Empty room. But signs of occupancy, food wrappers, cigarette butts, playing cards scattered across a makeshift table.
Next door.
This one had restraints. Zip-ties on the floor. A chair with rope burns on the wood.
My heart hammered.
She'd been here.
Next door. And the next. Clearing rooms systematically while Hayes's team provided cover fire in the corridor behind me.
A bathroom. Blood in the sink. Fresh.
A storage room. Empty except for crates of weapons and ammunition.
Another holding room. More restraints. A mattress on the floor with rust-colored stains.
And then, a larger room. Concrete walls reinforced with steel plating. Professional construction.
Signs everywhere that someone had been held here recently.
A torn piece of fabric, white cotton, like from a shirt. I picked it up, my hand shaking slightly.
Aria's shirt. I'd seen her wearing it the morning she was taken.
But no Aria.
