Waypoint

The air inside the small, abandoned cabin was thick with tension. Jessica sat at the edge of an old wooden chair, her hands clenched into fists on her knees. The dim glow of Olivia’s laptop screen flickered across the walls, illuminating the storm of emotions on their faces. Outside, the wind howled through the mountain trees, shaking the fragile structure as though it, too, could sense their unease.

"I found something," Olivia finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, pulling up a sequence of numbers, coordinates buried deep in the encrypted files she had recovered.

Jessica leaned forward. "Where?"

Olivia exhaled sharply, adjusting her glasses as she squinted at the screen. "Somewhere in Europe. The files aren’t clear, but these coordinates don’t match any official Vanguard facility we know of. It’s like they scrubbed this place off the map."

Leanna, who had been pacing near the window, stopped in her tracks. "You’re saying the real operation is still ongoing?"

"That’s exactly what I’m saying." Olivia’s voice was tinged with something between excitement and terror. "This wasn’t just a test site. It was a waypoint. The real lab—the one where they perfected the project—is still out there."

Jessica felt a flicker of something. Call it a memory, maybe, or instinct. It was a vague familiarity she couldn't place. Her stomach turned. She hated how often these places felt like déjà vu. Jessica let out a slow breath, gripping the edges of the chair. She should’ve known. It was never going to be this easy. "So what do we do?"

Leanna crossed her arms, her expression unreadable. "We go. We get the proof we need and we shut it down."

"And then what?" Jessica shot back, her voice harsher than she intended. "Even if we find it, what are we supposed to do? We barely made it out of the last facility alive."

Silence. Olivia chewed on the inside of her cheek, tapping her fingers anxiously on the desk. "I sent a coded message to Jean-Luc in Paris. If anyone can help us navigate this mess, it’s him."

Jessica frowned. "Jean-Luc?"

"An old contact of mine. Investigative journalist, deep in the European black market intel trade. He’s slippery, but he owes me."

Leanna ran a hand through her hair, sighing. "I don’t love it, but we don’t have a better option."

Jessica felt the weight of exhaustion settle into her bones. She wanted to say no. She wanted to be done. But there was no turning back—not now.

Jessica crossed her arms, weighing the coordinates like chess moves on a board. “If this really is the source, we can’t ignore it. But we don’t charge in blind. We do it on our terms. But if this gets out of control, we pull out. Understood?"

Leanna and Olivia exchanged glances before nodding.

—

The cargo plane was nothing like the private flights Jessica had taken when she was still Jason Carter, the rising star athlete—those had been sleek, quiet, indulgent. This was cold, loud, and smelled of metal and oil, with nothing but steel benches lining the interior. The vibrations of the cargo hold rattled her bones as she pulled her jacket tighter, bracing against the roar of the engines. Once, her life had been private jets, endorsements, top-floor hotel suites. Now it was burner IDs and rusted airframes. Was that a fall… or had this always been the truth?

Leanna sat beside her, arms crossed, gaze locked on nothing in particular. Olivia was opposite them, tapping furiously at her laptop, trying to decrypt more data before they landed.

Jessica leaned her head back against the vibrating wall. "Paris. Ever been?"

Leanna shook her head. "Never had a reason. You?"

"Once. A long time ago." She didn’t elaborate, and Leanna didn’t push.

They fell into silence as the plane rumbled through the sky. Jessica closed her eyes, trying to ignore the gnawing unease in her chest. Paris would have answers. But did she really want to know the truth?