Fog coils around the armored convoy as it snakes along the coastal highway. Elara's wrists—bound in reinforced cuffs—throb beneath the restraint. She sits in the back seat beside Operative Vance, who sneers at her through the tinted partition. Outside, Helix mercenaries patrol under the rig's dying lights.
Lucien's voice crackles in her ear through the bone‑conduction earpiece. **“Status?"**
Elara leans close to the mic, heart hammering. “We're at Checkpoint Delta. Vance hasn't noticed anything yet."
A hulking gate looms ahead, steel barricades coated in salt spray. Two guards examine a clipboard. The convoy halts. Vance smirks, tapping the window. “Your turn, Quinn."
Elara forces calm. “Proceed," she murmurs, voice clipped. The front vehicle rumbles forward; the gate slides open.
As
