Four Days Gone

The quickest way to learn who your enemies are is to see what they steal first.

The site office sat just inside the mouth of the Halden mine, a steel box bolted to the salt wall with work lamps swinging overhead. Xavier followed Rosalie in, his boots loud on the metal floor. His eyes never stopped moving. He marked the exits, the support beams, the three forklifts parked by the loading bay.

On a folding table lay blueprints weighed down with coffee mugs. Beside them, a crate lid stamped with a serial number caught his attention. He ran a gloved finger across it.

"This is military spec titanium framing," he said. "Built to survive shock from below. You did not order this for a storage unit."

"I like my buildings to last, Commander," Rosalie said, not stopping.

"Last through what?" He leaned against the table and folded his arms. "Blast doors. Sealed shafts. Enough bio filters to scrub a city block. You are not building a home, Miss West. You are building a bunker."

Rosalie turned and rested against the desk, arms crossed, matching his stance.

"I think the world is fragile," she said. "Grids fail. Supply lines snap. When the air goes bad, people find out too late that you cannot breathe money."

His expression did not change, but his eyes narrowed a little. "You talk like someone who has already watched the sky burn."

"Maybe I have a good imagination."

The comm clipped to his chest hummed. He tapped it and listened.

"Commander." The voice belonged to Tristan Hawthorne, his second. "Trouble at the central rail yard. A private security convoy has taken the last shipment of copper pipe and pressure valves. They are claiming a creditor lien."

Xavier's jaw tightened. "Whose lien?"

"Nicholas Calloway's former partners. They are selling every physical asset in the district to cover his margin call before the market opens. The load is going to an unsecured depot downtown."

Rosalie let out a short breath. "His creditors are grabbing metal because it is the only thing that will still be worth anything."

Xavier ended the call and looked at her. "That shipment held the custom manifold pipes that link your scrubbers to the main ventilation shaft. Without them, your filters are very expensive boxes."

Her eyes went hard as flint. "Have the trucks left?"

"Idling. They roll in forty minutes. My squad can stop them at the gate, but taking stamped cargo in daylight is paperwork I would rather skip."

"Then we do not do it in daylight." Rosalie crossed to the hook by the door and took down a black coat. She pulled it on and tugged leather gloves over her fingers. "And not with your squad."

"You plan to take back a guarded depot yourself?"

"I paid for those manifolds three days ago, through a subsidiary." She looked up at him. "Nicholas's creditors are stealing my property to cover his debts. I am only collecting early. Are you coming, Commander? Or do you need a permit?"

A slow, dark smirk crossed his face. He checked the magazine in his sidearm and slid it home.

"Lead the way, Miss West."

---

Rain had started by the time they reached the alley above the rail yard, a thin cold drizzle that turned the asphalt black and the security lights amber. Below, six guards in tactical vests stood by two flatbed trucks while workers wrestled crates onto the beds.

Xavier sat in the passenger seat and watched the guards walk their circuit. "Four on the floor. Two on the loading dock. Cheap contractors. They lean on their cameras."

"The cameras are already looping." Rosalie tapped her tablet. "My security consultant got into their network ten minutes ago. Their control room thinks the yard is empty. My drivers are parked two streets over. When we clear the guards, they take the trucks."

He turned to look at her. A low laugh rumbled in his chest. "You move fast for a civilian."

"I told you. I do not waste time."

She stepped out into the rain, and he followed without a sound. At the side gate she held a plastic key card against the keypad. It flashed, the latch clicked, and they slipped inside and crouched behind a stack of shipping containers.

"Two guards at the rear of the truck," Xavier breathed beside her ear. "I will take the dock. You stay here."

"I will take the two at the truck."

"Rosalie."

She was already moving.

She kept low and slow along the container wall. Her heart pounded in her teeth. This body was fourteen days younger than the one that had fought scavengers for four years, and it did not remember what her mind remembered. Her legs were too soft. Her breath came too fast. But her hands knew where to go.

She drew a compact stun baton from her coat. The first guard never heard her. She drove the contacts into the side of his neck and he folded to the concrete.

The second turned and grabbed for his holster. Her wrist twisted wrong as she swung, and the baton skidded across the wet ground. He caught her by the coat and slammed her into the side of the truck. Pain flashed white across her ribs.

Then Xavier was there. He did not make a sound. He took the man by the collar, spun him, and put him on the ground with a short, ugly crack of the head against the platform edge. The guard lay still.

Rosalie slid down against the truck wheel, gasping. She held her ribs.

Xavier crouched in front of her, rain running off his jaw. The dock guards lay behind him already, quiet. He looked at her face for a long moment.

"You went in without a plan for the second man," he said.

"I had a plan." She pressed her lips together against the pain. "It was wrong."

"Where does an heiress learn to put a stun baton in a man's neck?"

"Survival is a harsh teacher, Commander." She took his offered hand and let him pull her up. She did not let go right away. Neither did he.

"The truck," she said, and he released her.

She laid her gloved palm on the nearest crate to check the stamp. The blue page flickered open in the corner of her sight.

[Sanctuary-critical cargo detected: Primary Ventilation Array.]

[Owner verified: Rosalie West.]

[Cargo recovered. Primary Ventilation Array: complete.]

[Debtor note: Nicholas Calloway. Creditors acting against own interest. Balance: partial.]

It did not feel like anything. No hum, no ripple. Only a small line of text only she could see.

Xavier watched her hand on the crate. "You are full of secrets."

"Everyone has secrets in the dark." She held his gaze. "What matters is who is standing when the lights come on."

He studied her. The rain darkened his hair. His gray eyes held something close to respect.

"Fair," he said. "Your drivers will want the trucks before the patrol circles back."

She whistled once. Two engines turned over down the street, and a pair of men in rain gear jogged through the gate.

Back in the alley, as the flatbeds pulled out, Rosalie's tablet buzzed with a priority alert. She read the red headline twice.

UNEXPLAINED ATMOSPHERIC DENSITY DROP OVER NORTHERN COASTAL ZONES. METEOROLOGISTS ADVISE CAUTION AS UNSEASONABLE FOG FORMS OVER THE OCEAN.

Her breath caught. Then the blue page opened again, and this time the text was not calm.

[Timeline deviation detected.]

[Spore Fog outbreak revised: 9 days, 4 hours.]

[Cause: unknown.]

Four days gone. Just like that.

She looked up. Xavier was already reading her face.

"The fog is moving faster than it did before," she said. "We have less time than I thought."

She had said before. He heard it. She saw him hear it, and she saw him decide not to ask yet.

"Then tomorrow we finish the Halden mine," he said. His voice was quiet and steady as a vow.