Rain began falling before midnight.
A light drizzle at first.
Then a steady curtain that soaked the abandoned highway and washed fresh mud across the strange tracks carved into the asphalt. Within minutes, the enormous footprint beside the road disappeared beneath rippling water as though it had never existed.
Marcus hated that.
Evidence vanished too easily.
The convoy pressed onward without slowing.
Atlas operators moved in disciplined silence, their boots splashing through shallow puddles while every pair of eyes searched the darkness beyond the road. The blackout had forced them back to old infantry doctrine. There were no drone feeds, no thermal overlays, and no radio chatter coordinating every movement.
Only instinct.
Only training.
Only trust.
Adrian rode in the front passenger seat of the aging truck, studying the notebook resting across his lap. The pages smelled faintly of saltwater and mildew, as though they had spent years sealed inside a damp compartment.
