Chapter 6

The holding cell beneath the Whitmore compound was freezing, carved from raw stone beneath the foundation, reeking of damp earth and rust.

Naomi sat on the narrow wooden bench, pulling her wool coat tightly around her shoulders.

The heavy iron door groaned on its hinges.

Garrett stepped into the cell. The single dim bulb hanging overhead cast harsh shadows across his face. His suit jacket was gone, his dark sleeves rolled to his elbows.

"Three men are dead, Naomi," he said, his tone devoid of warmth. "Our northern supply run was ambushed an hour ago. The Voss crew knew the…