“They want him exposed,” she continues. “Visible. Angry.”
“Yes,” I say. “And predictable.”
She studies me for a long moment. “You don’t sound worried.”
“I am,” I admit. “Just not about him.”
She exhales. “You’ve been through this before.”
“Enough times to recognize the rhythm,” I reply. “Right now, we’re in the lull.”
The vents hum softly. A distant vibration ripples through the floor—machinery cycling, systems checking.
Pre-move diagnostics.
My pulse slows.
“How long have you been held?” she asks gently.
“Long enough to forget what year it is,” I answer.
Her throat works. “They grabbed me three days ago. Airport. No warning.I climbed into the Uber, and I was taken.”
That tracks.
“They needed you intact,” I say. “Which means you still matter.”
Her eyes flicker. “And you?”
I meet her gaze fully now. Let her see the truth.
“They think I don’t,” I say. My lieutenant will be here. He already rescued two SEALS who were with me.
That frightens her more than any threat.
She lowers her voice. “What can we do?”
“Nothing obvious,” I answer. “Yet.”
I shift slightly, testing the chain length. The movement draws a faint clink of metal.
Too loud.
I still.
“They’re watching for panic,” I say. “For defiance. For mistakes.”
She nods slowly. “So we don’t give them any. Is that how you got all those bruises? Did they beat you?”
“Yes, they tortured me.”
Time stretches again.
Then—softly—three distinct clicks echo from somewhere beyond the wall.
Not random.
Patterned.
