what looks like siding, maybe six inches long, angled under the scapula. If I pull this wrong, it’ll rip muscle."

"Then pull it right," I spat. The air suddenly tasted metallic, the smell of burnt fabric and my own scorched flesh overwhelming the scent of damp earth.

Beside me, Finn was still supporting Cameron, whose color had deteriorated further. Cameron watched the agonizing process, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Cameron," I forced out, ignoring the sting of Gray’s careful initial probe. "The basement entrance. Be specific. Where on the ground floor?"

Cameron blinked, dragged himself back from the edge of shock, and focused on the task. "North wall. Behind the boiler room entrance. It wasn’t a standard security door. Steel, military grade."

Gray’s hand clamped down hard on my shoulder. "Deep breath, Boss. Pulling the large piece now."

I clenched my fists until my fingernails dug crescents into my already burned palm. The pain was immediate, blinding, and visceral, like being filleted while alive. I felt the tearing vibration as Gray dragged the jagged piece of scorched wood free.

I sagged forward, only catching myself by bracing my hands against the wet rock. The world swam for a moment—a dazzling cloud of white and red.

"Stop," I whispered, rubbing the grit from my eyes.

"No, Boss. Infection will set in fast. We have to flush it." Gray poured the meager contents of a second canteen over my back. The water was shockingly cold, mixing with the heat of the trauma. I trembled violently, the shiver unrelated to the river’s icy temperature.

"Location," I repeated, pulling myself upright, resisting the urge to collapse. "They’ll move them again if they think we survived. We have two hours before we can move the team. Where does that secondary location lead, Cameron? Did you hear anything about the structure?"

Cameron shook his head weakly. "No names. But the facility manager, before we silenced him, mentioned the warehouse was built on top of a 1940s-era sewage pump station. Deep bedrock foundation."

That was something. Old pump stations meant tunnels, reinforced concrete, and multiple hidden access points.

Gray, breathing heavily from the strain, quickly applied a thick layer of antiseptic paste salvaged from the kit over the angry, weeping wounds. He slapped a bulky pressure dressing over the cluster of burns and shrapnel holes.

"You have a concussion, too, Boss. Minimum," Gray stated, fastening the dressing with rough efficiency. "And those burns on your hand need better attention than I can give them here. You’re running high risk of shock."

I took the canteen he offered, rinsing my mouth and spitting out the foul river water. The adrenaline was stabilizing, settling from a roaring riot into a cold, steady hum.

"The risk assessment is secondary right now," I bit out. "Finn, take point. Two hours is our window. We need to be on the move exactly at 0300. Gray, stabilize Cameron. Give him everything we have for the pain. He travels light, but he travels."

I scanned the remaining men. We were eight now, down from twelve. Disoriented, bruised, and bleeding, but their eyes held the same grim determination. Four names already carved into the silence. I’d carry them with me — if we made it out.

"We need eyes on that north wall," I continued, my voice low but carrying absolute authority. "The structure is compromised, but the basement door is likely still intact. They will be using the tunnels to move the asset either further underground or to the extraction point."

"Reyes. Kael." My gaze snapped to the two quiet operatives leaning against a moss-covered boulder, their exhaustion masked by training. "You’re ghosts. You move now. Stay off the main paths. I need visual confirmation on the north wall entrance. What kind of security screen is running? How many eyes, how many thermal signatures. Do not engage. If they see you, you are compromised. If you hear movement in the tunnel, chart the direction. Two hours. Be back here at 0245."

Reyes nodded once, silent. Kael checked the suppressor on his rifle. They melted into the dense foliage bordering the river, their specialized camo instantly swallowing them into the shadows.