10
HELENA
The smell of coffee is drifting through the compound. I can’t seem to get my body to stop remembering his hands, the bruising pressure of his mouth, the focused violence he turned into something that made me shake apart beneath him.
Dangerous thoughts when we're preparing for an assault.
I push them aside—not down, aside—and get up. Shower away the scent of him. Dress in clothes that don't carry the memory of how efficiently he stripped them off. Pull myself together into doctor mode because yesterday Traci gave us a name, and today I need to help her give us everything else.
Simon Graves. U.S. Marshal. The Marshal.
Yesterday was the breakthrough. Today we build the case.
The compound is already moving when I emerge. Finn's outside adjusting sensors. Cara's hunched over her laptops in the communications room, cross-referencing everything Traci told us yesterday against federal databases. Eli's checking weapons inventory with methodical precision that suggests he slept even less than I did.
His gaze finds mine across the main room. Holds for just a beat. Nothing in his expression suggests last night happenedexcept the faint heat in his eyes and the way his attention drops to my mouth before he forces it back to the rifle in his hands. The same hands that knew exactly where to touch me, how much pressure, when to push harder.
It's professional distance. What we both agreed on.
That doesn't stop the pull low in my stomach watching those hands work.
I head to the infirmary. Traci's awake, sitting up in bed with her notebook. She looks up when I enter, studies my face with that careful assessment she brings to every interaction. Looking for signs of danger, signs of safety, trying to read whether the people around her can be trusted.
"Morning," I say, keeping my voice gentle. Non-threatening. "How are you feeling?"
Her pen moves quickly across the page. She holds up the notebook.
Okay. Still tired but okay.
"Good." I pull a chair closer to the bed, settle into it. "Yesterday you gave us the name Simon Graves. That was huge. That gave Cara the information she needed to identify who we're fighting." I lean forward slightly. "Today, I need you to help me build on that. Give us more details about what you saw, what you heard. Specific information that'll make the case against him impossible to ignore."
She hesitates. Her pen hovers over the paper.
"I know it's hard," I continue. "But you're safe here. And the more we know about Graves, about the compound, about what you witnessed—the stronger the case becomes. The harder it is for him to make this disappear."
A longer pause. She nods, starts writing.
What do you need to know?
"Everything. Start with the first time you saw him. The man they called Simon. You said you were in a storage room?"
She nods, writes quickly.
They put me there during deliveries. There were cracks in the floor. I could see down into the office below.
"Tell me about what you saw. We have pictures, but we need to know your description matches. Build me a picture of him."
Her pen moves across the page. Faster now, more confident.
Older man. Maybe fifties or sixties. Gray hair cut short. Military build—broad shoulders, straight posture. Tall. Over six feet maybe. He moved like someone used to giving orders.
"Could you see his face?"
Some of it. The angle wasn't great but I could see part of his profile when he turned.
"What about how he moved? Carried himself?"
Traci writes quickly.
