“It’s whatever it needs to be to keep you alive.”
“And after? When I’m safe?”
After. When the mission ends and she returns to her academic life? I’ll disappear back into the shadows.
“There is no after.”
The words come out harsher than intended, but they’re true. Protection details end. Clients return to their everyday lives. Operators move on to the next mission.
Except the way she feels pressed against me suggests this mission might bedifferent.
The train pulls into Union Station. Major terminus, multiple exit routes, crowds thick enough to disappear into.
“This is us,” I say.
We exit with the mass of commuters, and I keep Dr. Wren close as we navigate the station’s main concourse. Union Station bustles with travelers, tourists, and locals—perfect cover for the final approach to the safe house.
“Where now?” she asks as we emerge onto street level.
“Walking distance.”
“How far?”
“Six blocks.”
The safe house sits in a residential neighborhood north of Union Station—a nondescript row house that looks exactly like every other row house on the block. Perfect camouflage in plain sight.
I scan the street as we approach, looking for surveillance, out-of-place vehicles, anything that suggests Phoenix has anticipated our destination. Everything appears normal—parked cars, pedestrians, the usual rhythm of urban residential life.
“This is it,” I say, guiding her up the front steps.
The lock disengages with my key card, and we step into the safe house’s interior. Basic furnishings, secure communications equipment, and a weapons cache in the basement. Everything needed for extended protection operations.
“We made it,” Dr. Wren says, relief evident in her voice.
“Yeah. We made it.”
But as I engage the electronic locks and activate the security system, something in my gut suggests this is far from over. Phoenix doesn’t give up easily, and Dr. Eliza Wren represents something valuable enough to justify escalating tactics.
The question is what happens when Phoenix decides that ground pursuit isn’t sufficient.
And whether this safe house is actually safe at all.
NINE
Eliza
BREAKING POINT
The safe housedoor clicks shut behind us with a finality that makes my pulse jump. Cooper engages multiple locks—electronic, mechanical, and a security system that beeps as it activates.
We’re sealed in. Trapped. Together.
Seventy-two hours of nowhere to run. Maybe longer.
No distractions. No escape. Just him and me.
“This is impressive.” My voice is pitched higher than usual, nerves vibrating through every syllable. “The security measures, I mean. How many different lock systems are there? And the location—residential neighborhood, completely nondescript. Perfect camouflage. No one would suspect this is anything other than a normal row house. The architectural details are authentic too. Did Cerberus design this, or did you acquire an existing property and retrofit it?”
