With a swift, practiced twist, Rowan dragged the man into the dark of the culvert.

There was a brief splash, the sound of metal striking concrete, and then silence.

Rowan stood over the unconscious guard, his chest rising and falling.

He picked up the guard’s flashlight and clicked it off before it could reveal our position.

“He is alive,” Rowan whispered, answering my unspoken fear.

“We need to go,” Marcus said, climbing out of the culvert onto the grassy bank. “Their command center will notice his silent radio within two minutes.”

We crawled out of the ditch and into the dripping woods that bordered the estate.

The heavy rain muffled our footsteps, but the cold was beginning to take its toll.

My teeth chatted violently.

Rowan unzipped his jacket slightly to check on Clara.

She was shivering, but she was dry under his protective layers.

“We cannot take her into the open like this,” I said, my voice shaking. “She will get hypothermia.”

Rowan looked through the trees toward the highway in the distance.

“The transport is parked two miles south,” Marcus said.