The trust.
The way she’ll breathe again.
I slide my helmet on and glance at the map one last time.
The location pin sits like a target.
“Let’s go,” I say.
And as we move—boots hitting concrete, gear clinking, engines starting—one thought beats louder than the storm outside:
Hang on, sweetheart.
I’m coming.
FOURTEEN
RILEY
I wake up groggy. My mouth tastes like cotton, my limbs heavy, head fogged like I’ve been drugged. There’s the faint scent of antiseptic and something else—gasoline?
Fluorescent lights flicker overhead as I blink into consciousness, realizing I’m tied to a metal chair in a room that looks like a makeshift ops center. Monitors line one wall, each with blinking readouts and live feeds from drone cameras.
Then I see him.
Dr. Lyle Hammond.
Standing across the room, arms crossed, brows furrowed like he’s the one in distress.
“You’re awake,” he says, like we’re just catching up over coffee in the breakroom.
My heart breaks in the same moment my stomach turns. “How could you?”
“It wasn’t personal,” he replies, hands splayed in some twisted form of apology. “You know I always respected your work.”
“Then why are youstealingit?” My voice is raspy, but the anger gives it edge. “Why are youusingit like this?”
He sighs. “Because the people funding this operation needed results. I gave them access, but only someone with your root key could initiate full override protocol.”
“You brought me here to finish what you couldn’t?” I bite out. “No. Hell no.”
He glances to the side. “I didn’t bring you here alone.”
That’s when the other man steps into view.
Older, dressed in a pristine suit like he walked off a Capitol Hill dossier. Cold, assessing eyes. Sharp jaw. Power practically oozes off him.
“Riley Willow,” he says smoothly, as if he’s been waiting to meet me. “I’m Mr. Stanton. We’ve read your file. Very impressive.”
I try to pull free of the zip ties, but they’re cinched tight. “What do you want?”
“We want to make history,” he replies. “Tonight, you’ll help us take full control of three military-grade drones. A test run. Just a taste of what your program can do in the right hands.”
Horror blooms in my chest. “You’re talking aboutattacks.”
“Correct.” He says it like it’s no more controversial than ordering lunch. “A few well-placed disruptions to certain political infrastructures. Regime changes. Controlled chaos. And no one to trace it back.”
“You’re usingrescuecode to launch coordinated drone strikes.” My voice trembles. “That code was meant tosavelives.”
