The bus hissed shut behind me, sealing us inside a capsule of tension. Collins sat in the driver's seat, stony as ever, his silence louder than any plan.
The ID on my chest bore a name that wasn't mine just one of Valerios' disposable workers. Not the boss. Just a cog. And that was the trick. Stay small. Stay boring. Stay invisible.
"Checkpoint ahead," Azazel's voice crackled through my comm. "Flash the ID. No eye contact. You're nobody, Tyler."
The gate loomed ahead like the maw of some frozen beast, lights harsh against the snow-covered ground. Russian guards stepped out, rifles slung lazily but eyes sharp.
Collins rolled down his window, flashed the stolen ID, and gave the kind of nod only a man used to long, thankless hours would give.
The guard paused, flashlight sweeping over us. I kept my face down, breath shallow. The weight of the pistol under my coat was a sharp reminder: if he noticed anything off, we'd be dead before we reached the labs.
