It was meant to listen.
And something listened back.
Interesting.
“She’s not contained,” one of the analysts says.
“No,” the man at the head of the table replies calmly. “She’s thinking.”
A second screen fills with movement models. Behavioral predictions. Decision trees.
Most of them end in compliance.
One of them doesn’t.
Highlight that one.
“That path is unstable,” someone says.
“So was the last war,” he answers.
“Do we accelerate?”
He considers.
Then shakes his head. “No. Let her believe she has time.”
He stands, straightening his jacket.
“People are most dangerous when they think they’re choosing freely.”
“And the SEAL?”
A pause.
A thin smile.
“He’s going to be a problem.”
9
Lark
Location: Safehouse — Lisbon
Time: Late Morning
Silence has weight.
It settles differently when you’re being protected versus when you’re being hunted.
When Aaron leaves, the apartment doesn’t feel empty. It feels… held. Like the walls themselves are standing watch.
I don’t waste that.
I open the laptop again.
Not the drive. Not the list.
