Rhea violently shoved four-year-old Perrin into a dark, cramped cavity

The safehouse was a windowless concrete bunker beneath an old mechanics shop in downtown Los Angeles. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Vance, a heavily scarred man with a thick beard and eyes like cracked ice, laid out blueprints on a metal table. In the corner, Perrin was asleep on a cot, exhausted from the trauma, a heavy tactical blanket pulled up to his chin.

Kiernan stood over the table, strapping a Kevlar vest over a black tactical shirt. The businessman was gone; the soldier he used to be had taken the helm.

"The Iron Garden facility," Vance said, tapping a massive blueprint with a pen. "Three stories above ground, two below. After your company bought it, the blueprints show a massive grid renovation in the sub-basements. High-voltage electricity. Soundproofing. It’s off the books."

"Who's guarding it?" Kiernan asked, checking the slide of a matte-black 9mm pistol.

"Private contractors," Vance replied, pulling up a satellite feed on his laptop. "Mercenaries. Rhea didn't just hire thugs; she hired Blackwood Security. Ex-military dropouts. Highly trained, highly lethal. There are at least twelve heat signatures patrolling the perimeter."

"She’s anticipating me," Kiernan muttered, sliding a spare magazine into his tactical belt. "She knew Perrin told me. She’s probably moving Sarah right now."

"We don't have time to wait for backup," Vance agreed. "I'll cover you from the ridge with the thermal sniper rifle, but once you're inside, you're on your own. It’s a maze down there, Kiernan. If she's in the sub-basement, comms might go dark."

Kiernan walked over to the cot and gently brushed a lock of blonde hair from Perrin’s sleeping face. He leaned down and kissed his son’s forehead. "I'll be back, buddy. I promise."

"He's safe here," Vance said softly. "The reinforced doors are locked down, and the automated turrets are armed. Nobody gets in."

Kiernan turned, his eyes burning with a relentless fire. "I don't just want to get Sarah out, Vance. I want to know why. Why Rhea did this. How she faked the dental records. Who helped her."

"You'll get your answers," Vance said, handing Kiernan an earpiece. "But first, we get the package. Let's move."

The helicopter ride to the San Gabriel Mountains was conducted in total silence. The chopper flew low, skimming the treeline to avoid radar detection. Kiernan stared out into the darkness, his mind flooded with memories of Sarah—her laugh, the way she smelled like vanilla and rain, the devastating day he was told she had burned in that car. The agony of the last three years had been a fabricated illusion.

The chopper hovered over a snowy ridge two miles from the facility. Kiernan hooked his carabiner to the fast-rope and looked at Vance.

"Radio check," Vance yelled over the rotors.

"Loud and clear," Kiernan said.