ICU — Elijah Greyhawk
The morning light was softer today, filtered through thin clouds that muted the room into a quiet gray. Elijah sat in the same chair, posture rigid, Chet’s hand cradled in his own.
Chet’s breathing was steadier. His eyelids fluttered occasionally — small, uneven movements that made Elijah sit up straighter every time.
A nurse entered quietly. “He’s showing more consistent responsiveness,” she said. “That’s a good sign.”
Elijah nodded, brushing a thumb across Chet’s knuckles. “He said my name again.”
The nurse smiled softly. “He knows you’re here.”
Elijah didn’t look away from Chet. “I’m not leaving him.”
The nurse didn’t argue. She left the room quietly. Chet’s fingers twitched again — faint, searching.
Elijah leaned forward. “I’m right here,” he whispered. “Just keep fighting.”
###
Operations Center — Leah Gagnon
Leah stood in front of the large digital map, arms crossed, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion pulling at her features. The northern region contained many markers representing potential sites, abandoned structures, private leases, and off-grid facilities.
Marianne approached with a tablet. “We’ve eliminated the mining camps. Too much activity. Too many people.”
Leah nodded. “What about the research stations?”
“Most are inactive,” Marianne said. “But one shows intermittent power spikes.”
Leah zoomed in. “This one?”
“Yeah,” Marianne said. “Old weather station. Decommissioned. But someone’s been drawing power.”
Leah frowned. “Not enough to run a full facility.”
“No,” Marianne agreed. “But enough to keep someone alive.”
Leah’s stomach tightened. “Hale.”
Marianne nodded. “Fits his pattern.”
Leah tapped the screen. “We need to confirm.”
Evan joined them. “Thermal scans show a single heat signature. Stationary.”
Leah stiffened. “Stationary, how?”
“Not moving,” Evan said. “At all.”
Leah exchanged a look with Marianne. Hayes entered the room, boots heavy on the floor. “What do we have?”
Leah pointed to the screen. “A site with intermittent power. One heat signature. Remote. Off‑grid.”
Hayes studied the data. “Not Bergmann’s profile.”
“No,” Leah said. “But it matches Hale.”
Hayes nodded slowly. “Then that’s our next move.”
###
Federal Holding Facility — Kline
Kline sat in the interview room, posture rigid, eyes fixed on the wall. The evaluator entered, closing the door behind him.
“Dr. Kline,” he said, “we need to revisit your earlier statement.”
Kline didn’t respond.
“You said we’d find the wrong site first.”
Kline’s jaw tightened. “I said nothing.”
“You did,” the evaluator said. “And we need to know what you meant.”
Kline’s eyes flicked — irritation, then calculation. “You’re wasting your time,” he hissed. “You’re chasing shadows.”
“Whose shadows?”
Kline didn’t answer. But the silence was enough.
###
ICU — Elijah Greyhawk
Chet’s eyelids fluttered again — longer this time, more deliberate. Elijah leaned forward, heart pounding.
“Chet? Hey. I’m here.”
Chet’s lips parted, a faint sound escaping. “Elijah…”
Elijah squeezed his hand gently. “Yeah. I’m right here.”
Chet’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. Then he slipped back into stillness. Elijah exhaled shakily.
“You’re coming back,” he whispered. “I know you are.”
###
Operations Center — Carter Hayes
The room felt tighter than usual, the air thick with urgency. Satellite images glowed across the main screen, the northern region marked with red indicators. Hayes stood at the head of the table, jaw set, hands braced on the edge.
“This is our best lead,” he said. “We move on it.”
Leah nodded, tapping the intermittent power readings on her tablet. “The spikes are irregular but consistent. Someone’s maintaining minimal systems.”
Eliza crossed her arms. “And the thermal signature hasn’t moved in hours.”
Hayes frowned. “Meaning?”
Marianne suggested that whomever the occupants were that they could be asleep, injured, or restrained.
Hayes’ jaw tightened. “Hale doesn’t restrain himself.”
Leah looked up. “Which means someone else did.”
The room fell still. Hayes straightened. “We’re not waiting. We deploy a small team. Quiet insertion. No assumptions.”
Evan cleared his throat. “Weather’s clear for the next twelve hours. After that, a storm system moves in.”
Hayes nodded. “Then we move now.”
Leah hesitated. “Before we do—what about jurisdiction?”
Hayes exhaled. “Handled.”
Eliza asked, "Handled for us tribal officers as well?"
He pulled a small folder from the table and slid it toward her.
“DHS contacted Ottawa. RCMP National Headquarters approved joint operational support. ‘F’ Division is sending two officers to meet us at the airstrip. They’ll take point once we cross the border.”
Leah’s shoulders eased. “Good. We can’t risk an international incident.”
Marianne nodded. “And it keeps the evidence clean.”
Hayes looked around the room. “We do this by the book. RCMP leads once we’re on Canadian soil. We support.”
Evan smirked faintly. “Nice not to be the ones breaking the rules for once.”
Hayes didn’t smile. “Gear up. We leave in twenty minutes.”
###
ICU — Elijah Greyhawk
Chet’s breathing hitched again — a small, sharp sound that made Elijah sit up straighter. He brushed a hand through Chet’s hair.
“Hey,” he whispered. “I’m here.”
Chet’s eyelids fluttered, then opened a fraction — unfocused, glassy, but open.
Elijah’s breath caught. “That’s it. Come on. Stay with me.”
Chet’s lips parted. A faint, broken sound escaped. “Elijah…?”
Elijah squeezed his hand gently. “Yeah. You’re safe.”
Chet’s eyes drifted closed again, but this time it wasn’t unconsciousness. It was exhaustion.
Healing. Elijah exhaled, relief washing through him.
Elijah didn’t know Hayes was preparing to move on Hale. He didn’t know the RCMP had joined the effort. He didn’t know the next step was already in motion.
All he knew was this: Chet was coming back.
###
Transport Plane — Carter Hayes
The engines hummed steadily as the plane cut through the cold northern air. Hayes sat strapped into the jump seat, gear secured, eyes fixed on the satellite images Leah had sent before they left.
Marianne sat across from him, checking her weapon. “Do you think he’ll run?”
Hayes shook his head. “Hale doesn’t run. He digs in.”
Evan adjusted his headset. “Are we expecting resistance?”
“Not organized,” Hayes said. “But he’s unpredictable. And he’s desperate.”
Leah’s voice crackled through the comms from the operations center. “Thermal scan still shows one heat signature. No movement.”
Hayes frowned. “Not moving at all?”
“No,” Leah said. “Not for the last hour.”
Marianne stiffened. “Dead?”
Hayes shook his head. “Hale doesn’t die quietly.”
The plane dipped lower. Hayes tightened his harness.
“RCMP officers will meet you on the ground,” Leah added. “They’ll take jurisdiction once you land.”
“Copy,” Hayes said. “We’ll coordinate.”
He looked at his team. “Gear up,” he said. “We’re going in.”
###
Operations Center — Leah Gagnon
Leah watched the telemetry update on the screen as the transport plane descended toward the remote site. She exhaled slowly. One step closer. But not to Bergmann. Not yet.
This was the step before that and was necessary. The one would remove Hale from the board. And that would open the door to what lies ahead.