Briar Harrington looks at Landon Thompson the way I look at Elliot.
And Webb wants me to destroy that.
I will. Without a doubt. But I won’t lie and say it won’t affect me in a way that none of my other erasures have.
This isn’t business. It’s personal and Webb knows that. He’s intentionally breaking my conditioning to rebuild it.
"You're quiet," Webb observes. "That's unlike you."
"I'm calculating."
"Calculate faster. Your asset is getting cold."
I look at Elliot again. His eyes are locked on mine, huge and wet, pleading without words. The collar sits heavy on his throat, right over the mark I left last night. My mark, covered by Webb's metal.
Something in my chest ignites.
Not anger. Anger is too simple, too clean. This is something else. Something that burns cold and patient and absolute.
I am going to kill Alfred Webb.
Not today. Not with Elliot's life on a button. But soon. I am going to take him apart the way he taught me to take aparttargets, piece by piece, bone by bone, until there's nothing left but meat and screaming.
And then I'm going to burn what's left.
"Seventy-two hours," I say. My voice comes out flat. Controlled. The voice of a weapon.
Webb smiles. He thinks he's won.
He hasn't.
"I knew you'd see reason," he says. "You were always my best student."
"I want proof of life. Every twelve hours. Video confirmation that he's unharmed. He is to eat, drink water and have livable conditions in my absence."
"Reasonable."
"And I want your word that when this is done, the matter is closed. No further action against me or my asset."
"You have it."
His word means nothing. We both know that. But the request is expected, and failing to make it would signal that I'm planning something.
I stand. Webb doesn't flinch. He knows I won't attack him. Not with Elliot's life hanging on a button.
"I want to talk to him," I say. "Before I leave."
Webb considers. Then he steps aside, gestures toward the table.
I cross the distance in four strides. Elliot's eyes track me, wide and wet and desperate. I lean over him, close enough that my body blocks Webb's view of his face.
"I'm going to get you out of this," I say.
"Don't." His voice cracks. "Don't do what he wants. Don't kill innocent people for me."
"They're not innocent. No one in The Silent is innocent."
"Jace—"
