Page 147 of Operation: Defiance

Asher doesn’t look surprised. “If you want another set of eyes⁠—”

“No.”

The answer is too sharp, so I soften it. “Not this part. Not…yet. This is what I—what I used to do. Analysis. Research. Finding the signal in an ocean of noise. I need to know I can do it again. That they didn’t take that from me too.”

I press my fingertips against the table, grounding myself in the wood grain, in the thrum of my pulse that’s only a little too fast. “But…don’t go far. Stay close?”

His shoulders relax slightly, and he nods. “I’ll be right here. There’s work I can do. A few more of my contacts I can reach out to. Only the ones I trust with my life—and yours.”

He pulls a tablet from the top of the bookcase against the wall, then sinks onto the couch, settling into that balanced middle ground he’s so good at. Close enough to reach me if I spiral, far enough away I don’t feel watched.

It helps more than I want to admit.

I lift the lid and enter the password he gives me.

The working directory feels almost endless—even with only thirty days of activity. No names. No stories. Nothing but screen after screen of identifiers and timestamps.

I catalog the layout first, the way I used to. It’s almost second nature. What’s active, what’s closed, what loops back on itself. I scroll back twenty-five days and pick one of the smaller files. Something far enough away from me I might be able to keep it at arm’s length.

Detainee 3D-433

Sex: F

Height: 5’5”

Occupation: Cybersecurity specialist

Risks: None

The entire log only spans four days. The intake codes are vaguely reminiscent of mine. Though there are fewer of them. Spaced further apart. An hour instead of fourteen minutes.

Then…

Intake interview completed. Baseline responses recorded. Begin observation period.

A hint of pressure gathers behind my ribs. Not memory. More like…recognition.

A small, tight grouping of timestamps and codes make up the first four hours. But the grouping looks nothing like mine.

Fewer lines. More…words.

The last line is followed by two words.

Response: Acceptable.

On the second day, some of the codes are familiar. Corrections, maybe? I don’t have enough data to be certain.

Then there’s a status block.

Instruction adherence: responsive

Authority acceptance: trending positive

Nutritional compliance: restored

The tremor in my fingers worsens.

Over the next thirty-six hours, there are only a dozen lines before the final entry.