Brewster didn’t glance at me. His posture stayed neutral, but his presence angled subtly—like he’d positioned his body between me and the phone.
Protection.
Or possession.
I couldn’t tell anymore, and that was its own kind of problem.
“Body discovered this morning,” Brewster said. “Press has already tied it to the Unsub. We do not have confirmation it’s him.”
“And your assessment?” the voice pressed.
Brewster’s jaw ticked. “If it is him, it’s not random. It aligns with pressure points. It’s responsive.”
“Responsive to what?”
Brewster’s gaze flicked to me for a fraction of a second.
“Responsive to our disruption,” he said instead. “The narrative shifted. We introduced movement. This could be him reasserting control.”
“And you believe returning McBryan to air would reduce that risk?” another voice cut in—different tone, sharper edge.
Ah. There it was—why I was suddenly in the know and in the room. I crossed my arms, because otherwise I might’ve reached for something to throw.
Brewster didn’t flinch. “I believe keeping her off air is not reducing risk. Not significantly enough to matter. All it’s doing is relocating the target and pressure points.”
There was a pause, the kind that told me they were about to disagree.
“Agent Brewster,” the first voice said, “your proximity to the asset is becoming a concern.”
Asset.
I hated that word. I hated how it made my skin crawl. I hated how it made me feel like I should step back even though there was nowhere to go.
Brewster’s expression didn’t change, but something hard settled behind his eyes. “My proximity is operational,” he said flatly. “Protecting the asset requires she trust me and to do that, she has to see me and I have to be here.”
“Operational,” the second voice echoed, skepticism threaded through the syllables. “Or compromised?”
My breath caught.
Brewster’s gaze snapped up like a blade.
“Say what you’re implying, sir,” he said, voice still controlled but edged now, “or don’t imply it.”
Silence.
Then, smooth as oil: “We’re reassessing leadership on this operation.”
That sentence slapped like a trapdoor snapping open and the floor vanishing beneath my feet. I hovered right on the precipice of falling. If this were a cartoon, my legs would be windmilling like mad to keep me up. I stared at Brewster, waiting for his reaction.
He didn’t react. He didn’t defend himself. He didn’t argue for his job.
“If you replace me,” he said, arguing for the case, “you risk resetting the asset, damaging her trust in us and forcingwhomever you assign to have to rebuild it all over again. That will cost us momentum both with the investigation and the conversation with the Unsub.”
He sounded so damn reasonable, it was almost insulting.
“And you think you can manage that conversation?” the second voice asked.
Brewster’s mouth tightened. “I think she can. And I think I’m the best lever you have to keep her alive while she does it.”
