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“This way,” he said, gesturing toward the tunnel. “Stay close and stay quiet. We’re getting you out.”

She nodded, and he saw Elena in the set of her jaw, the defiance underneath the fear. Same blood. Same strength.

They moved back through the maintenance shaft toward the drainage tunnel. No complications. No drama. Just the work, done right.

“Package is clear of the temple,” Eden confirmed. “Heading to extraction point.”

“Ghost and Merlin confirm we have visual,” Nick said. “Perimeter is still quiet. Nice work.”

They emerged from the drainage tunnel into the humid night, and Nick was there with Nate, the vehicle waiting with engine running. Marguerite climbed in, and Nate immediately pulled away, heading for the rally point three klicks east.

“Package is secure,” Atticus confirmed. “Marguerite is safe. Good work, people.”

Brock allowed himself one breath of relief. Then his focus shifted back to the temple, to the woman still inside sitting across from a monster.

“Cypher, Elena’s status?”

“Virus upload is at eight-five percent,” Cal said. “She’s handling Toro. Staying cool. But he’s playing games. Trying to get under her skin.”

“Can she hear me?”

“Negative. She can only hear me, and she can’t respond. Why?”

“Tell her Marguerite is safe. Tell her we got her out.”

22:07 Hours

“Do you remember me?” Toro was asking, standing close enough that she could see the pores in his skin.

Then Cal’s voice in her ear, warm and certain. “Marguerite is safe. The package is secure.”

Relief hit her like a physical blow, so intense it made her vision swim. Safe. Marguerite was safe. She didn’t have to bluff through seeing her, didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to⁠—

“You’re crying,” Toro said, and his voice was satisfied. “There she is. The girl I remember.”

Elena touched her cheek and found it wet. She’d been so focused on Cal’s words she hadn’t realized.

“Upload at ninety percent,” Cal murmured. “Almost there. Then things are going to get interesting.”

She stood, needing distance from Toro, and moved toward the far wall. The chamber was ancient stone retrofitted with modern technology—computer equipment, lighting rigs powered by generators, a satellite communications array in the corner.

The carved reliefs of Mayan gods watched from the walls, surrounded by conduits and cables. Desecration wrapped in technology. Somewhere outside, Brock was waiting. The team was in position. Marguerite was free.

“You never told me where she is,” Elena said, keeping her voice steady.

“Your niece?” Toro returned to his desk, his attention going back to the computer screen. “She’s being prepared for transfer. I thought we might keep her for a while, actually. Insurance, in case you get any ideas about⁠—”

The screen went black.

Toro stopped mid-sentence, staring at the monitor. He clicked the mouse. Hit keys. Nothing.

“Upload complete,” Cal said in Elena’s ear. “Virus deploying in three…two…one…”

Every screen in the office died. The lights flickered once, twice, then held. But Elena could hear shouts from the corridor outside—confusion, guards calling to each other.

Toro’s eyes snapped to her, and what she saw there made her take an involuntary step back.

“What did you do?”