Chapter 17
The drive to the abandoned textile mill was tense and silent. I rode in the passenger seat of Detective Miller’s unmarked SUV, watching the city lights fade into the desolate, pitch-black stretches of the northern highway. The tactical team followed closely behind us in two dark vans.
"We do this strictly by the book, Ethan," Miller warned, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "You stay behind the perimeter line until I give the absolute all-clear. If the suspect is inside and heavily armed, I won't have the manpower to babysit a civilian."
"Understood," I said, checking the medical jump bag sitting at my feet. I had packed it with trauma dressings, emergency oxygen, and pediatric sedation kits.
We turned off the main highway onto a gravel access road that hadn't seen proper maintenance in decades. The dense pine trees formed a dark canopy above us, blocking out the moonlight. A mile down the road, the silhouette of the massive brick mill loomed against the night sky.
It looked exactly like Sam's drawing. The towering brick chimney reached toward the clouds, and every single window on the ground floor had been boarded up with heavy, blackened plywood.
Miller killed the headlights, parking the SUV behind a cluster of trees. The tactical team piled out of the vans silently, moving with practiced, lethal precision. They communicated with sharp hand signals, fanning out to surround the perimeter of the decaying building.
I crouched behind the SUV, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. I remembered the day I found Lily in Clara's basement. The smell of mold, the crushing darkness, the profound sense of despair. I prayed we were not too late.
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Suddenly, the tactical radio on Miller's shoulder hissed. "Team Alpha is at the rear loading dock. We have fresh tire tracks in the mud. The mud is still wet. Someone is inside the building right now."
Miller drew his service weapon. "Breach on three."
