Page 146 of Operation: Defiance

“I always thought pour over was the superior brewing method.” Her smile warms something deep inside me. “But French press was a close second.”

“Have a seat at the table. I picked up a few easy foods while I was out. Ones that shouldn’t push back. I thought you might be sick of eggs by now.”

The sound she makes might be a laugh. “Eggs are safe. Boring, but safe. I have…texture issues with certain foods. Beef and pork especially.”

Fuck. I hope oatmeal and yogurt aren’t on her “avoid” list. But if they are, I’ll go out and get her anything she thinks she can tolerate.

While the coffee and tea brew, I make myself a thick turkey sandwich, heavy on the mayo, then cut it in half, in case she wants to try a bite.

I’ve got fifty pounds on her, and didn’t spend the past eight days being starved into submission. But, I’ve also been running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline. If I get stupid now, we both pay the price.

For Raine, I plate up half a banana, a small container of yogurt, crackers, and a single serving of plain oatmeal. At the last minute, I snag the honey from the cabinet and set it in the center of the table.

Raine’s eyes flick to the food and then to my hands. She’s always assessing, thinking, calculating. I’m not sure she ever truly relaxes.

When I offer her a sip of my coffee, she accepts. The way her eyelids flutter at the taste…I could watch her do that all day.

Mayo isn’t her thing, but the honey is a big hit on the oatmeal and in her tea.

The tension in her hands loosens as she eats. The tremor calms. Her gaze steadies—not glassy now, not drifting. Present.

It’s subtle, but I’ve spent most of my adult life watching people for the moment they change state. Sometimes, it’s kept me alive. Others, it’s kept them from losing theirs.

Raine sets her spoon down and looks past the plate, past me, toward the coffee table where the laptop sits, closed.

Not reaching for it.

Just noting it for what it is. A tool. Or maybe a threat to whoever did this to her.

Anger flashes in her brown eyes for a single breath.

“Did the logs contain anything besides my file?” she asks.

“Yes. The working directory contained thirty days’ worth of activity. During the time you were…there, three additional files were marked as active. One was my target. I don’t know who the others were. I haven’t looked at the closed files at all. We can start pulling on those threads whenever you’re ready.”

The way her mind works…I can see it. The calculation. The desperate need to make sense of what was done to her. And stop it from happening to anyone else. But she needs the patterns to make sense of it all. She needs…data.

“Okay,” she says after she takes another bite of oatmeal. “Once I finish this, I want to see what else was there.”

“Whatever you need.”

Her jaw tightens. It’s a small movement, but it changes the whole room. The music keeps playing. But something inside her has shifted from surviving to something…more. Something GSD and Coherent Path will never see coming.

Chapter Thirty-One

Raine

The laptop sits on the table. Lid closed, silent. Waiting.

It’s only a machine. Circuits and wires and plastic and metal. I shouldn’t be afraid of it.

Yet, I am.

The last of the tea is gone, the lunch dishes are done, and I can’t ignore it any longer. There’s a low buzz under my skin that won’t go away. My brain is cycling, codes and timestamps and fragments of memories colliding with one another, desperate for order.

There’s only one way I’ll ever make sense of it.

“I’m ready to go back to the logs.”