The two girls didn't notice Sister Agnes watching from the convent window. Her wrinkled fingers clutched the rosary so tightly the beads dug into her skin.
"Lord, please protect them," she whispered, her voice trembling with both fear and faith. Then, with a sigh heavy as stone, she turned away from the window and disappeared into the shadows of the chapel.
---
Winter and Deborah trailed down the empty road, their footsteps crunching softly on the gravel. Without a word, Winter slipped a phone from the folds of her skirt. She dialed a number, held it to her ear, and after a single ring the line connected.
"Come pick us, Craig," she said flatly.
"Yes, ma'am," came the immediate reply, low, sure, and unquestioning.
Ten minutes later, a beat-up farm truck rolled up the road, its headlights dimmed to slits. Behind the wheel sat a man with a scarf wrapped high over his face, only his sharp eyes visible beneath the brim of a worn cap.
They climbed in quickly. As soon as the engine rumbled back to life, Deborah leaned close, her eyes narrowing at the driver. Then, with sudden mischief, she reached out and pinched his ear between her fingers.
"You used my warming cream again. Your ears are soft," she accused, her tone somewhere between a scold and a threat.
"So what?" the man shot back smugly, his eyes glinting with amusement above the scarf.
"Shameless old man," she hissed, glaring at him like she might draw a blade then and there.
Craig chuckled mockingly, his laughter bouncing off the metal cab. The sound was too careless, too alive, like someone who had no care for the world.
Winter ignored them. She always did. Deborah's fiery bursts and Craig's smug banter had become norms. Their voices became background noise as she sat silently, clutching her teddy against her lap, eyes locked on the dark horizon.
The truck rolled into a bushy stretch of road, one of the most secluded corners of the town. The engine cut, and without a word they all climbed out. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of earth and pine.
They moved on foot, a quiet march through the forest. Deborah and Craig continued their childish sparring behind her, their whispers and half-suppressed laughter almost surreal in the silence of the woods. Winter led the way, her steady stride never faltering.
They walked for nine long miles, until the trees grew so thick that the moonlight vanished completely. Finally, they stopped before what looked like nothing more than a jagged wall of stone and tangled roots. To an outsider, it was just another part of the wilderness.
But they knew better.
Winter placed her hand on the rough bark of a crooked tree beside the rock face. For a second, nothing happened, then with a low rumble, the massive stone shifted, splitting apart in clean, mechanical lines. It slid open like a vault door, revealing a narrow stairway that spiraled down into darkness.
They descended casually. The stairs seemed endless, the air cooler and damper with each step. Then suddenly, the tunnel widened and before them stretched a hidden world.
A vast underground chamber opened up, glowing with the cold light of fluorescent lamps. Metal scaffolding lined the walls. Maps, screens, and weapons racks filled the space. Makeshift bunks and tables carried the mess of long nights and careful planning.
A secret base. A war room. A haven.
As soon as Deborah stepped inside, three figures leapt from their stations.
"Baby!" they cried in unison, voices overlapping. The four of them collided into a chaotic hug, their laughter echoing off the stone.
Craig finally tore off his scarf, revealing a face almost unfairly beautiful, delicate features and a mischievous grin that could have belonged to a rebellious angel.
Winter, however, didn't slow. She walked past the reunion, deeper into the heart of the chamber. She didn't need to gawk. She didn't need to celebrate.
This place, this team wasn't an accident.
She had built it piece by piece. Year by year. Through secrecy, sacrifice, and ruthless determination.
And now, at last, it was time for the grand plan.