"The standing man had a gun. He pointed it at the man on the ground." Lucas's voice drops to a whisper. "The man on the ground was crying. He said please. He said he had kids."
Tears burn my eyes. I blink them back, squeezing Lucas's hand.
"And then?" Hawthorne prompts softly.
"The standing man shot him. In the head." Lucas opens his eyes, looking at Hawthorne with an expression far too old for his face. "The man on the ground stopped moving. There was blood. A lot of blood."
"You're doing great, Lucas. Just a few more questions." Hawthorne pulls out a tablet with photos. "Can you look at these pictures and tell me if you see the man with the snake tattoo?"
Lucas looks through the images slowly. Then he stops, pointing with a shaking finger. "That's him. That's the man who shot the other man."
Kessler's face stares out from the tablet. Lucas just identified him positively in recorded testimony.
"Thank you, Lucas. That was very brave." Hawthorne saves the recording and shuts down the equipment. "You did exactly what we needed you to do."
Lucas looks at me. "Is that it? Are we safe now?"
I want to say yes. Want to promise him that this terrible thing he just did will make everything okay. But I've learned the hard way that promises can break.
"We're safer," I tell him instead. "You helped a lot."
Hawthorne gathers his equipment while Lucas leans against me, exhausted from reliving trauma. Stryker crosses to crouch beside us.
"You did good, buddy," he says. "Real good."
Lucas manages a tired smile. "Can I go back to playing with Odin now?"
"Yeah." I smooth his hair back. "Go find Khalid. I'll be there soon."
He slides off the chair and heads for the door, Ghost dragging behind him. Khalid appears in the hallway to collect him, and I hear their voices fade as they head back toward the gym.
I sit in sudden silence, trying to process what just happened. My six-year-old son just gave testimony identifying a Committee assassin. The recording is secured with federal protection. Lucas is now a witness instead of a target that can be silenced.
"It's done," Hawthorne says. "I'll get this to my contacts within the hour. By tonight, copies will be secured in multiple locations with people I trust. The Committee can't touch it."
"Thank you," I manage.
Stryker moves from his position against the wall, his hand finding my shoulder. The touch grounds me, reminds me I'm not carrying this alone anymore.
"He's a strong kid," Stryker says quietly. "Got that from his mother."
Before I can respond, Tommy's voice cuts through the facility speakers with controlled urgency.
"All personnel to operations. Priority alert. Proximity sensors triggered. We have movement in the outer perimeter."
Stryker is already moving, heading for the operations center at a run despite his injuries. Hawthorne follows immediately, all business now. I stand on shaking legs and force myself to follow.
The operations center is chaos when we arrive. Tommy hunches over his console, his fingers moving frantically across keyboards. Sarah coordinates communications. Kane stands at the tactical display studying thermal imaging with an expression carved from stone. Mercer and Dylan have materialized from wherever they were resting, both operational.
"What do we have?" Stryker demands.
"Single contact. Moving through the outer perimeter with textbook counter-surveillance protocols." Tommy pulls up the feed. "He's good. Really good. Checking sight lines, avoiding obvious paths, staying in terrain that limits thermal exposure."
"Reeve," Hawthorne says flatly.
"Confirmed." Kane zooms in on the thermal signature. "He's searching, not approaching. Mapping the area. He knows something's out here but hasn't pinpointed our location."
"He's hunting," Stryker says. "Building a complete picture before he commits to action."
