Chapter 111

**Sloane**

The van smells like diesel and wet wool. Roxanne drives like she stole the road, Clara riding shotgun with the medical bag on her lap, fingers fiddling with the straps like she’s scared to sit still. I’m in the back, laptop closed but warm on my knees, maps and camera grabs folded into my jacket. The feeds showed the van’s route, and the plate trace brought us here: a compound sunk into