Military police finish up their photos and questions and leave us with the worst kind of answer—no leads, no suspects, no cleandirection. Just a hard truth: whoever did this knew what they were doing.
Riley tries to act like it’s fine. Like she’s not rattled. Like she’s not scared.
But I saw her hands shake when she picked up a shattered piece of glass with her own reflection in it.
I saw her swallow the panic like it was a pill she’s learned to live on.
I don’t like it.
And I don’t like the way the lab feels… violated.
It’s quiet for a minute.
Then the door opens.
A man steps inside fast, like he ran from wherever he was the second he heard. He’s in his fifties, tall but not imposing, hair more gray than not, his face lined with the kind of stress that doesn’t come from age—it comes from responsibility. He looks left. Right. Takes in the destruction with a sharp inhale.
Then his eyes land on Riley.
“Riley.”
Her breath catches. Her whole posture changes like someone loosened a knot inside her. “Dr. Hammond,” she says, and the way her voice softens tells me everything I need to know about who he is to her.
He crosses the room in three strides and pulls her into a hug like he’s been holding his breath all day. Riley melts into it fora second—just one second—before she straightens, embarrassed by the show of emotion.
I clock that too.
Not because it’s wrong.
Because it matters.
“Jesus,” Hammond murmurs, looking at her hair, her face, checking her like she’s a kid who scraped her knees. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she says automatically.
He pulls back and takes in the wreckage again, jaw flexing. “This is insane. This is… this is targeted.”
“It was,” Riley says quietly. “They weren’t trying to steal laptops. They were looking for my work.”
Hammond’s eyes flick to me—quick, assessing. “And you are?”
“Sergeant Crewe Hawthorne,” I say. “Pararescue.”
Recognition flashes in his expression. He’s heard the debrief. He knows what happened on that mountainside.
His gaze returns to Riley. “Where are you staying tonight?”
Riley opens her mouth.
I cut in before she can get the words out. “With me.”
The air shifts.
Riley blinks, surprised. Hammond’s brows pull together, but not in anger—concern. Interest. The kind of man who thinks he’s earned the right to know things because he cares.
Maybe he has.
I still don’t like it.
