"I hear you've been making interesting choices lately." He steps closer, close enough that I can smell the antiseptic he uses on his hands. "Acquiring assets outside protocol. Fabricating cover stories. Avoiding Ministry couriers."
"I don't know what you're referring to," I say.
"Of course you don't." His smile widens. "That's what makes you so valuable, Jace. You lie beautifully. Always have." He leans in, voice dropping. "But you can't lie to me. I built you. I know every response, every tell, every calculated micro-expression. And right now, you're afraid."
I'm not afraid. Fear is an emotion. Emotions are weaknesses. I eliminated my weaknesses fifteen years ago.
But something is happening in my chest. A tightness that makes it hard to breathe. A coldness that spreads through my limbs.
"What do you want?" I ask.
"The same thing I've always wanted. Perfect soldiers. Perfect weapons. Perfect loyalty to The Silent." He straightens, smoothshis uniform. "You were my best work, Jace. My prototype. Everything that came after was built on your foundation."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be." His eyes harden. "Which is why it would be such a waste if I had to unmake you."
The threat hangs between us. I process it, calculate responses, weigh options.
"Is that why you're here? To threaten me?"
"I'm here to give you a choice." He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small data chip. "This is everything I have on your deviation. The surveillance logs. The information about your pet. The psychological profile that suggests your conditioning is failing."
I look at the chip. Don't reach for it.
"What's the alternative?"
"Return the asset. Report for re-evaluation. Demonstrate that your loyalty to The Silent is intact." He holds out the chip. "Do that, and this disappears. Your record stays clean. You continue working. Everyone wins."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I present this to the Custodians. And we find out together how much of you is left when they're done taking you apart."
I take the chip. Turn it over in my fingers. Such a small thing. Such a simple solution.
All I have to do is give up Elliot.
The thought forms and immediately something in me rejects it. Not calculation. Not strategy. Something deeper. Feral, animalistic instinct.
I can't. I won't. He's mine.
I pocket the chip. Meet Webb's eyes.
"I'll consider your offer," I say.
"You have forty-eight hours. After that, I file." He steps aside, gestures toward Abernathy's door. "Your meeting is waiting. Try not to make any more mistakes."
I walk past him without responding. The door opens. I enter.
Abernathy is behind his desk, files spread out in front of him. He looks up when I enter, and his expression is unreadable.
"Harrison. Take a seat."
I sit.
"Was that Webb?"
"He made his position clear."
