“You want to teach my system compassion?” he murmured. “Then let me teach you consequence.”
He leaned closer to the glass, voice low and intimate.
“Doctor Fallon,” he said, knowing she couldn’t hear him. “Your tracker is coming.”
The facility lights dimmed again—deeper this time.
“But I decide what he finds.”
Sentinel turned away as alarms finally began to sound—not failures, not errors.
Preparations.
Because if Scout Fallon wanted to turn his system into a door—
Then he would turn her into the key.
13
Scout
The building changed its breath.
That was how I felt it.
Not the alarms. Not the boots hitting concrete in a tighter formation. Those were symptoms—surface noise.
This was deeper.
The air pressure shifted—subtle, deliberate. Ventilation rerouted. The temperature dropped two degrees. Enough to sharpen awareness. Enough to wake instincts.
Sentinel had moved from observation toenforcement.
They marched me down a narrower corridor now. No screens. No lights beyond the dim strips along the floor. The guards’ grips were firmer, less careful.
They were afraid.
And fear always meant violence was about to be outsourced.
A scream cut through the facility.
Short. Male. Terminated quickly.
My stomach clenched—not panic, not shock.
Recognition.
Cell Four.
I slowed my steps just enough to register resistance without fighting.
“Keep moving,” one guard snapped.
I obeyed.
Because Sentinel wanted my reaction, not my defiance.
The scream echoed again—closer this time. Followed by a wet, hollow sound that didn’t belong in a place built for control.
