Three-man team. Professional sweep. Took her desktop, external drives, paper files. Planted surveillance—cameras, microphones, network taps. Waiting for her to come back.
She won't. She knows better, and if she doesn't, I do. She's not leaving this safe house without an armed escort.
Sarah flagged multiple failed login attempts on Reagan's encrypted cloud storage. The Committee using brute force to crack her encryption.
Tommy's estimate: days, maybe less with NSA-level resources.
Not long until every name in her source list becomes a target.
Kane's already up. His footsteps in the hall carry that specific rhythm—too fast, too heavy. He appears in the doorway, eyes bloodshot from coordinating with Sarah all night.
"You saw the analysis."
"Just now."
"Blackout protocols." No preamble. No discussion. "Cut all external access. Lock down communications. She works from what we have until Tommy clears the threat."
"She'll fight you on that."
"She doesn't get a vote. This is operational security." Kane moves to the door, pauses. "Briefing at oh-nine-hundred. Get her there. She needs to see the casualty projections."
He leaves. The hallway swallows his footsteps.
Casualty projections. Nice way to sayeveryone she talked to might be dead soon.
The command center smells like burned coffee and electrical heat when I find her. Reagan sits at Khalid's usual station, surrounded by monitors displaying Webb's financial network. The kid perches beside her, pointing out connections with the careful precision of someone who learned pattern recognition from necessity. One of the screens shows Delaney on a secure video feed from Echo Base, reviewing something on her end.
"We need to talk."
Reagan doesn't look up. "Khalid found a link between Webb and someone named Archer. Financial transfers through?—"
"Now."
The word comes out harder than intended. Reagan turns. Her eyes catch my expression and something shifts in her posture.
Khalid's already moving. The kid reads tension like it's written in the air. He taps a key, disconnecting the video feed with Delaney, then slips past me with his book tucked underone arm, giving us privacy for the fight he saw coming before I walked in.
"What happened?"
"They found your apartment."
The blood drains from her face. Not slowly—all at once, like someone opened a valve.
"Four hours ago. Professional sweep. They took everything you left behind. Desktop, external drives, paper files. Planted surveillance throughout. They're waiting for you to come back." I pull up Tommy's analysis, angle the screen toward her. "Every database you accessed yesterday? The Committee hit three of them within hours. They're tracking your digital signature. Following your investigation in real time, using it to find your sources."
Reagan's hand moves to her throat. Drops. "My cloud storage?—"
"Multiple failed login attempts. They're trying to crack it."
"How long?"
"Tommy says days. Maybe less if they're using NSA resources." The terminal fan hums between us, filling the silence. "When they break your encryption, they get everything. Every name. Every source. Every person who helped you. All of them exposed."
Reagan stares at the screen like she's watching people die in real time. Maybe she is.
"We're implementing blackout protocols. No external access. No new database queries. You work from what we already have?—"
"No."
