I see Honey first.
He’s in the corridor ahead, flanked by guards. Cleaned up. Hair damp. Jaw clenched. His eyes find mine and for a second something fierce flares there.
He’s smiling.
That’s not good.
Honey smiles when he wants to stab something until it stops being recognisable.
Snow comes next, walking like he owns the corridor, expression lazy, eyes too bright. He lifts his chin at me as if we’re heading to a party instead of whatever this is.
Ghost is pale but upright. There’s a new rigidity in him, the kind that comes from knowing there’s no alternative but forward.
Bones looks as mad as I feel. He’s already watching the system. He takes in the guards, the routes, the exits, the timing between movements. His eyes flick to the ceiling corners, counting cameras without looking like he’s counting.
He catches my gaze.
No nod. No greeting.
Just the same message as always:This isn’t freedom. This is deployment.
Hatchet is last. Silent. Still. Carrying his violence inside his body like a weapon that doesn’t need to be drawn.
They herd us into a holding room near the roof access.
Not the roof. Below it. No windows. No view. Just a sterile room with six chairs bolted down in a semicircle like a support group designed by a psychopath.
Snow sits like it’s a joke. Honey sits like it’s an insult. Ghost sits like he’s bracing for impact. Hatchet doesn’t sit until the guards force him, and even then it looks like the chair is the one trapped.
Bones stays standing until a guard points. He smiles faintly and sits. Because compliance is a tool, and Bones always holds the tools.
I stand. No one challenges me.
The door opens. Valentine enters. Behind him Seytan follows like a lost sheep. White coat. Perfect hair. Perfect disappointment. She looks like she’s attending her own funeral and is annoyed that everyone else insists on mourning.
Valentine stops at the centre of the semicircle. Seytan stays a step behind, like she’s refusing to stand beside him.
Handler and warden? Or handler and subordinate? Either way, she doesn’t like the position.
Valentine’s eyes sweep over us. “Listen.”
Honey laughs once. “No.”
Valentine doesn’t react. “You are being transferred off-island.”
Ghost’s shoulders jerk. “Transferred where?”
Valentine’s gaze slides to Ghost. “To the mainland. The mission is simple?—”
Bones speaks without raising his voice. “Under what authority?”
Seytan’s mouth twitches.
Valentine answers, “Not yours to question.”
Bones’s mouth curves.
Valentine’s eyes sharpen a fraction. “It is under Project Marrow authority.”
