Twenty-three years ago. Before I was born. Before any of us were born.
"Keep digging," I say. "Whatever's in those files, I want to know."
"I will." Jagger pauses. "And Jace? Don’t contact anyone except me and Jinx."
I nod once and walk out into the night.
Seventy-one hours now.
Two targets who might become allies.
One weapon who might pull this off.
And somewhere across the city, in a building full of pain and cold metal and flickering lights, Elliot is waiting for me to save him.
I think about what I said to him. About burning it all down. About carrying him out of the ashes.
I meant every word.
The Silent made me into a weapon. They taught me to kill without feeling, to destroy without remorse, to eliminate anything that threatened the order of things.
But they made a mistake.
They gave me the skills to tear apart their entire operation, and then they gave me a reason to use them.
Elliot Rowe is my reason.
And for him, I will become something worse than a weapon.
I will become a reckoning.
Whatever it takes.
Whatever it costs.
I will.
Chapter Twelve: Elliot
Thefirstvideocallcomes six hours after Jace leaves.
Webb holds the tablet in front of my face, angling it so the camera captures everything: the restraints, the collar, the dried tear tracks on my cheeks. I can see myself in the small preview window, a pale ghost strapped to a metal table, and I barely recognize the person staring back.
"Say hello to your Reaper," Webb instructs.
Jace's face fills the screen. His expression is blank, controlled, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes catalog every detail of my condition. He’s on a plane.
"Elliot." My name in his voice. Steady. Certain.
"I'm okay," I say. The words come out cracked, unconvincing.
"Six hours. Just to show you a sign of good faith," Webb says, pulling the tablet away. "Proof of life delivered. Next is in twelve hours, assuming you're making progress."
The screen goes dark. Webb sets the tablet on a table I can't see and returns to stand over me.
"He looked upset," Webb observes. "Good. Upset means motivated."
I don't respond. I've learned that responding only gives him ammunition.
