The fluorescent humming of Millie’s Diner overhead suddenly sounded deafening.

The Ford Explorer bounced violently along the overgrown dirt track, its suspension groaning as it plowed through brush and fallen branches.

“Where are we going?” Hannah shouted over the roar of the engine.

“St. Agnes Women’s Clinic,” the scarred agent said, his eyes glued to the dark rearview mirror. “It’s an abandoned medical facility ten miles north. It’s where Elena Vance worked before... before the fire. Jonah left a secure data drop there.”

Hannah remembered the card she had seen fall from Jonah’s wallet weeks ago. St. Agnes Women’s Clinic.

“Why would he go back to a place the syndicate already knows about?” Hannah asked.

“Because the encryption keys aren’t on a flash drive,” the narrow-faced agent replied from the passenger seat, tapping his tactical tablet. “They’re embedded in a medical tissue sample archive stored in the clinic’s underground bio-vault. It’s the only place with an offline biometric firewall.”

Twenty minutes later, the vehicle slowed to a crawl.

Through the windshield, a sprawling, decaying brick structure loomed against the pale moonlight. Ivy choked the stone pillars of the entrance, and broken windows stared out like empty eye sockets.

Parked near the side loading dock was a familiar black sedan—empty, its driver-side door left slightly ajar.

“He’s already inside,” the scarred agent whispered, killing the engine.

The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl and the crunch of gravel beneath their boots as they stepped out into the freezing night air.

Hannah stepped out behind them, her hand gripping a heavy metal flashlight she had grabbed from the diner’s back room.

“You stay by the vehicle, Ms. Brooks,” the scarred agent warned.

“No,” Hannah said firmly. “I’ve got the timeline, I’ve got the receipts, and I know every maintenance tunnel layout in this county from my brother working construction out here. You need me.”

The two agents exchanged a brief, grim look.

“Fine,” the narrow-faced agent muttered. “Stay behind me. If anything moves in those corridors, you drop flat.”

They slipped through the rusted loading dock door into the pitch-black interior of the clinic.

The air inside smelled of old antiseptic, dust, and damp concrete. Emergency fluorescent lights flickered faintly overhead, casting sickly green hues down the long, empty hallways.

Footsteps echoed softly from somewhere deep within the lower levels.

Metal boots on concrete.