The operations center is already set up for a briefing when we arrive. Kane stands at the tactical display with Tommy at the console. Sarah coordinates communications. Mercer leans against the wall despite his injuries, and Dylan has claimed a chair that Reagan pulled out for him. Willa positions herself near, ready for whatever comes next.
Stryker takes position near the back wall where he can see everything. I move to stand beside him, needing the anchor of his presence even if I'm not ready to name what that means.
Kane pulls up files on the main display. "Cross came through. She's arranged discrete federal contact for Lucas's testimony. Prosecutor with the authority to secure witness statements and the discretion to keep them protected from Committee infiltration."
The logic makes sense in the same cold, tactical way everything these people do makes sense. But the reality of putting my six-year-old son through that process sends bile rising in my throat.
"He's six years old," I say. "You're asking him to relive the worst thing he's ever seen. To describe a murder in enough detail that it holds up legally. To identify the man who did it knowing that man wanted to kill him."
"I know," Kane says, and something in his voice suggests he understands exactly what he's asking. "But it's the best option we have for keeping him alive long-term."
Before I can argue further, Tommy's console chimes. He glances at the screen and his face goes still.
"We have incoming," he announces. "Friendly signature, Cross's encryption. Should I let them through?"
Kane nods. "Open the primary entrance. Prepare for visitor."
The massive doors grind open somewhere deeper in the facility. Minutes tick by in tense silence. Then footsteps echo down the corridor, and a man appears in the doorway.
I know him immediately despite the years that have passed. Micah Hawthorne. Older than I remember, his dark hair showing grey at the temples, but the same intense focus in his eyes. The same competent presence that made me trust him that night when he talked me into opening the bathroom door while gunfire raged through Mateo's compound.
He sees me and stops. Guilt and relief and recognition war across his face.
"Rachel," he says, and my name in his voice carries weight I don't know how to hold.
I cross the room without conscious decision, closing the distance between us. He meets me halfway, and when his arms come around me in a careful embrace, relief breaks open inside me.
"You're okay," he says against my hair. "I've been tracking you through Cross's network. Knew you were in trouble but couldn't reach you until now."
"You saved us," I manage, pulling back to look at him properly. "You got us out. Lucas and me both. You saved us."
"I should have found you sooner. Should have realized what Mateo really was before—" His jaw tightens. "I carry that, Rachel. Should have acted sooner."
"You couldn't have known. I didn't know, and I lived with him." I grip his arms, making him look at me. "You came when it mattered. You got us out alive. That's what counts."
Hawthorne's expression eases slightly. He glances around the operations center, taking in the assembled team with professional assessment. His eyes linger on Stryker for a moment—mutual recognition passing between them.
"I hear you've found yourself some decent backup," Hawthorne says, a slight smile touching his mouth.
"They're good people," I confirm.
Kane steps forward, extending a hand. "Hawthorne. Appreciate you coming personally."
They shake, and something in the gesture speaks to mutual respect between professionals who operate in similar worlds.
"Cross said you needed help with witness testimony," Hawthorne says, getting straight to business. "I brought everything. Federal prosecutor on standby, secure recording equipment, protocols for witness protection if necessary."
"The witness is six years old," Kane says bluntly.
Hawthorne's expression doesn't change, but his eyes shift to me with understanding. "Your son. The murder he witnessed."
"Lucas saw Kessler execute a man in an alley behind Martinez Grocery in Tucson," Kane explains. "The victim was David Hernandez, former guard at a Protocol Seven black site. Your task force helped dismantle that facility years ago."
Darkness crosses Hawthorne's face. "Protocol Seven. Christ. Hernandez kept evidence?"
"We believe so," Tommy says from his console. "The Committee sent Kessler to eliminate him before he could talk."
Hawthorne processes this information with the kind of speed that comes from years in intelligence work. "And now the Committee wants the kid dead before he can identify Kessler."
