I held the gaze one last time.
“Because the truth doesn’t need permission. It just needs light.”
The red light blinked off.
Silence.
Flint exhaled slowly behind the camera. “Jesus, Mallory.”
I didn’t turn around yet.
Somewhere in the house, I felt it—the shift. The pressure changing direction. I knew, with absolute certainty, that the Unsub had been watching. And worse?—
I knew he’d understood exactly what I was offering.
Not defiance.
Dialogue.
Because this time, I’d invited him onto my stage.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
FLINT
Something had changed.
I clocked it before I could name it—before Mallory even opened her mouth on camera the second day after she went live from the safe house. It was there in the way she held herself. Not rattled. Not euphoric.
Contained. Shut down. Quiet.
Too quiet.
She didn’t look like someone riding adrenaline. She looked like someone who’d already crossed a line and was waiting to see what bled.
I didn’t like it.
I didn’t like the way Brewster hovered just outside the frame when we wrapped. Didn’t like the way he watched her, no longer just sniffing after her but guarding her like she was his territory. Really didn’t like that Mallory didn’t look surprised by it.
I especially didn’t like the silence betweenthem.
People who hadn’t fucked didn’t stand that close without touching and still look like they were braced for impact.
I didn’t ask.
That was my mistake.
But I knew without being told and I really didn’twantto know that.
Two days passed.
Too quiet.
The pattern had always been five to seven days. Minimum. Enough time for the Auditor to work, to curate, to construct his moral scaffolding. Two days wasn’t just fast—it was sloppy.
Reactive. A dangerous and dark suggestion that she’d gotten to him.
