"I found something else in the files," he says eventually.
"Now? You want to talk about files now?"
"It's important." He shifts, looking up at me. The softness is still there, but there's something sharper underneath. Thestrategist, never fully asleep. "Dr. Andros. The woman from your memory. I found her current location."
All the post-orgasmic warmth drains away, replaced by sharp attention. "Where?"
"A private research facility in the Swiss Alps. It's funded through three of the shell companies connected to Kreiss." He pauses. "It's one of the Phase Two locations. Active. Operational."
"How do you know?"
"Because the facility's cover is fertility research. And the staff roster includes six other doctors who worked for Westpoint before the fire." His fingers trace patterns on my chest, but his voice is all business. "There's more. The facility has contracts with three European governments for what they call 'advanced reproductive services.' But the patient intake numbers don't match the reported births."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning children are being created there and not being released to the families who supposedly commissioned them." His gray eyes meet mine. "They're manufacturing assets, Jonah. Right now. As we speak."
My stomach turns. I think about the children's photos in my fragmented memories. The rows of faces on Dr. Andros's wall.How many more have there been? How many are there now, growing up in facilities like Westpoint, being shaped into weapons before they're old enough to understand what's being done to them?
"We have to stop them," I say.
"We will." His hand finds mine, squeezes. "But we need more than just the location. We need evidence. Documentation. Something that proves what's happening there beyond any doubt."
"The kind of evidence that would hold up if we took this public?"
"The kind of evidence that would bring the whole thing crashing down." He's quiet for a moment. "Kreiss is the key. His financial records would connect the Custodians to the facility. If we can get those records, we can prove who authorized this. Who funded it. Who knew."
"And then?"
"And then we destroy every one of those and rebuild the Silent the way it always should have been."
That thought rolls around my mind. About what it would mean to expose something this massive. The Custodians wouldn't go quietly. They'd fight back with everything they had. People would die. Maybe us.
But children are being manufactured in a facility in the Swiss Alps. Right now. Tonight. While we lie here on this couch, catching our breath, they're creating the next generation of weapons.
"How do we get to Kreiss's records?"
"I'm working on it. The Bonaccorso’s are still investigating him, despite my warning. If they find something, they might be willing to share." He pauses. "There's also another option."
"Which is?"
"We go to the facility ourselves. Not to destroy it. Not yet. But to gather evidence. Photographs. Files. Testimony from anyone willing to talk."
"That's suicide."
"Maybe. Or maybe it's the only way to get what we need." He sits up, pulling me with him. "I'm not asking you to come with me. This is my fight. My brothers and I are products of this program. We have a responsibility to end it."
"Like hell you're leaving me behind." I grab his face, force him to look at me. "I spent three years in a chemical fog because I got too close to this story. I've earned the right to see it through."
"Jonah—"
"No. Listen to me." My voice is harder than I intend, but I don't soften it. "You said we do this together. You meant it. I could see it in your eyes when you said it. So don't you dare try to protect me now by pushing me away."
He stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods.
"Fine, but if you die, I’m following you to hell," he says.
"Maybe we can make s’mores and tell Satan about your piss poor choice in décor. Think he’d let us decorate our cell with a bit of flare? I’m getting kind of bored of all the grey."
