Page 170 of Primal

“Trust me.”

Wesley drags a chair under the panel. “If I die up there, tell my mom I went out a hero.”

He climbs. I grip the gun tighter, heart pounding. That’s where Derek came from before—above us, like a monster dropping out of a goddamn vent.

Wesley hauls himself halfway into the crawlspace, boots scraping the chair.

“Okay. Either I’ve found the world’s shittiest air vent or—yeah. This is it.”

I force myself to breathe.

“Describe it,” Kade says, eyes barely open.

The chair creaks under Wesley. “Black case. Wires everywhere—thick, insulated shit, like the kind they use in Humvees. Something taped to the side—looks like a router?”

“Battery pack. It’s independent. Generator won’t kill it.”

“And the red light probably isn’t festive,” Wesley mutters.

My stomach knots. “How bad does it look?”

“Bad enough I regret all my life choices. Gimme a sec.”

He disappears into the ceiling.

“Three bundles of wires,” he calls out. “Black, blue, yellow. Battery’s duct-taped to the bottom.”

“He didn’t build it from scratch. Probably jacked it off a sabotage script. Look for a pressure plate.”

“No plate.” Wesley pops his head out, staring down at us. “So what now? Rock-paper-scissors to see who dies first?”

The screen’s blinking with overwritten code. And Kade ... God, his body’s shutting down—just like the laptop.

“Cut the yellow,” he says finally.

Wesley doesn’t move. “You sure?”

Kade’s eyes meet mine. “It’s the cleanest. Blue feeds the detonator. Black’s power. Yellow bridges the delay.”

“Delay?”

“Failsafe lag. So he could walk away before it blew.”

I swallow. “How much time’s left?”

No answer.

“Wesley?”

“Uh, timer’s at four minutes, thirty-six—”

“Four? Really?”

“Yeah. So back to the wires. If I cut the wrong one—”

Kade’s smile is bloody. “Then hell’s about to get three new roommates.”

My stomach plummets. “Kade.”