“Then Mank pulls you out, someone else takes over, and they go about it all a different way.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Is that what you want?”
“No.” I swallow hard, finding my resolve. “No, I want to finish this. Ineedto finish this.”
I need to make up for Minsk.
“Then finish it.” Kat’s voice is final. “But finish it clean. No more rooftops. No more flying off into the night. No more letting him touch you in ways that make Bayo question his life choices.”
“I’dreallyappreciate that,” Bayo mutters.
I bite back a laugh.
“Alright,” I say. “I’ll keep it professional. I promise.”
“I mean it, Mia,” she warns me. “Don’t make me make that call.”
“I said I understand.” I meet her gaze steadily. “It won’t happen again.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
The silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid. Because she knows. She knows this isn’t going to be easy for me. She knows I’m going to fuck up, and I’ll probably do it on purpose.
Then, Bayo clears his throat. “Right. Well. Now that we’ve addressed the elephant in the room—or should I say the multiple screaming orgasms…”
“Bayo,”I admonish.
“Then perhaps we should discuss whatIactually learned tonight while you were otherwise occupied.”
I seize the change of subject like a lifeline. “Yes. Please. What did you find?”
Bayo pulls out his tablet, tapping through screens until he reaches a series of photographs. “Kat was busy while you were busy. She got some very interesting shots.”
He turns the tablet toward me, and I see a grainy but unmistakable image of Viktor Kozlov—The Butcher—deep in conversation with a man I don’t recognize. They’re in a corner of the gala, partially obscured by a potted plant, clearly trying not to be seen.
“Who is he talking to?”
“That’s the interesting part.” Bayo zooms in on the second man’s face. Mid-forties, dark mustache and silver temples,expensive suit, the kind of bland handsomeness that comes from good breeding and better dermatologists. “His name is Matthew Webb. He’s Vice President of Special Projects at Global Dynamix.”
Special Projects.
“Like Prometheus?”
“Possibly. Webb’s name appears in some of the files we pulled from the Queens facility, but always redacted or in passing. Sometimes, he’s addressed as Dr. Webb. Whatever he does, they don’t want it on paper.”
I study the photograph, watching the body language between the two men. Kozlov is leaning in, aggressive, making a point. Webb looks uncomfortable but attentive, nodding along like a man who knows he’s outranked.
“What would Global Dynamix want with a trafficking kingpin?”
“That’s what we need to find out.” Kat moves to stand beside me, looking at the tablet over my shoulder. “But this confirms what we suspected. Global Dynamix isn’t just a tech company playing superhero in this new age. The darkness they brought from the previous decades isn’t going away. It’s spreading.”
“The Prometheus files mentioned test subjects,” I say slowly, remembering the documents I’d glimpsed during my Queens infiltration. “Failure rates. Neural degradation. What if they’re not just enhancing volunteers? What if they’re…”
“Using trafficked people as guinea pigs?” Bayo finishes for me, his voice grim. “Why not? The Nazis experimented with mind control on their prisoners. The CIA tried with MKUltra. Let’s not forget Black Americans being used for everything from food testing to cancer cell research.” He pauses. “It would explain Kozlov’s involvement. He has access to people society has turned its back on. Refugees, migrants…”
My stomach turns. I think of Vanguard, of his genuine heroism and his desire to help people. Does he know what his employers are doing? Is he complicit? Or is he just another victim, a successful experiment in a program built on corpses?
“We need more,” I say. “We need proof.”
“Which is why you’re going to keep doing your job.” Kat’s hand lands on my shoulder, surprisingly gentle. “Keep getting info out of him. Get close—but notthatclose. You know about him, but see what he knows about the company’s operations. He’s been their golden boy for years; he has to know something.”
