The checkpoint guard scans my credentials, then the body bag's barcode. His eyebrows rise.
"Briar Harrington. The Director's been waiting for this one."
"Where is he?"
"Interrogation suite. Level two. He's with the asset."
With Elliot. Webb is with Elliot right now, probably conducting another extraction session, probably tearing through memories I should have protected him from.
I keep my face neutral. My voice flat. "Take me to him."
The guard leads me through another checkpoint, another corridor, another set of sealed doors. The facility is quiet at this hour, most of the cells dark, their occupants sedated or sleeping or simply too broken to make noise.
I count the doors. 7-A. 7-B. 7-C.
We stop.
The guard presses his palm to the scanner. The door slides open.
White walls, white lights, a metal table in the center of the room. Elliot lies strapped to the surface, electrodes attached to his temples, his face slack and pale.
Webb stands beside him, studying a monitor that displays patterns I recognize as neural activity maps.
He turns when I enter. His smile is the same wound it's always been.
"Reaper. You're early." His gaze drops to the body bag on my shoulder. "And you brought a gift."
I lower Briar to the floor, unzip the bag enough to reveal his face. The sedative has done its work: his skin is waxy, his lips faintly blue, his chest utterly still.
Webb crouches, presses two fingers to Briar's throat. Holds them there for a long moment.
"No pulse." He sounds almost impressed. "How did you do it?"
"Does it matter?"
"Professional curiosity." He stands, wipes his fingers on a handkerchief. "Briar Harrington was one of our best. I always wondered what it would take to bring him down."
"Everyone has a weakness."
"Indeed they do." Webb's gaze shifts to Elliot on the table. "Your weakness is right here. Strapped down and compliant, just waiting for you to make a mistake."
My hands ache to close around his throat. To squeeze until his eyes bulge and his face turns purple and the life drains out of him the way it drained out of the two hundred and seventeen people I've killed in service to this organization.
But the transmitter is in his pocket. And Briar isn't awake yet. And Elliot is still wearing the collar.
Patience. Calculation. Control.
"The deal was Briar's body in exchange for Elliot's release," I say. "I've delivered. Now it's your turn."
Webb laughs. The sound echoes off the white walls.
"Oh, Jace. Did you really think it would be that simple?"
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the transmitter. His thumb hovers over the button.
"The deal was a test. A way to see how far your malfunction had progressed. And the results are..." He shakes his head, almost sadly. "Conclusive. You're beyond repair. The only question now is whether to terminate you here or take you back to the Foundry for study."
"And Elliot?"
