The forest road died at a clearing that looked like hope had been lured out here and executed. The compound squatted behind chain-link fencing like a concrete tumor—low buildings, no windows, the kind of place where screams echo forever and nobody brings flowers.
I killed the Maybach's engine a quarter-mile out. The luxury sedan sat there gleaming, a black-tie guest at a murder scene. Out of place didn't even begin to cover it.
"Soo-Jin," I said, turning to the girl in the backseat, "tree line. Deep cover. If this goes to hell, run to the road and you call Madison." I handed her my phone.
Her face went pale, like she'd just seen her ghost clock in early. "You go alone against all those guns?"
"I have to. Can't babysit while I'm getting shot at." I tossed her the backup phone. "Stay invisible. You're good at that."
She nodded once, then disappeared into the treeline with the kind of practiced silence you only learn by surviving people who want you dead.
