Dane's POV:
We stand there for nearly half an hour, engines idling low, breath fogging the inside of the van, no one quite willing to say it out loud.
A school.
That's what the intel said.
That this was the main hub.
Ahead of us, beyond the iron entry gate, children spill across the snow-crusted ground.
Boots crunch against ice.
A ball skids unevenly across the yard.
Small bodies bundled in thick coats dart and collide, bright scarves flashing against the dull white.
It looks… normal.
The school itself is squat and old, brick darkened by age, windows tall and narrow like watching eyes.
A faded sign hangs crooked above the entrance, its lettering half-erased by time and weather.
On one side, the ground slopes away toward a dense stretch of forest , tall pines pressed close together, their branches heavy with snow, shadows layered so thick it's impossible to see how deep it goes.
We sit inside the van, monitors glowing softly in the dim.
