BRIANNA’S POV
The plan wasn’t perfect. But it was ours.
I sat at the end of the long wooden table. My hands rested on a folded map that didn’t even show the place we were planning to break into. Facility Nine wasn’t just off-the-grid—it wasn’t supposed to exist. It wasn’t on the map.
Trevor stood at the whiteboard, scribbling ideas while Kevin worked on loading sedatives into tranquilizer guns beside him. Anthony sat across from me, staring at blueprints Kevin had pieced together from old government construction permits and satellite images.
DeMonte leaned back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world, chewing on a toothpick. “We need a diversion at the north gate. Nothing explosive, just enough noise to draw the guards.”
“We’re not killing anyone,” I reminded him firmly.
