Page 374 of Primal

Kade shifts in the chair—enough to draw both our eyes. “He probably didn’t build it to look like a bomb.”

Wesley frowns. “Then what does it look like?”

“Small,” Kade rasps, wincing. “Black box. Wires. Most likely rigged to a battery, not the mains.”

Great. We’re inside a fucking tomb, and I can’t even hear any ticking.

“Check the racks,” Kade breathes. “Start there.”

Wesley’s already moving.

I follow, my eyes sweeping across rows of metal towers humming low.

He crouches, yanks open a panel. “You sure we got the right place?”

“No,” I mutter, dropping beside him.

He starts checking cables.

We work fast. Wipe dust off power bricks. Tug wires. Peer behind outlets and under desks. Even without a countdown, I feel it. The too-late pressing in.

Five minutes. Maybe four. Less?

Nothing behind the racks.

Nothing under the desk.

Nothing but cold air and goosebumps.

Kade coughs behind us. A wet, wrecked sound that doesn’t stop.

I shoot to my feet. “Wesley—”

“There’s nothing. Not back here.”

I stare at the walls. The windows. The corners.

“That’s it.” Wesley’s voice is flat. “We’re leaving.”

Kade’s hand claws into his. “No. The files—”

“Are gone, man. Look at you. And the fucking bomb … any second now.”

“There’s time. Check the ceiling.”

He coughs—chokes on it.

I’m at his side in a heartbeat, hand on his shoulder, grounding us both. “Kade …”

“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.”