Rebecca crossed her arms and sent me a very direct look. “In your current state, you’d be lucky to jam a cell phone. Going up against a fortified facility with hardened equipment and trained operators? That’s suicide.”
“Then I’ll die trying,” I said without hesitation. “I’m not leaving him there.”
I watched her process my words, saw her weigh options and outcomes with the cold efficiency of someone trained to make hard choices. She could try to stop me, could physically restrain me if necessary. I was barely functional, so she could absolutely prevent me from leaving.
But we both knew she wouldn’t.
“All right,” she said after a long pause. “Then we need a plan. A real one, not a suicide run.” Ignoring the mugs she’d just set out, she moved back to her communications equipment on its rickety little table. “I have a contact inside DAPI. Let me reach out and see what intel I can gather. In the meantime, you need to rest. Four hours minimum.”
I shook my head. No way was I going to allow myself to be out of commission for that much time. “Four hours is — ”
“Non-negotiable.” Her voice turned hard as she continued. “If you go in depleted like this, you’ll get yourself killed, and Ben will stay captured. Four hours of rest will at least give you some minor power capability. That’s the difference between a rescue operation and a murder-suicide.”
She was right, even though every instinct screamed at me that I needed to move now, act now, save Ben now.
But tactics required thinking, and planning required energy. Any kind of effective rescue would require me to be functional enough to actually pull it off.
“Four hours,” I agreed. “Then we’ll plan the rescue.”
Rebecca nodded. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you when I have some intel.”
I made it to the couch before my legs gave out. The exhaustion was bone-deep, spirit-deep, dragging me down despite the adrenaline that still surged through my system.
My last conscious thought was of Ben — captured, alone, in Rosenthal’s custody.
I’m coming, I promised him silently, hoping somehow that he could sense the commitment even through the distance and walls between us.
Four hours where I wouldn’t have to face the nightmare my life had become.
Then darkness took me.
Chapter Eight
Ben opened his eyes to soft lighting and the quiet hum of a climate-control system, not the harsh fluorescents and concrete walls he’d been expecting. He wasn’t in restraints or strapped to an interrogation chair, wasn’t caught in any of the nightmare scenarios that had flashed through his mind during his brief, violent capture — the one that had ended with his head hitting the ground so hard, he’d lost consciousness.
He was lying on an actual bed. Not a particularly comfortable one, but functional enough. The room looked like standard dormitory accommodations — a desk with a matching chair, a bathroom visible through an open door. To one side, a window showed hazy sunlight flickering through a stand of tall evergreens. The only indication that this was a cell rather than a guest room was the absence of any door hardware on the inside.
He sat up slowly and cataloged his physical condition. His wrists were sore where they’d zip-tied him during transport, but the restraints were gone now. His head throbbed from that impact with the ground, but the blow didn’t seem to have caused any significant damage. All his clothes were right where they were supposed to be, except for his equipment belt, which had clearly been confiscated.
Most importantly, he was alone. No guards watching to see when he might wake up.
He got up from the bed and moved to the window to study what he could see of the world outside. Dense forest crowded around the facility on three sides, with a single access road visible to the north. The building itself appeared to be a converted military installation — Cold War–era construction, most likely decommissioned sometime in the nineties and purchased through one of DAPI’s shell companies. Three stories above ground from what he could see, although the angle of the window suggested there might be several levels below as well.
He went to check his watch and found it had also been confiscated, so he tried to estimate the time based on the sun’s position. Maybe around three in the afternoon. He’d been unconscious during transport for the greater part of the day, which meant he could be almost anywhere.
But he didn’t think he’d been taken far. Rosenthal would want her facility close enough to Silver Hollow and its portal that she could deploy agents quickly if necessary.
Was there any way he could get out of here? Possibly, but nothing he could see from this room offered any clear possibilities. He kind of doubted DAPI built facilities with flashing exit signs.
Besides, the question was basically moot. There was no way to open the door from the inside, and he didn’t have any of Sidney’s abilities. He couldn’t blow open the lock using the power of his mind and nothing else.
A soft beep preceded the door’s electronic lock disengaging. Ben turned to face whoever was coming and tried to look casual despite the adrenaline that surged through his body.
Dr. Rosenthal entered first, her neat suit and cool demeanor unchanged from that morning’s operation. Behind her came a man Ben didn’t recognize — early forties, sandy blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses that didn’t quite conceal a pair of startling blue eyes. He wore a lab coat over business casual and was slim and tall, probably around Ben’s own six feet.
“Mr. Sanders.” Rosenthal sounded brisk as usual, although Ben detected just the slightest hint of something that might have been concern — or would have been, if he’d been talking to anyone else. “I trust you’re feeling well? The medical team cleared you during intake, but if you’re experiencing any discomfort, we can arrange treatment.”
He kept his expression neutral. “Where’s Sidney?”
