Chapter 16: The River's Source
The van smelled of stale coffee, gun oil, and the sharp, clean scent of adrenaline. It bounced over a pothole, jolting everyone inside. Rowan’s knee pressed against Lily’s in the cramped space. A constant, deliberate point of contact.
“Two minutes to the outer perimeter,” Kael’s voice crackled in their earpieces. He was a block away, parked in a utility van that smelled like fried circuits and anxiety, his fingers flying over three keyboards. “Camera loop is active. You’ve got a ninety-second window before their backup system runs a diagnostic. Don’t be late.”
“No one’s gonna be late, kid,” Maddox grunted, checking the chamber of his modified HK417. His grey eyes were flat, all humor gone. “Just keep the digital ghosts dancing.”
Viktor, a mountainous shadow beside the sliding door, gave a single, solid nod. He was checking the breaching charge in his massive hands, the movement practiced, reverent.
Sloane reached across the space, her fingers tilting Lily’s chin toward the van’s dim interior light. She examined her eyes, her pulse point. “No residual fever. Hydrate.” She passed Lily a canteen. “Your biochemistry is stable, but the crash after a broken heat is no joke. You feel faint, you tell him.” A sharp glance at Rowan. “Or me. Don’t be a hero.”
“I’m not a hero,” Lily said, her voice steadier than she felt. She took a sip of water. “I’m just the one who remembers the floor plan.”
Rowan’s hand landed on her thigh, a heavy, warm weight. A silent command. Stay sharp. She met his gaze. The scowl was etched deeper than usual, his dark eyes scanning her face like he was memorizing it. He’d lost the argument about her staying behind. It was a phantom limb of tension between them, aching with every bump in the road.
“Listen up,” Rowan’s voice cut through the engine’s rumble. “This isn’t a rescue. Not yet. It’s a reconnaissance-in-force. We get in, we confirm the program’s core, we grab whatever intel isn’t bolted down. Hard drives, manifests, samples. We identify the head doctor. Then we get the hell out. We do not get bogged down. We do not engage unless we have to. Clear?”
Nods all around. The metallic click-clack of final safety checks filled the van.
“Lily,” he said, turning to her fully. “You point. We move. You see a door you recognized from the files, you say it. You see a face, you whisper it. You do not, under any circumstances, leave my side. You hesitate, I will carry you out. Understood?”
It wasn’t a question. It was a law.
“Understood.”
The van slowed to a crawl, then stopped. The engine died, leaving a ringing silence.
“Showtime,” Kael whispered in their ears. “Perimeter sensors are now believing three very fat raccoons are having a party in the woods. Go. Clock’s ticking.”
Viktor slid the door open without a sound. The cold night air rushed in, smelling of pine and damp earth. One by one, they melted into the shadows of the tree line. Rowan went first, pulling Lily out behind him. His grip on her wrist was iron, guiding her over roots and frosted leaves.
The facility wasn’t what she’d expected. It didn’t look like a fortress. It looked like a modern, low-slung medical office building, all reflective glass and smooth concrete, nestled in the woods. Deceptively peaceful. The sterile glow from a few security lights made the surrounding darkness feel even heavier.
They moved like ghosts. Maddox and Viktor took point, flanking ahead. Sloane covered the rear. Rowan kept Lily in the middle of the spearhead, his body a living shield between her and the unknown.
They reached a service entrance marked ‘Biohazard Disposal.’ A steel door, unassuming.
“This is it,” Lily breathed, her mouth close to his ear. Her breath puffed white in the air. “From the schematics. It leads to the lower lab level. Less traffic.”
Viktor was already at the door, a small electronic device in his hand. He attached it to the keypad. A series of green LEDs scrolled.
“Kael,” Rowan murmured into his mic.
“Already on it. Their IT guy uses ‘Password123’ for his admin login. Pathetic. Unlocking… now.”
A soft thunk emanated from the door. Viktor pulled it open, revealing a dark, concrete corridor lit by intermittent emergency lights. The smell that wafted out was antiseptic, overpowering, laced with something underneath—a coppery tang, and the faint, sweet-rot smell of fear.
Rowan entered first, his weapon up, scanning. Lily followed, her heart hammering against her ribs. The corridor was cold, the walls lined with pipes. It was quieter than a tomb.
They moved deeper. Past empty rolling gurneys. Past carts with neatly folded, sterile drapes. It all looked so normal. So clean.
Lily’s fingers tightened on Rowan’s sleeve. She pointed to a double door at the end of the hall. “Specimen Processing,” she whispered, reading the faded stencil.
Rowan gestured. Viktor and Maddox positioned themselves on either side. Maddox held up three fingers. Two. One.
He pushed the door open.
The room beyond was a nightmare dressed in clinical white.
It was a lab, but not for inert samples. Glass-walled cubicles lined one side. In them, figures huddled on narrow cots. Omegas. Some slept, curled in on themselves. One stared blankly at the ceiling, an IV drip connected to her arm. Monitoring equipment beeped with soft, indifferent regularity.
But it was the other side of the room that froze the blood in Lily’s veins.
Refrigerated shelves held rows of vials, each meticulously labeled with codes. Computer stations displayed complex genetic maps, compatibility percentages flashing on screens. And in the center, under a bright surgical light, was a reclined chair with heavy leather restraints. A tray beside it held long, cruel-looking swabs and syringes.
“Jesus,” Maddox muttered, the word dropping like a stone.
Sloane was already moving toward the cubicles, her medical bag open, her expression a mask of professional calm that did nothing to hide the fury in her eyes.
Rowan stepped further in, his boots silent on the linoleum. He went to the nearest computer. “Kael, I’m plugging you in.”
“Do it.”
He jammed a portable drive into a USB port. On the screen, a progress bar flashed as data began torrenting out.
Lily walked slowly toward the glass cubicles. She made herself look. The omega staring at the ceiling turned her head. Her eyes, dull and exhausted, met Lily’s. There was no hope in them. Just a hollow recognition.
A sound escaped Lily’s throat, a tiny, broken thing.
Rowan was at her side in an instant. His hand found the back of her neck, squeezing once, a grounding, almost painful pressure. “Look at me,” he growled, low.
She dragged her eyes to his.
“Don’t get lost in it. We need names. We need the who. You break now, we can’t help them.”
She nodded, swallowing the thick ache in her throat. She turned to the computer screens, focusing on the data. “Those codes,” she said, pointing. “The first three digits. I saw them on the transfer manifests from the factory. They’re source identifiers.”
“Good. Keep going.”
A door at the far end of the lab, marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only,’ swung open.
A man in a white coat stepped out, yawning, a clipboard in his hand. He froze, his eyes widening behind his glasses at the sight of armed, black-clad figures in his sterile haven.
For a second, no one moved.
The doctor’s gaze darted from Viktor’s hulking form to the data bar flashing on the screen. Panic screwed up his face. He fumbled at his hip, not for a weapon, but for a small panic button.
Rowan didn’t shout. He didn’t warn him.
He moved.
Two long strides and his arm was around the man’s throat, yanking him backward, the clipboard clattering to the floor. He clamped a hand over his mouth, silencing the scream. He dragged him, kicking weakly, to the center of the room, and threw him down onto the restrained chair.
The doctor gasped, trying to sit up. Rowan placed a single, massive hand on his chest and shoved him back. He leaned down, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a deadly, quiet rasp.
“You’re going to tell me who runs this place. You’re going to tell me where the alpha donors are. You’re going to tell me every buyer on your list.” He didn’t raise his voice. It was worse than a yell. “You’re going to tell me, or I’m going to strap you into this chair you picked out and let my friend Viktor explain the finer points of surgical improvisation.”
Viktor took a step forward, the breaching charge discarded, a combat knife now in his hand. He said nothing. He just stared.
The doctor’s bladder let go, a dark stain spreading on his white coat. His eyes, bulging with terror, found Lily. She stood rigid, watching. She didn’t look away.
“The… the files…” the doctor stammered. “The secure server… it’s in the head office. Upstairs. Password is ‘Genesis.’ Please…”
“Who?” Rowan pressed, his hand still pinning him.
“Dr. Rhinehart! He’s… he’s not here. He’s at the main estate. The decisions, the buyers… that’s all him. We just… we just process.”
Rowan looked at Lily. The name meant nothing to her. He looked back at the doctor. “Where’s the estate?”
“I don’t know! I swear! He uses a encrypted line, a remote terminal! The… the deliveries go to a P.O. box in the city!”
“Bullshit,” Rowan said, his voice dropping even lower.
“Rowan,” Kael’s voice was urgent in their ears. “Diagnostic is finishing early. You’ve got forty-five seconds before they see you. Police scanner is lighting up. A neighbor reported ‘suspicious activity.’ We gotta go. Now.”
Rowan’s jaw flexed. He released the doctor, shoving him away in disgust. “Sloane?”
“I’ve got what I can from their med logs,” she said, closing her bag. She’d placed bottled water and protein bars from her pack on the cots. It was nothing. It was everything.
“Maddox, burn it. Everything but the data we grabbed.”
Maddox was already pulling incendiary grenades from his pack.
The doctor whimpered, scrambling backward.
Rowan grabbed Lily’s hand, pulling her toward the door. “Move!”
They ran back down the cold corridor, the way they came. Behind them, they heard the whoomp of the incendiaries igniting, and the first screams of alarms beginning to blare, distorted and angry through the building.
They burst out into the chilling night air. The van was already rolling toward them, back doors open. They piled in, one after another, Viktor last, pulling the doors shut as Kael hit the gas. The vehicle shot forward, tires spitting gravel.
In the sudden, swaying dark of the van, panting breaths filled the space. The smell of smoke was on their clothes.
Lily was shaking. She couldn’t stop it. The image of those empty eyes, the cold glass, the restraints, burned behind her own.
Rowan didn’t speak. He pulled her into his side, wrapping his arm around her, tucking her head under his chin. He held her tight, his grip fierce, his own heart pounding against her ear. He didn’t offer comfort. He just held. An anchor in the raging dark.
“Got the data,” Kael said from the front, his voice tense. “It’s… extensive. And I’ve got a name. Dr. Alistair Rhinehart. Buried deep. Let’s see what else this bastard’s been buying.”
Rowan stared out the tinted window at the fleeing trees. The clinic was a dying beacon in his peripheral vision. They had a name. They had the evidence.
And they had just declared war on a monster who knew they were coming.