The pines grew thicker here, their branches heavy with fresh snow.

The headlights caught the rusted chain-link fence of the old water treatment facility.

A faded sign hung crookedly from the gate, warning of high voltage.

Marcus drove the SUV through the gap in the fence and parked behind a cluster of overgrown birch trees.

The old brick building loomed ahead of us, its windows boarded up with rotting plywood.

“The generator is in the basement,” I said, opening my door. “There’s a side entrance that’s still open.”

The cold air hit me again, smelling of pine needles and damp earth.

We walked quickly to the side door, our boots crunching softly on the frozen ground.

Inside, the air was freezing and smelled of rust.

Marcus pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, keeping the beam pointed at the floor.

“We will be in the adjacent corridor,” Damon said, his eyes scanning the dark space. “We will hear everything.”

“Keep your distance,” I said. “If she sees your car or hears you, she will run.”

“Marcus will move the SUV further down the ridge,” Damon said. “I will remain inside.”