“Look,” I say, voice thin. “They died in order of seniority. One by one. The most senior first, then the next. It’s—deliberate.”
“That’s Phoenix.” His voice drops, low and final. “It doesn’t just kill—it calculates. Makes it look organic. Random. But every death fits an algorithm.”
“Did you think …”
“I think we just found out why multiple kill squads were sent after you and Victor.” Jackson’s hand settles on the table beside me, steady but coiled. His eyes narrow on the scrolling code.
The cursor blinks. Once. Twice. Then the hard drive hums—a sound almost like breathing.
“An AI that kills people?” My hands shake slightly. “That learns and adapts?”
“Phoenix went rogue years ago. Started selecting its own targets based on threat assessment algorithms.” His voice is grim. “We’ve been tracking it, trying to predict patterns.”
“But true AI can’t be predicted. It evolves faster than human analysis.” I scan more files. “Jackson, these chemical formulas … Victor flagged something.”
I pull up his margin notes:Not therapeutic. Synthetic markers? DNA changes detected pre-death. Unreported.
“What if they were changing something in the test subjects’ DNA before they died?” I suggest quietly. “The deaths were secondary. Collateral damage from testing something else.”
“What were they testing?”
“I don’t know. The chemistry is beyond my understanding.” I scroll through more formulas, frustrated. “But Victor documented DNA changes in the autopsy reports that Meridian never reported to the FDA. Whatever they were doing, it was worth killing seventy-three people to test. And worth killing anyone who questioned it.”
A shiver runs through me—delayed reaction to everything. The cold, the fear, the phantom memory of Jackson’s body shielding mine.
Without warning, he disappears into the bedroom. Returns with a blanket that he drapes over my shoulders. The gesture is so unexpected, so gentle, that my throat closes up.
The blanket smells like cedar and gunpowder and safety. I pull it tighter, burrowing into the warmth.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He nods, returns to checking the windows. But something has shifted. The quiet between us feels different now. Charged with things unsaid.
I focus on the screen, but I’m hyperaware of him moving through the space. Of the blanket’s weight on my shoulders. Of the bruise on my ribs that throbs with each breath, reminding me of his gentle hands checking the damage.
The way my body still aches for his touch, even though I know his protection was just a professional duty.
But the blanket around my shoulders feels like more than duty. It feels like he’s taking care of me.
If that’s the case, he might be more dangerous than any AI or assassination team hunting me.
SIX
Jackson
BLOOD AND WATER
She movespast me toward the kitchen, and something dark catches the light in her still-damp hair. Not water. Something chunky, matted against the strands near her temple.
Brain matter. Probably the stocky operative’s.
I reach out, plucking it free before she notices. Mistake. The chunk pulls away with a wet sound, trailing hair and gore.
She turns, sees what’s in my fingers. Gray-pink tissue. Bone fragment. Her face drains of color.
“Oh God.” The words barely whisper out. Her hand flies to her mouth, her whole body recoiling.
“Stop.” I drop the tissue in the trash, grab her shoulders before she backs into the counter. “It’s nothing. Just debris.”
