The silence that follows tells me everything I need to know about how Dylan feels about that suggestion. His hand turns under mine, fingers interlacing with my own, and he stares at the ceiling with an expression that speaks to guilt I can only imagine.
"We should hear what Kane has to say," I offer.
"Help me up."
"Dylan, you just had surgery?—"
"I won't be excluded from this conversation." His eyes meet mine, and the stubborn determination there reminds me why I fell for him in the first place. "Help me up, Reagan."
I help him sit, then stand, one arm around his waist to steady him as we make our way to the main room. Every step costs him, and I feel the way his body trembles with the effort, but he doesn't complain. Just sets his jaw and keeps moving.
The main room of the hunting lodge is larger than the bedrooms, with rough-hewn furniture and a stone fireplace that someone has lit against the mountain chill. Kane stands near the window, watching the treeline. Mercer sits at the table, cleaning a pistol with methodical precision. Stryker is propped in a chair with his injured leg elevated, and Khalid perches on a stool near the fire, watching everyone in the room with the hyperawareness of someone who learned young that safety is an illusion.
Willa emerges from what looks like a kitchen area, carrying mugs of coffee. She frowns when she sees Dylan on his feet but doesn't argue, just hands him a mug and guides us both to the worn couch against the far wall.
"Victoria Cross made contact," Kane begins once we're settled. "Secure channel through Tommy at Echo Base."
"What did she have?" Dylan asks.
"Confirmation that the Committee is hunting us hard. Every asset they have is mobilized. But Webb's facing questions from other Committee members about the botched raid." Kane's mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile. "Apparently losing an entire strike team and failing to eliminate any primary targets has raised concerns about his leadership."
"Internal pressure," Mercer observes. "Could work in our favor."
"Could. But Webb is consolidating power. He's using the raid as justification for escalated measures. Cross says he's positioned himself as the only one willing to do what's necessaryto eliminate the Echo Ridge threat." Kane turns from the window. "Which brings us to our problem."
He lays out the same argument he made to me in the bedroom, and I watch the understanding dawn on each face in the room. Mercer nods grimly. Stryker swears under his breath. Khalid's expression doesn't change, but his hands still on his lap.
"We need to control the narrative before we release the files," Kane concludes. "And the most powerful narrative we have is Khalid's testimony."
"No."
Dylan's voice cuts through the room, sharp and immediate. He's leaning forward on the couch despite what it must cost him, his free hand gripping my knee like an anchor.
"He's fifteen years old. He's been through enough."
"I'm not suggesting we force him," Kane says evenly. "But if he's willing to share his story?—"
"He shouldn't have to be willing. He shouldn't have to relive that nightmare in front of cameras while politicians decide whether his dead family is worth their attention." Dylan's voice rises, and I feel the tremor running through him. "What if it isn't enough? What if they discredit a fifteen-year-old Syrian refugee? The Committee has media contacts. PR specialists. They'll paint Khalid as a plant, a fabrication, a propaganda tool designed to undermine American security."
"Then we make sure he's not alone."
The words leave my mouth before I fully think them through, but they feel right. Everyone turns to look at me.
"If Khalid testifies, he doesn't do it alone," I continue. "We testify too. All of us. Every person in this room who has firsthand knowledge of what the Committee has done." I look at Dylan, holding his gaze. "You can corroborate everything he says. You were there. You saw what Protocol Seven did to that village. You know the names on those files better than anyone."
"Reagan—"
"I'm a journalist with a documented history of legitimate reporting. My credibility adds weight to any claims we make. Kane, Mercer, Stryker, everyone at Echo Base who's been targeted by Protocol Seven. We present a united front. Khalid's testimony opens the door, creates the emotional investment, and then we back it up with our own accounts and the documentary evidence."
The room is silent. Dylan stares at me with an expression I can't quite read.
"She's right," Mercer says finally. "Multiple witnesses are harder to discredit than one. Especially when they include a former Committee operative willing to testify against his own people."
"Congressional interest would be immediate," Kane adds. "A refugee child, a decorated operator turned whistleblower, a journalist, and an entire team of burned special forces operatives? That story doesn't die quietly."
"And my reporting keeps the pressure on after the initial testimony," I add. "Ongoing coverage. Follow-up stories. We don't let them bury this with one news cycle."
Dylan's hand tightens on my knee. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than before. "You're asking all of us to expose ourselves. To become targets."
