"Because I'm interested in alternatives." She reaches out, runs a finger along the edge of the collar. "Jace Harrison isn't malfunctioning. He's evolving. Something about you triggered a response that wasn't supposed to be possible. An attachment. A desire. Awant."
She says the word like it's sacred. Like it's the most fascinating thing she's ever encountered.
"The Foundry's conditioning is supposed to eliminate want," she explains. "Make them perfect tools, perfect weapons, incapable of prioritizing anything above the mission. And for fifteen years, it worked. Jace was our best. Our most reliable." She tilts her head. "And then he saw you, and something... woke up."
"What do you want from me?"
"I want to understand." She leans closer, studies my face with unsettling intensity. "What is it about you, Elliot Rowe? What makes you special? What makes you worth breaking protocol for?"
I don't have an answer. I've been asking myself the same question since the night Jace saidmineand changed everything.
"I'm not special," I say. "I'm nobody. I'm just..."
"Broken." She straightens, nods slowly. "Yes. That's what Webb says. That's what your file says. But broken things can be beautiful, can't they? Broken things can have value that intact things don't."
She walks to the door, pauses with her hand on the frame.
"Webb wants to use you to destroy Jace," she says. "I'm not sure that's the right approach. But I suppose we'll find out."
She leaves.
And I'm alone again.
Alone with the collar and the cold and the growing certainty that whatever happens next, I'm not going to survive it unchanged.
Jace…Please.
I don't know if I'm asking him to come or to stay away.
I don't know anything anymore.
I just know that I'm his.
And that has to mean something.
It has to.
Chapter Eleven: Jace
ThemeetingwithAbernathygoes exactly as planned.
He reviews the dossier. Flips through pages of bank records, shell company registrations, handler protocols. His expression doesn't change, but I see the interest sharpen in his eyes when he reaches the section on Moore's offshore accounts.
"This is solid," he says. "Where did you get it?"
"The asset remembered details from his time in Moore's household. I verified through independent channels."
What he told me remains my knowledge only. Abernathy doesn't need to know about Whitmore, about the warehouse, about the nine bones I broke to extract the information. He just needs to see value. I will reveal the rest as I need to.
"The Cyprus accounts alone are worth a full investigation," he continues, setting down the file. "If we can trace the money back to Moore's legitimate holdings, we have the upper hand. Real leverage."
"Enough to justify the asset?"
Abernathy looks at me. Studies me the way I study targets before elimination.
"For now," he says. "I'll keep Webb at bay. But this isn't over, Harrison. You understand that."
"I understand."
