The warehouse stood before them like a beast in repose, cold metal ribs rusted under the burden of shadow.
Isla squatted behind a stack of crates, studying the crumbling facility two hundred feet away, the adrenaline screwing in her gut. Maggie stood beside her, tablet in one hand, heat signature flickering across the screen.
“Four guards outside. Perhaps deeper,” muttered Maggie.
“Not a sound from the east wing. If they’re holding your brother, it’s most likely there, least exposed.”
Isla scanned the perimeter and nodded. “We’re going to have to go around, through the south maintenance access, sneak in.”
Maggie arched a brow. “A lot of confidence for a rusty door that likely hasn’t opened in a decade.”
Isla glanced at her. “You’re going to wait for reinforcements?”
“You mean your
