“Not mine,” he said. “Laurel’s. They’re thirty seconds out.”
A flicker, almost regret, passed through his eyes.
“You have one minute.”
Vivian swallowed hard. “Why help us?”
His jaw ticked once. “Because you’re closer than you think. And if you die now, Laurel Tide wins.
Blake edged forward enoughto keep Viv behind him, his pulse thudding so hard it blurred sound into one relentless rush.
“Step out,” Blake ordered.
The man didn’t. “You want to live, you need to listen.” His mouth twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Guess we’re past introductions. You can call me Thirteen.”
Blake’s jaw locked. “You’ve got about three seconds before?—”
“Before those men chasing you round the corner?” Thirteen tilted his head toward the hall. “You need to know the why behind this? Fine.”
He reached slowly into his pocket and drew out a phone. Not a weapon, just a burner — one of the cheap, untraceable kinds Blake had used in countries where names were liabilities. He held it out.
“She’s alive,” he said. “You want proof, it’s on there. My daughter. Laurel Tide has her.”
Vivian’s breath caught, a sharp inhale that cut through the tension. Blake didn’t lower his gun.
“You’ve got ten seconds to explain why I shouldn’t put you down right now,” Blake said.
Thirteen’s gaze flicked toward Vivian, then back. “Because I can get you out of here alive. And because you want Laurel Tide as bad as I do. Maybe more. You help me get my daughter out, I stay behind. Feed you everything I know. Access codes. Routes. Drop points. You’ll never get that from anyone else. I’m high up enough to give you everything.”
The elevator chimed — the soft, oblivious sound of a world that didn’t know it was on fire.
Blake hesitated, reading the man’s stance, the micro-tells in his hands, the tightness around his eyes. Not bluff. Not exactly plea either. Something worse — conviction.
Men’s voices echoed down the hall.
Thirteen took a small step forward, lowering his voice. “You can shoot me. You’ll feel good about it for five minutes. Then Laurel Tide will scrub every trace you were ever here. Or…” He let the word hang, heavy with implication. “You let me help. I’ll stay buried. You get everything you wanted to take down Laurel.”
He jerked his chin toward the phone. “If this is a trap?—”
“It’s not,” Thirteen huffed. “If it was, you’d already be bleeding.”
The doors started to close again. Thirteen caught them with one hand and shoved the phone toward Blake. “Decide fast. You don’t have much time before they realize which side of the cameras I’m on.”
Blake holstered his weapon just long enough to take the phone. Their fingers brushed — calloused, cold, real.
“Your call, Agent,” Thirteen said. “But if you’re going to live and save the woman you love… you’ll need me.”
Blake raised a brow.
“Your partner. I’ve been watching. I know everything you haven’t even realized yourself.”
They stepped inside the elevator with Thirteen, and it moved upward. Blake thought to challenge the man’s observations, but Vivian turned to him. “You’re not actually considering trusting him.”
Blake looked down at the phone in his hand—cracked screen, smudged with salt and grit. A video thumbnail blinked back at him: a girl, maybe five or six, sitting on a cot under harsh light. Her hair in braids. Eyes wide with terrified confusion
He closed his hand around the phone. “I don’t trust him. But I believe him.”
Vivian’s muscles tensed as taut as wire. “Then what now?”
