Nightshade’s gaze sharpens. “Wrong how?”
“Not wrong,” Ghost corrects. “Prepared. Like it’s meant to absorb fallout.”
“It’s a hotel room,” Snow mutters.
“It’s soft containment,” Ghost replies calmly. “You let the subject believe they’re safe. Mobile. Free. But the environment still narrows outcomes.”
My eyes flick to Kayla again. Intact. Too intact. “If they released her,” I say, “then we assume they’re still collecting data.”
Snow goes very still. “From where?”
“From her,” Honey says, voice low.
Nightshade’s attention snaps to me. “Implant.”
I keep my voice quiet enough that it won’t carry. “Possibly. Likely. But we don’t go digging at her while she’s asleep.”
Snow’s jaw tightens. “So she could be tracked right now and we’re just standing here?”
“We assume she’s being monitored,” I say evenly. “We assume she was tagged before she ever got out. We assume this room is not private just because it has a lock.”
Nightshade doesn’t look away from Kayla. “And motive.”
Snow shakes his head, anger sharpening. “Why take her at all if they were going to let her walk out?”
“Because the taking was part of the conditioning,” Ghost says. “You don’t get the response you want from a subject who feels safe.”
“And because it shouldn’t have been this easy,” I add. “If it’s easy, it’s not an escape route. It’s a corridor.”
Snow’s hands curl into fists. “So what – we’re on yet another damn leash?”
Nightshade finally looks at him fully. “We’ve been on a leash since she went missing. The difference is we can see it now.”
Kayla shifts in her sleep, brow furrowing briefly before smoothing again. Hatchet steps closer to the bed without thinking, presence solid and unmoving.
Nightshade’s voice drops to something final. “No one tells her yet.”
Ghost’s eyes cut to him. “She’ll notice.”
“I know,” Nightshade says. “That’s why timing matters.”
Snow’s mouth tightens. “You don’t get to decide everything.”
Nightshade meets his gaze without blinking. “I decide what keeps her alive.”
I look at Kayla and feel the shape of the problem settle into something colder and more deliberate than panic.
This wasn’t chaos.
It was design.
And whatever happens next, we don’t start by waking the subject.
EAT FIRST, PLOT AFTER
Genesis - Ruelle
Kookaburra
