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The beacon wouldn't stop pinging.
Evie crouched in the drainage culvert, water soaking through her boots, and stared at the blinking red light in her palm. The thing was small—military issue, encrypted—and it had been strapped to the underside of the dead observer's belt. She'd grabbed it on instinct during the retreat, thinking it might give them intel on Hammer's movements.
Instead, it was screaming their location to every hostile unit in a five-mile radius.
"Kill it," Leah hissed from behind her. The medic was pressed against the culvert wall, rifle up, scanning the tree line above. "Evie. Kill it now."
"I'm thinking."
"Think faster."
Evie turned the beacon over. The casing was reinforced polymer, tamper-proof. If she cracked it open, the internal battery would fry and take any useful data with it. If she left it intact, Hammer's drones would follow the signal straight to them. If she threw it away, they'd lose the one thing that might tell them where Hammer's squads were staged.
Behind her, Cole was shaking. Not crying, not talking. Just shaking, his hands locked around his rifle like it was the only solid thing left in the world. The kid had put a round through a man's skull four hours ago, and now he looked like he was holding himself together with duct tape and spite.
"Evie," Leah said again. Her voice was flat. "We don't have time."
"I know."
"Then do something."
Evie looked at the beacon. Then at Cole. Then back at the beacon.
She shoved it into her jacket pocket and started moving.
"What the hell are you doing?" Leah grabbed her arm. "You can't carry that. They'll track us."
"They're already tracking us." Evie pulled free. "Hammer knows I'm out here. He knows I've got the supply list. That beacon's the only reason he hasn't carpet-bombed this entire grid."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do." Evie stepped into the current, boots sinking into mud. The water was cold enough to sting. "He wants me alive. That means he's playing careful. If we dump the beacon, he'll stop playing careful."
Leah stared at her. "So your plan is to let him follow us."
"My plan is to stay alive long enough to figure out what the hell he's doing with that signal." Evie glanced back at Cole. The kid hadn't moved. "Cole. On your feet."
Nothing.
"Cole."
He blinked. Looked up. His eyes were somewhere else.
"I said move."
He stood. Slowly. Like his legs didn't belong to him.
Leah muttered something under her breath and slung her rifle. "If this gets us killed, I'm haunting you."
"Get in line."
They moved through the culvert in single file, boots splashing, breath fogging in the pre-dawn chill. The beacon pulsed against Evie's ribs, warm and insistent, like a second heartbeat. She could feel it through the fabric, counting down the seconds until Hammer's people closed in.
The culvert spilled into a shallow creek bed. Evie paused at the mouth, scanning the ridge above. No movement. No engine noise. The forest was too quiet.
"They're waiting," Leah said.
"Yeah."
"So what do we do?"
Evie pulled the beacon out and held it up to the faint light. The red blink was steady now, faster than before. Proximity alert. Something was close.
"We make them think we're stupid."
She turned to Cole. The kid was staring at the ground, jaw tight, fists clenched. He looked like he was about to snap.
"Cole."
He didn't look up.
"Cole, I need you here."
His eyes flicked to hers. There was nothing behind them. Just static.
"I need you to take this." She held out the beacon. "And I need you to keep it alive."
He stared at it. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't—" His voice cracked. "I don't understand."
"You don't have to." Evie stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the cold coming off the water on her jacket. "You just have to hold it. Keep it dry. Don't let it break."
"Why?"
"Because if it dies, we die."
Leah moved between them. "Evie, he's not stable. You can't—"
"I'm not asking." Evie didn't look at her. She kept her eyes on Cole. "This is the job. You wanted to be useful. This is how."
Cole's hand trembled as he reached for the beacon. His fingers brushed hers, cold and damp, and for a second she saw the kid he used to be—before the massacre, before the revenge fantasy, before she'd put a gun in his hand and told him to pull the trigger.
Then he closed his fist around the beacon and the moment passed.
"Don't drop it," Evie said.
"I won't."
"Don't lose it."
"I won't."
"And don't ask me why."
He nodded. Once. Sharp.
Evie turned and started up the creek bed. Leah fell in beside her, voice low and tight.
"That was cruel."
"That was necessary."
"He just killed someone. He's barely holding it together."
"Then he'll hold it together." Evie kept moving, eyes on the ridge. "Or he'll break. Either way, we need that beacon functional."
"And if he drops it?"
"He won't."
"You don't know that."
Evie glanced at her. "You got a better idea?"
Leah didn't answer.
They climbed in silence, boots slipping on wet stone, breath coming harder as the slope steepened. Behind them, Cole moved like a ghost, the beacon clutched against his chest. Evie didn't look back. She didn't need to. She could hear him breathing—short, shallow, panicked—and she knew he wouldn't let go.
The ridge leveled out into a stretch of burnt timber and ash. Old wildfire zone, maybe three years dead. The ground was soft with rot, and the air smelled like wet charcoal. Evie stopped at the edge and crouched, pulling her scope.
Two hundred meters out, she caught movement. A drone, low and slow, circling the far end of the burn zone. Military-grade optics, thermal overlay, probably linked to a command post somewhere south. It wasn't hunting. It was waiting.
"They know we're here," Leah said.
"They know we're close." Evie lowered the scope. "They don't know where."
"Yet."
"Yet."
Leah exhaled. "So what's the play?"
Evie looked at the drone. Then at Cole, still clutching the beacon like it was a live grenade. Then back at the drone.
"We let them think they've got us."
She pulled the beacon from Cole's hands—he flinched, but didn't fight her—and held it up to the light. The red blink was frantic now, triple-time. The drone's sensors would be picking it up any second.
"Evie," Leah said. "What are you doing?"
"Buying time."
She walked into the open, boots crunching on ash, and stood in the center of the burn zone. The drone's rotors shifted pitch. It was turning toward her.
"Evie, get back—"
"Stay put."
The drone descended, optics glowing red in the gray dawn light. Evie didn't move. She held the beacon up, arm extended, and waited.
The drone stopped ten meters out. Hovering. Watching.
Evie met its lens.
"You want this?" she said. Her voice carried flat and cold across the ash. "Come and get it."
For three seconds, nothing happened.
Then the drone's rotors screamed and it dove.
Evie threw the beacon straight up, spun, and sprinted.
The explosion was small—just the drone's self-destruct kicking in as it tried to grab the beacon mid-air—but it was loud enough to wake the dead. Evie hit the ground, arms over her head, and felt the shockwave rip through the trees behind her.
When she looked up, the beacon was gone. Just smoking fragments scattered across the ash.
Leah was staring at her. "You just told them exactly where we are."
"No." Evie stood, brushing ash off her jacket. "I told them where we were."
"That's the same thing."
"Not if we move fast."
She grabbed Cole by the shoulder and shoved him toward the tree line. "Go. Now."
He stumbled, caught himself, and ran.
Leah followed, muttering something that sounded like a prayer or a curse. Evie brought up the rear, rifle up, eyes on the ridge.
Behind them, the drone's wreckage smoldered. And somewhere south, in a command post she couldn't see, Hammer was watching the feed cut out and smiling.
Because the drone had died, but the signal had already gone through.
And now he knew exactly which direction they were running.
Evie didn't stop moving. But deep in her gut, she knew the truth.
Every exit was already covered.