The boy nods again. Silent.
"Before anyone decides Reagan's fate," Dylan says, his eyes on Kane, "remember that her investigation could expose Webb. Give Khalid the justice he deserves for what happened to his village. Morrison's dead, but Webb was his second. She might be our only shot at taking down the man who's running things now."
Kane's expression doesn't soften, but something shifts. "Lock her in the secure quarters. We'll decide in the morning whether she's worth keeping alive."
Dylan gestures toward a hallway. "This way."
What choice do I have? Past hostile stares and weapons within easy reach. Down a hallway that feels like it's taking me deeper underground. To a door that opens into a small room. Bed, chair, desk. No windows. One door. No other exits.
"Bathroom's through there." Dylan points to another door. “Fresh water in the jug by the bed. Don't try to leave. Don't try to contact anyone. The walls are soundproof and the door is reinforced. Camera covers every angle. You're locked in until morning."
"Am I a guest or a prisoner?"
"You're alive. That's more than you'd be if the Committee found you first." He starts to leave, then pauses. "For what it's worth, I meant what I said. You're worth more alive than dead. But you're going to have to prove it."
The door closes. Locks engage with solid clicks. The room feels smaller now. The walls closer. My heart pounds in my ears.
Two hours ago I was in that park. Meeting a source. Chasing proof. Breaking the story of my career. Now I'm locked in a fortress in the mountains with people who want me dead.
The bed creaks as I sink onto it, pulling my bag close. My laptop is inside. My research. Six months of investigation that apparently just painted a target on my back and threatened people I didn't even know existed.
People like Dylan Rourke. Former Delta Force. Works as a private military contractor. A man who talks about torture and death like other people discuss the weather.
A man who stepped between me and his team leader. Who argued for keeping me alive.
I open my laptop, pull up my files. The last document Cipher sent. I dig into the metadata, the file properties, the analysis I ran.
There. Geographic markers. References to mountain ranges, elevations, proximity to certain landmarks. I'd narrowed it down to a one hundred-square-mile area. Close enough to be dangerous. Not close enough to be exact.
I didn't expose the location of Echo Base. I exposed the possibility of the existence of the Echo Ridge unit and gave the Committee a general location for their hunting ground. They think I'm holding back the final piece.
Unless I can prove I'm worth more alive. Unless I can use what I know to help these people stop the Committee permanently.
I close the laptop, lie back on the bed. Stare at the ceiling and try to slow my racing heart.
Somewhere in this fortress, Dylan Rourke is probably arguing for my life. Convincing his team that I'm an asset, not a liability. That I'm worth the risk.
And in the morning, I'll have to prove he's right.
Because the alternative is a shallow grave in these mountains where no one will ever find me.
I went looking for the truth. Now the truth might be the only thing that keeps me alive.
I stare at the closed laptop. Six months of research. Patterns the Committee thought they'd hidden. Financial connections. Protocol authorizations. Names and dates and operations that connect Webb to something bigger than anyone realizes. Webb's picking up where Morrison left off—and he's even more dangerous. They think I'm a liability. A security breach to be eliminated or contained. I'm going to prove I'm the weapon they need.
My eyes drift closed, but my mind keeps working. Cataloging. Analyzing. Building the case that will keep me alive past sunrise.
A red light blinks in the corner. Camera. They're watching. Good. Let them see I’m no threat.
Echo Ridge. Whatever it is, the Committee wants it destroyed badly enough to kill for, and I'm trapped in the middle of a war I didn't even know I was fighting until tonight.
The walls are soundproof, but I press my ear against the door anyway. Straining to hear. To understand.
Nothing. Just silence and the awareness that somewhere in this building, they're deciding whether I live or die.
In the morning, I have to convince a room full of armed operatives that I'm worth the risk. That I'm more than a security breach who stumbled into their war. That I'm the one person who can help them win it.
My father died believing the truth would protect him. He was wrong about that. But he was right about one thing. The truth matters. Not because it protects you. Because it's the only weapon that can't be taken away... and I have six months of truth buried in these files.
