“Eric.” Rosenthal’s voice now held a distinct warning note. “Mr. Sanders doesn’t need to see the preliminary data —”“
“He asked the right question,” Hargrove broke in, his gaze still fixed on the screen in front of him. “The question I’ve been asking for the past three weeks. Director, if we continue extraction at current rates without accounting for network degradation, we risk cascade failure. Not just in Silver Hollow — across the entire global portal system.”
The room went very quiet.
Ben watched Rosenthal’s expression remain perfectly neutral, giving nothing away. But the guards behind her had shifted their position, moving just a little closer.
“Dr. Hargrove, I think that’s enough technical discussion for now.” Rosenthal sounded more than a little annoyed, probably because her top researcher had just revealed far more than she wanted anyone else to know. “Mr. Sanders, we’ve shown you our work. The technology is real, functional, and represents the future of supernatural research. The question is whether you’d like to be part of that future, or whether you’d prefer to remain in custody as a security risk.”
Nothing like putting it out there. Either he cooperated, or he’d suffer the consequences.
Ben glanced over at Hargrove, who was now staring at his hands. Rosenthal waited at the door with the patience of someone holding all the cards. Beyond her, the guards remained visible in the corridor, ready to enforce whatever decision was made.
He thought about Sidney, whom he had to hope had gotten away, maybe with Rebecca’s assistance, and about the phoenix dying in the forest, kept away from anyone who might have been able to offer it help.
And then there were all those portal sites around the world that Sonya Rosenthal seemed all too willing to sacrifice for this technology.
“I need time to think,” he said.
Rosenthal inclined her head ever so slightly. “You have until tomorrow morning. After that, we’ll require a decision.” She gestured to the guards. “Return Mr. Sanders to his quarters. Ensure that he’s comfortable.”
The guards stepped forward. Their stance wasn’t aggressive, but they clearly expected compliance. Ben went without resistance, mind churning through everything he’d learned — the artificial portal’s six-hour limit, the cascade failure risk, Hargrove’s moral qualms, the facility layout itself.
All pieces of intelligence that Sidney and Rebecca Morse would need.
If he could find a way to communicate it to them.
The guards led him back through all those corridors, up the elevator, along the route he’d already memorized. His “comfortable quarters” felt more like a cell now that he understood what DAPI was really doing here. The guards departed without comment, the electronic lock engaging behind them with a soft click.
Ben moved to the window and stared out at the forest beyond the cleared perimeter. Somewhere out there, Sidney and Rebecca Morse must be planning a rescue. He needed to help them, needed to give them the intelligence that would make such a rescue possible.
He turned back to the room and examined it with fresh eyes. No obvious surveillance cameras, but they had to be monitoring him somehow. The desk was bolted to the floor, and the bathroom had no windows. Even the bed frame was secured. Everything was designed to prevent escape or self-harm.
But they’d left him the desk.
Ben sat down and began pulling open its drawers. All of them were empty except for a single pad of paper and a pen in the top drawer on the right — probably left there deliberately so he could write down questions or concerns he wanted to discuss during tomorrow’s follow-up meeting.
He picked up the pen and tested its weight. Basic ballpoint, nothing useful as a weapon or tool. But the paper might work for something else.
He’d been documenting supernatural phenomena for more than seven years, and archaeological data even before that. He knew how to observe and record, how to communicate findings to the people who needed them. The format would be different, but the principle was the same.
Keeping all that in mind, he began to sketch the facility’s layout from memory, marking distances, noting security stations, mapping the route to the underground laboratory. If Sidney and Rebecca actually managed to infiltrate the place, they’d need this information. After he finished the basic sketch, he added notes on the guards’ positions, the shift rotations he’d observed, and the elevator access codes Hargrove had used.
Then he wrote down another piece of critical intelligence.
Artificial portal stability: 6 hours maximum. Cascade failure risk if extraction continues. Dr. Hargrove has doubts — potential ally.
He was halfway through adding technical specifications when the door lock disengaged again.
Ben palmed the paper and slid it under his thigh as he turned toward the door. Too soon for dinner, and they’d already performed a medical check while he was unconscious. Which meant —
Eric Hargrove entered alone, no guards visible in the corridor behind him. The scientist looked even more uncomfortable than he had in the lab, gaze once again directed toward the floor as he closed the door behind him.
“I have maybe three minutes before someone notices I came here,” he said. He spoke quickly, as if he knew he had to cram as much information as possible into those three precious minutes. “So you need to listen carefully. The artificial portal isn’t siphoning energy only from Silver Hollow. It’s draining the entire natural portal network to stabilize itself. Every supernatural site on Earth is being affected.”
Ben got up slowly. The other man seemed agitated, guilty, and determined all at the same time. This didn’t feel like a trap, not when Hargrove was risking so much simply by being here.
“You’re helping us,” Ben said. It wasn’t a question.
