Chapter 56 - Whispers in the Salt Mills
"They know we're here," Clara whispered, her hand immediately dropping to the grip of her sidearm.
"The frigate deployed thermal reconnaissance drones," I said, shutting down the communicator and pocketing the card. "The heat from our bodies inside this freezing concrete shell is like a beacon."
Down on the ground floor of the salt mill, three hundred feet away, the heavy corrugated iron doors groaned. The squeal of rusty hinges cut through the silence like a scream.
Through the broken glass of the observation booth, I peered down into the gloom. Four men slipped through the opening in tactical formation. They wore no insignia—only matte-black modular plate carriers, closed-circuit breathing masks, and submachine guns equipped with long cylindrical suppressors. Unlike the coastal boarding team, their movements were fluid, silent, and terrifyingly precise.
These weren't mercenaries. These were the Arch's personal retrieval specialists.
"Clara," I said quietly, leaning close to her ear. "Stay here with the girls. Keep them under the workbench. If anyone comes up that ladder who isn't me, you empty the magazine through the trapdoor."
"Julian, you can't take four of them alone," she hissed, gripping my wrist. "We fight together."
"They're not here to clear a room; they're here to box us in until reinforcements arrive," I replied. "If they find this ladder, we're cornered with nowhere to run. I have to break their line before they sweep the upper catwalks."
I looked at Mia and Lily. Both girls were staring at me, their eyes wide and silent, holding their breath just as I had taught them during the drills in the manor basement. I kissed both their foreheads.
May you like
"Daddy will be right back," I whispered. "Be my brave little soldiers."
I slipped out of the observation booth, stepping onto the rusted iron catwalk that spanned the ceiling of the processing hall. Moving on the balls of my feet, avoiding the loose bolts and oxidized joints of the walkway, I melted into the shadows thirty feet above the killing floor.
