They crouched behind a line of scorched brush, the air stale with heat and electric humidity. The ruins of a metal fence loomed a few yards ahead, its wire mangled and rusted in places but still enough to deter wildlife once upon a time—and now intruders, if they dared.
A perimeter patrol moved in sweeps on the other side, boots striking the concrete in even pairs.
Ima pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, wiping away the sweat beading along her hairline. Her dark eyes remained fixed on the movements of the guards.
Miles, beside her, shifted his weight silently, watching too—but his thoughts were not nearly as still.
He clenched his jaw.
His chest ached.
"Anything new?" Miles' whisper broke the silence behind her. His breath curled in the cold night air.
She shook her head. "Same loop. Every twenty minutes, that north guard walks away from his post. The south entrance has the lazier ones—half-asleep by the truck depot. If we go in, it has to be fast. Quiet."
