Kill Order

Part 1, Chapter 5: Chasing Fog

Tristan Reeves jolted awake, the bunk vibrating with the beat of his heart. The room was black except for the faint blue glow of a wall clock. Two in the morning. Rain tapped the narrow window and somewhere in the building a tired fan wheezed. No chance of drifting off again. The image of Evelyn Shaw hanging over the drop still burned behind his eyes.

He laced his boots, shrugged on yesterday's jacket, and slipped into the corridor. The motion lights stayed dim. A security officer slept behind the lobby desk, chin on chest. Tristan padded past, swiped his key card at the operations suite door, and stepped into cold blue glare.

Evelyn sat alone at a console, her face washed pale by rows of monitors. Her damp hair curled over her collar. A mug of coffee steamed beside the keyboard.

She glanced back without surprise. "Could not sleep either?"

"Not even close," he said, easing into the chair beside her. "How long have you been digging?"

"Since just after midnight. Told myself one more clip, then another. You know the drill."

He nodded. "Any sign of our van yet?"

"Nothing useful. London council leaves half its cameras busted, so the trail gets fuzzy fast." She paused the feed on one screen. "Here is the last clean shot. White van turns off the ring road at 23:59."

Grainy but clear enough: boxy panel van, no plates. Rust on the bumper. "Try the east road," he said. "Fewer cameras, smugglers like it."

"Already patched the private feeds," she answered, fingers clacking. "Their servers move at snail speed."

Tristan rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Slow system, stubborn enemy. Story of our lives."

"Story of us," she muttered, a tired grin flickering. She opened a digital map dotted with time stamps. "I marked six routes they could take. Pick one."

Their shoulders touched as they leaned close. Warmth passed through fabric. "Start here," he said, pointing to a thin line near the river.

They worked in silence. A sheep lorry lumbered past a camera. A fox trotted across a farm lane, tail glowing in night vision. No sign of the transporter.

Evelyn pushed a takeaway box across. "Old chips. Better than nothing."

He ate one, tasted rubber and salt. "Had worse during training."

She laughed. "Ever try those ration bricks that taste like sawdust?"

"Three weeks on them in the Highlands. Lost taste and the will to live." He toggled another feed. Empty lanes, hedges swaying.

Minutes stretched. Tristan sketched junctions and times in a pad. Evelyn scrolled slow footage. At last she froze a clip. Two hatchbacks roll through a toll camera with a white van between them.

"There," she breathed. "1:12."

"No plates on any. Smart." Tristan tapped the screen. "From here they could catch the M62 or dive south to the A1."

"A1 cams are offline for repairs." She groaned. "Of course."

Argument built behind Tristan's teeth. He swallowed it and stared at the buffering wheel spinning on the monitor. "Feels like chasing fog."

Evelyn shut a window in frustration. "We are not superheroes. Sometimes the job is bad coffee and blurry pictures till your eyes bleed."

He forced a laugh. "Bleeding eyes, noted."

She looked over. "Go crash for an hour. If you face plant this desk I will have to drag you to medical."

"Soldier code says no mate naps alone," he joked.

"Fine," she sighed. "Ten more minutes, then we both walk away."

They waited. Rain ticked harder on the windows. Tristan's head dipped forward. Evelyn nudged his arm.

"Bed. Now. I promise to yell if anything pops."

He stood, joints stiff, and trudged to the door. "You rest too."

"Soon." She lifted her mug in salute.

The corridor hummed with the hush of sleeping machines. Behind the key card door Evelyn watched lonely roads, hunting a van full of poison. Tristan wanted to believe she would wake him if luck shifted.

In the bunk room he collapsed fully clothed onto cold sheets that smelled of bleach. He replayed the choice he made on the catwalk. Relief and regret wrestled in his chest. The rain softened to a hush. For the first time since the mission went wrong he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

Sleep took him before he could decide which feeling weighed more.