He circled slowly, like I was a blueprint he’d already memorized. I kept my breathing even. Gave him nothing.
“You’ve been stealing calories,” he said. “That takes discipline.”
“I stretch my meals,” I answered. “Journalists are good at that. Limited airtime. Big stories.”
He stopped in front of me.
“Your work caused complications,” he said. “Hydra wasn’t meant to unravel so quickly.”
“Evil doesn’t like exposure,” I said. “Sunlight ruins things that thrive in the dark.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You still believe someone is looking for you.”
It wasn’t a question.
I met his eyes. “That’s what truth does. It travels.”
Silence stretched between us. Measured. Testing.
Finally, he nodded once. “Interesting.”
He turned toward the door, then paused.
“You should rest,” he said. “Change is coming.”
The door closed behind him, locks sliding back into place.
I exhaled slowly.
Change meant movement.
Movement meant opportunity.
I stood and crossed the room, fingers brushing the wall exactly three steps from the door—where the concrete cracked just enough to hide a sliver of metal. A piece I’d pried loose weeks ago with nothing but patience and my own determination.
I crouched, pressing my palm flat as if praying.
I wasn’t waiting to be found.
I was waiting for the moment everything shifted.
And when it did—
I would run.
Because somewhere out there—beyond these walls, beyond the men who thought they owned the dark—
I felt it in my bones.
I wasn’t alone.
And the storm heading toward this place?
It was getting closer.
3
