Vivi’s senses sharpened to painful clarity. Every sound amplified—Dom’s breathing beside her, the distant drip of water somewhere in the darkness, the whisper of fabric as she moved. Her pulse throbbed in her ears.
“Straight ahead, main floor,” Griffin’s voice guided them through the comms.
They moved past abandoned machinery, massive hooks hanging from overhead tracks, remnants of whatever fish processing had once happened here. The building had died a slow death. Vivi wondered if they would too.
The central area opened before them, flooded with light from portable industrial lamps.
Four figures waited in a loose semi-circle — three in tactical gear with assault rifles held casually across their chests, and at their center, Malcolm Raines. Another man stood slightly apart, no weapon visible, dressed as if he were running a security consultation rather than an ambush.
Dom went rigid beside her. One sharp inhale, barely audible.
Cade Wilde.
Even from twenty feet away, Raines radiated controlled menace. His silver hair caught the harsh light, his posture military-perfect, his tailored black shirt and tactical pants a stark contrast to the decay around him. His smile, when he saw them approach, didn’t reach his eyes.
But it wasn’t Raines that made Vivi’s step falter. It was the sixth person, standing slightly behind him.
Sabin.
Her brother wore black tactical pants and a fitted gray t-shirt. His usually tousled blond hair was clipped short in a military style. His hands hung at his sides, fingers relaxed, stance balanced. But everything about him was wrong. His shoulders sat too square, his chin too level, his expression too vacant. It was Sabin’s body occupied by someone—something—else.
“Sabin!” The word tore from her throat before she could stop it.
She surged forward instinctively, and Dom’s hand clamped around her arm, his fingers digging in with bruising force. She could feel the tension radiating through his grip, but she couldn’t look away from her brother, who hadn’t reacted to her voice at all. Hadn’t even blinked.
“Steady,” Dom whispered. “Something’s wrong.”
Raines’s smile widened as they approached, revealing teeth too white and straight to be natural. “Ms. Cavalier. Mr. Wilde.So prompt.” His voice carried in the empty space, precise and measured. “I appreciate punctuality in my operatives.”
Dom’s hand remained on her arm, both restraint and support. “We’re not your operatives, Raines.”
“No?” Raines tilted his head. “Yet here you are, following my instructions to the letter. Carrying what I asked for.” His eyes flicked to the case in Dom’s hand, then back to Vivi’s face. “With the proper motivation, people are remarkably... cooperative.”
Sabin still hadn’t moved. Hadn’t shown any recognition. He stood with unnatural stillness, eyes fixed on some distant point. Not scanning for threats. Not looking for escape routes. Not shifting his weight or adjusting his stance or doing any of the thousand small things a person naturally does when standing in place.
Vivi’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t Sabin.
“The Protocol?” Raines prompted, holding out his hand.
“First, proof of life,” Dom replied. His voice stayed steady, but Vivi felt the coiled tension in him. “We agreed.”
“You’re looking at him.” Raines gestured casually toward Sabin. “Alive and well. Better than ever, in fact.”
“Sabin,” Vivi called again, softer this time.
No response. Not even a flicker of recognition.
“Your brother has undergone some adjustments,” Raines said, as if discussing a minor software update. “He’s been... repurposed.”
The word sent ice through Vivi’s veins. Repurposed. Like he was a thing to be reused.
“The case,” Raines said again, voice hardening.
Dom stepped forward, putting himself partially between Raines and Vivi. “We want to talk to him. Verify he’s alright.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands.” Raines snapped his fingers, and the armed guards shifted, weapons lifting slightly. “But I’m a reasonable man. Sabin, greet your sister.”
Sabin’s head turned until his eyes met hers. The familiar blue was flat, lifeless. “Hello, Vivianna.” His voice was his own, but the cadence was wrong. The Cajun lilt completely erased.
