We move toward the administrative suite. Toward Dr. Sterling’s office. There are no guards here. They are all searching the woods or the basement. We reach the double doors of the Medical Records department. They are ajar. Light spills out.
We stack up on the doorframe. Alaric nods to me. I swing in, rifle raised. "Don't move!"
The room is in chaos. File cabinets are overturned. Piles of paper are burning in a metal trash can in the center of the room. Standing by the fire, feeding documents into the flames, is Dr. Sterling.
She doesn't flinch. She doesn't scream. She turns slowly, a file in her hand. She is wearing her pristine white coat. Her blonde hair is in a perfect chignon. She looks like she is ready for rounds, not burning evidence in the middle of a hostile takeover.
She looks at me. At the blood on my face. At the rifle. Then she looks at Alaric. At the wet rags. The deathly pallor. She smiles. A sad, clinical smile.
"You're late, Alaric," she says softly. "I expected you an hour ago."
"Step away from the fire, Julia," Alaric growls, stepping into the room, his pistol trained on her chest.
"Or what?" She throws the file into the flames. "You'll shoot your Chief of Medicine? Your oldest friend?"
"You are not my friend," Alaric says, his voice dripping with ice. "You are the mole. You gave Vance the codes. You gave them the perimeter access."
"I gave them thekey," she corrects. "To save the house."
"Save it?" I interrupt, stepping forward. "They destroyed it! They blew up the helicopter! They are hunting us like animals!"
Sterling looks at me with pity. "Collateral damage, my dear. Unfortunate. But necessary." She walks around the fire, her heels clicking on the parquet floor. "The facility was going under, Alaric. You were bleeding money. You spent millions on security, on silence, onher. The Board was going to oust you. They were going to shut us down."
"So you sold us to the Syndicate?" Alaric asks.
"I secured a partnership," she claims. "They wanted the land rights. They wanted the girl. In exchange, Hallowed Halls remains open. My research continues. The patients stay." She stops in front of her desk. "I did it for the legacy, Alaric. You lost sight of the mission. You became obsessed with the Muse. You forgot that we are doctors, not jailers."
"You are a traitor," Alaric says. His hand is shaking, but the gun remains level.
"And you are a monster," she counters calmly. "Look what you did to her. Look at her eyes, Alaric. They are dead. You hollowed her out and filled her with your own darkness."
"She saved me," Alaric snarls.
"She is suffering from Stockholm Syndrome and acute trauma bonding," Sterling diagnoses, her voice professional. "She thinks she loves you because you are the only thing keeping her alive. It’s textbook."
She looks at me. "Put the gun down, Elodie. You are free now. The Buyer is here. He just wants the signature on the trust. Sign it, and you can go. You can go back to Paris. To Vienna. You can play piano again."
Piano.The word hangs in the air. I look at the fire. I look at Alaric. I look at the woman who tried to gaslight me through the dumbwaiter.
"You told me he killed Clara," I say quietly.
Sterling pauses. "He did. In every way that matters."
"Did he push her?" I ask.
"He drove her to the edge," Sterling says carefully. "Does the physical push matter?"
"Yes," I say. "It matters."
I walk toward her. The rifle is heavy. "You tried to make me hate him. You tried to make me leave the Safe House. You wanted me to walk out into the snow so your men could grab me."
"I wanted to spare you the crossfire!"
"Liar," I spit. "You wanted the Asset intact. You wanted your commission."
I stop three feet from her. "You talk about his darkness? You sold a human being for a research grant. You are the monster, Dr. Sterling. He just doesn't hide it."
Sterling’s composure cracks. Her eyes dart to the phone on her desk. "Security is on the way," she warns. "They heard the shots downstairs."
