Page 71 of South of Justice

Gates stepped forward, pulled a pry tool from his vest.

The door creaked open just as another distant bang echoed outside. Reyes again. Another distraction.

They slipped inside, silent.

Phase Two: complete.

Showtime was coming.

Ryan pressed deeper into the warehouse interior, his breath steady, PPK low but ready. The scent had shifted—less industrial now, more damp and sterile. Like something had been wiped clean in a hurry, then left to rot beneath the surface. The faint echo of his boots on concrete reverberated off high ceilings. It made him feel more exposed than armed.

Lucía’s voice crackled through his earpiece, threaded with tension. “I found a manifest in the compound’s internal storage logs. Room 18, east wing. Marked as ‘personal holding’ with restricted access. No other details.”

Ryan’s pulse kicked up a notch. “Could be him.”

Lucía again: “There’s a comms burst from that quadrant five minutes ago. Someone checked in. Not security, internal operations code.”

Gates’s voice joined in, calm and clipped. “I’ll continue sweeping the west wing. Make sure our exfil is clean.”

Ryan grunted his assent and adjusted course, angling down the east corridor. The air grew heavier. Metal grates gave way to old tile, the grout stained and cracking. A disused wing, maybe, one that wasn’t meant for foot traffic. He passed a securitycheckpoint—abandoned. A tipped-over chair. The eerie silence of a place forgotten by oversight.

He ghosted down the hallway with the surety of a man who’d done this before. Who used to train men to do this before. Door by door, he passed rooms marked with alphanumeric codes, storage bays, a shuttered infirmary. But something about this stretch of hallway made the hairs on his neck rise.

Lucía again, voice sharper now: “One heat signature inside Room 18. Small. Still.”

Ryan’s heart thudded once, then went silent. The door was reinforced but not military-grade. Newer than the rest. A retrofit.

He knocked twice.

Nothing.

Then a shuffle. Quiet, hesitant.

“Noah?” he said, voice rougher than he intended.

A pause. Then a boy’s voice, hoarse and wary: “Who is it?”

Ryan exhaled. The tightness in his chest cracked just slightly. “I’m a friend of your mom. I came to get you.”

There was a keypad beneath the handle, but it too was disabled. Ryan pushed the door open, trying to kept his movements slow and steady to not spook the boy.

He looked smaller than Ryan was expecting. Pale and thin. But his eyes were wide and familiar.

The boy blinked at him, confusion on his face. “Are you here to take me?”

Ryan knelt to meet his gaze. “Yeah, buddy. We have to go. Right now.”

He slipped out of his jacket and wrapped it around the boy’s narrow shoulders. Noah leaned into him without hesitation. Ryan swallowed hard and scooped him into his arms. The kid barely weighed anything.

Lucía’s voice returned: “Thermals lighting up. Movement on the north wall. They’re responding to the fires. You’ve got maybe ninety seconds.”

Ryan pivoted, heading back down the corridor at a dead run. Every step felt like walking through water. The walls too close. The shadows too thick.

“Hold tight,” he whispered to the boy.

Through comms, Gates again: “Exfil route secure. Southeast hatch unlocked. I’m waiting.”

Ryan’s grip on the PPK tightened as he moved faster, boots hitting tile, then concrete. Noah’s breath warmed the side of his neck.