Chapter 408
Chapter 408:
“She jumped,” Liam whispered. His voice was broken. “She jumped… to save me p>
The air left Alistair’s lungs. It felt like someone had driven a knife into his chest and twisted it.
“You lie,” Alistair snarled, tightening his grip until Liam began to choke. “Skye doesn’t give up. She doesn’t jump p>
“They had us trapped,” Liam gasped, tears leaking from his eyes. “Mercenaries. Graves’ men. She… she stood on the edge… she looked at me… and she stepped off p>
Alistair released him. Liam slid down the support pole, burying his face in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
“She’s gone,” Liam choked out. “She’s gone, Alistair p>
“No.” Alistair staggered back, hands shaking. “No p>
Julian Vance wheeled into the tent, pale but composed. He signaled the security team to clear the medical staff out.
“Alistair,” Julian said sharply. “Focus p>
Alistair turned to him, looking like a man on the edge of insanity. “She’s in the water, Julian. She’s in the goddamn ocean p>
“Then we find her,” Julian said. “We don’t mourn until we see a body. Graves’ men were there. If they didn’t kill Liam, it means their objective was extraction, not elimination. If she jumped, they might have fished her out p>
Alistair’s eyes snapped into focus. Grief shoved itself down, locked away, replaced by a cold, burning fury.
“Get the fleet,” Alistair ordered, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Every ship. Every helicopter. Scour that coastline. If Graves has her… I will burn the ocean until it boils p>
Back on the Poseidon, hours had passed. Skye hadn’t moved from the bed. She hadn’t dressed.
The door opened again.
Two large men in security uniforms entered. Lucian stood in the doorway, looking displeased.
“You didn’t dress,” he observed.
“Go to hell,” Skye said.
Lucian sighed. “A pity. I thought we could be civilized. Take her downstairs p>
The men grabbed Skye. She fought—kicking, scratching—but she was weak from hypothermia. They dragged her out of the luxurious suite, down a narrow corridor, and down a flight of metal stairs.
The air grew colder, damper. The smell of diesel and salt became overpowering.
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They reached a heavy steel door. One of the men punched in a code.
They threw her inside.
Skye landed hard on the metal floor. The door slammed shut. Darkness swallowed her instantly.
She crawled to the corner, shivering.
It was a metal box. No windows. Just a toilet and a cot bolted to the wall.
Skye curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around herself. Her teeth chattered. Her skin felt cold as ice, yet she burned inside. The chill of the ocean was settling into her lungs.
She closed her eyes, and in the darkness, she saw Alistair’s face.
Find me, she prayed silently. Please, Alistair. Find me.
Inside the darkened command center of the Nemesis, the gentle sway of the ocean was the only reminder that they were miles from shore.
Alistair had not slept in forty-eight hours. He stood before a massive digital map of the Pacific Ocean, his eyes locked on the grid of moving dots. Each dot represented a vessel.
“We have a hit,” Julian said, his wheelchair whirring as he moved to the main console. He looked pale—the sea air wasn’t agreeing with his constitution—but his fingers flew across the keyboard. “Satellite reconnaissance picked up a heat bloom in Sector 4 roughly four hours ago. It matches the signature of a high-speed extraction p>