The cargo van smelled of diesel and rust and the ghosts of a thousand dead fish. It was parked in the shadow of a derelict warehouse on Pier 12, its engine idling, its rear doors hanging open. The team moved around it with the grim efficiency of people who had been running on adrenaline and desperation for so long that exhaustion had become a permanent state of being.
Vance was at the wheel, checking the fuel gauge for the third time. Axel sat in the back, his salvaged tablet balanced on his knees, the data cache from the Spire plugged into a portable drive that whirred softly in the dim light. Renner was beside him, his pale eyes fixed on a satellite map of the northern mountains, tracing the Caravan's projected route with a fingertip. Troy and Isla were huddled in the farthest corner, t
