I looked. The margins were filled with handwriting. The ink was dark, fresh. He had been writing on this recently.
Dresner’s script was precise, sharp, clinical.
I read the words, and my blood turned to ice.
“Subject 4. Excessive emotional attachment. Sister: Maeve Durham, journalist.”
The room went silent. The only sound was the rain hitting the glass and the soft clack-clack of Havoc’s typing.
I forced myself to continue. “Vulnerability exploited during breakdown. Recommend: terminate family connections in future subjects to prevent emotional compromise.”
Rage, pure and blinding, roared in my ears.
“He was going to kill her.”
“He knew. He knew about Maeve the whole time. She wasn’t just... she was a target.”
I thought of the name in my head. Maeve. The sister I couldn’t remember but felt an instinctive pull toward. She had been hunting for me. And because of that, because she loved me, Dresner had marked her for death.
“He’s been studying you. Trying to figure out what went wrong. These files, he was actively reviewing them. Validating his hypothesis.”
Hellhound picked up another file from the chaotic spread on the desk. “Ghost. Cerberus. Hades. All the dead Quinta operatives.” He flipped one open. It was covered in the same red ink annotations. “He’s trying to perfect the process. Learn from his mistakes.”
I stared at the picture of myself with the shaved head. “I’m not a person to him. I’m data. A failed experiment.”
“Six minutes left on the download. We need to move.”
“Why keep them here? In his office?”
“Control. He reviews them. Studies them. Reminds himself he’s smarter than his failures.”
“Archivist’s pride,” Havoc added, a dark edge of humor in his tone. “Every mad scientist needs proof of his genius.”
My eyes fell to the record sheet in my file.
Real Name: Xavier Hale
Military Service: U.S. Special Forces. Honorable Discharge.
Arrest: Armed Robbery, Aggravated Assault.
Margin Note: Fabricated. Oblivion recruitment protocol.
They framed me. They stole my life, erased my service, and locked me in a cage so they could take me out the back door.
My eyes tracked down.
Prison Timeline: Declared dead 4 months post-arrest. Cerebral hemorrhage.
Actual Timeline: Acquisition successful.
And then the number.
Missions Completed: 55
The world tilted.
“Fifty-five. I killed fifty-five people.”
