Chapter 6: Perimeter Check

POV: Alessia Rowan

I didn't head back up the main stairs toward the sunlit exit where they expected me to walk out like a helpless target.

Instead, I slipped into the dark secondary maintenance pipe running along the western edge of the facility. The tunnel was long, narrow, and completely pitch black to normal human eyes, but my newly evolved sight picked out every crack in the stone, every rusted pipe fitting, and every stray pebble on the floor with crystal clarity.

I moved without making a single sound. In my past life, surviving on the ruined streets of Blackridge City meant learning how to walk without rustling leaves, how to control my breathing, and how to stay completely hidden. My body remembered every single habit of survival.

I reached the rusted emergency hatch located two hundred feet inside the tree line, far away from the main gate.

I pushed the iron lid up slowly, letting it swing open without a squeak. I climbed out into the tall brush, staying low to the cold ground. The afternoon breeze carried the crisp smell of wet leaves and pine needles.

Fifty yards to my right, near the rusted chain-link fence, the two men were still leaning against a thick tree trunk. Both of them wore dark jackets and tactical vests. One held a high-powered rifle with a long black scope resting against his chest, while the other—the spotter—held a pair of digital binoculars aimed directly at the bunker's front entrance.

"Is she still down there?" the spotter whispered, adjusting his grip on the binoculars. "She's taking a long time. The contractor has been standing by his truck for ten minutes."

"Relax," the rifleman grunted, adjusting his cheek piece. "Where else is she gonna go? There's only one driveway out of this ditch. As soon as she steps into the light with that bag of gold, I put one through her leg, you grab the duffel, and we drive off. Clean and simple."

"Boss said no witnesses if she puts up a fight," the spotter reminded him, his voice low. "She revoked his bank access this morning. He's desperate."

I crept through the thick grass from behind them, closing the distance foot by foot. My heart didn't beat with terror anymore. It beat with steady, freezing focus.

Three yards away. Two yards away. One yard.

I stepped out from behind the thick oak tree right behind the spotter.

Before he could even register the sudden shift in the wind, I reached out, grabbed his collar, and slammed his head back hard against the rough tree bark. The binoculars dropped from his hands into the soft mud. He let out a choked gasp, his knees buckling instantly as his vision went dark.

"What the—!" the rifleman yelled, spinning around in pure shock.

He tried to raise his rifle, but my past-life combat instincts moved faster than his eye could follow. I stepped inside his guard, grabbed the barrel of his rifle with my left hand, and twisted it sharply downward, forcing his grip to break.

The heavy rifle tumbled into the wet grass.

"You crazy bitch!" he hissed, drawing a dark pistol from his waist holster with his right hand.

I grabbed his wrist mid-draw, driving my thumb hard into the soft nerve cluster behind his joint. He let out a sharp cry of pain, his fingers loosening as the pistol clattered against the iron fence.

I didn't give him a second to breathe. I grabbed his coat collar and slammed him face-first against the cold chain-link fence, pinning his arm high behind his back until he groaned, his forehead pressed hard against the wire mesh.

"Don't move," I said softly, my voice right next to his ear. "If you move a single inch, I break your arm at the elbow."

"Okay! Okay! Stop!" the man gasped, his voice shaking with sudden, wild panic as he felt the intense pressure on his joint. "Don't break it! Don't shoot!"

"Who sent you?" I asked, my voice completely flat and devoid of anger.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he stammered, panting hard against the fence. "We were just hired to track the SUV! That's all! We're private contractors!"

"Liar," I said, applying a fraction more pressure to his forearm.

"Ahhh! Stop! Stop!" he yelled, tears of pain welling in his eyes. "Gideon! Gideon Foster! He called us two hours ago! He gave us your license plate and told us you had a bag full of untraceable gold from the central vault!"

I reached into his front tactical pocket with my free hand and pulled out a small black prepaid smartphone. I unlocked the screen using his thumbprint while holding him pinned against the fence.

Opened on the screen was a text chain.

Sender: Unknown Number

11:14 AM: Target is heading north on Route 9. SUV tag 772-B. Recover the duffel bag at all costs. She is converting trust assets into cash.

11:42 AM: Is it done yet? Report back immediately.

I stared at the messages. Gideon’s desperation was dripping off every word. He had realized I was cutting off his entire financial life, and instead of backing down, he had resorted to sending armed men to rob me on a deserted construction site.

I pressed the microphone icon on the messaging app, holding the phone close to my lips.

"Gideon," I said, my voice smooth, calm, and bone-chillingly clear. "I have your phone. I have your men. If you ever send anyone near my property again, don't send muggers. Send more men next time. They'll need hospital beds."

I hit send.

The man pinned against the fence was panting in shallow gasps, his face pale with sweaty. "Look, lady... you got the phone, you got the rifle. Just let us go. We were just doing a job."

I released his arm and shoved him hard against the fence. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees in the dirt, clutching his wrist and groaning in deep pain.

Behind him, the spotter who had hit his head on the tree was sitting in the mud, groaning as he rubbed his forehead. Blood trickled down from his hairline, smearing across his cheek.

I looked down at the spotter, tossing his friend's prepaid phone onto his lap.

"Get up, take your weapons, and get out of here," I told them coldly. "If I see either of your faces near Silo Haven again, you won't walk away."

The spotter looked up at me through bloodshot eyes. He let out a weak, raspy laugh, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You think... you think you're so smart, don't you?" the spotter wheezed, coughing up a small speck of blood into the grass. "You think you're fighting your greedy husband over some family inheritance?"

I stopped in my tracks, my eyes narrowing as I looked back at him. "What did you say?"

The spotter leaned his head back against the tree trunk, a dark, mocking grin spreading across his face.

"Gideon didn't hire us, lady," the spotter whispered, his voice trembling with a strange, eerie satisfaction. "Gideon doesn't have the money to hire guys like us. He was just the middleman who dropped the location tag."

My chest went cold. "Who hired you?"

The spotter looked up at me, his eyes wide with a deep, unsettling fear that made his smile vanish completely.

"Aegis Security," he rasped out. "The private military firm working for the state health division. The guys building the containment wall around St. Jude Hospital. They've been watching your mother's trust fund for six months... and they know what you're building down there.”