Page 163 of Operation: Defiance

“Or if you’ve requested a replacement,” she continues. “Whoever’s looking isn’t playing around.”

My throat works around nothing. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Two failed internal access attempts on your primary bank account. Not fraud. More like informal probes—someone testing how locked down you are.”

I press my hand flat to the table.

“And the SIM thing you warned me about,” she says. “Your old number was caught in a registration sweep. Could be automated. Could be someone manually checking whether you activated a new device.”

My jaw tightens. It doesn’t matter that I was expecting this. It matters that they’re expanding the search so quickly. “Not…entirely surprising. If anything else surfaces, please let me know.”

There’s a pause on the line. “One more thing,” Inara says. “The program I’m using to monitor…it flagged an anomaly with the passport query. The same IP address ran two checks within a minute of each other, then nothing else. Does the name Mason Locke mean anything to you?”

The world tilts.

“I—” Icy cold races up the back of my neck. “I have to go. I’ll call you back.”

The quiet rushes in. No. Not quiet. Silence.

The music stopped when I answered the call. I reach for the app, but my fingers won’t cooperate. They buzz, then prickle. Pins and needles crawl up my hands. My wrists throb. Pressure. Too tight. Too long. My nerves light up like they remember.

The heater clicks on. Sharp. Sudden. Too loud.

I jerk and the chair skids back with a shriek of wood on tile. My heart slams hard enough to hollow me out. They’ll come now. Hands on me. Pain. Because I made noise. Because I’m not where I’m supposed to be.

I stagger to the corner. My back hits the wall. Pain shoots down my spine, and my legs fold before I can stop them.

The air won’t go where it’s supposed to, my breaths scraping out of my lungs in shallow, jagged gasps. My hands shake so badly I press them against my thighs, but the tremor won’t stop.

I don’t know how long it’s been. Time has gone soft around the edges. My legs are folded under me, useless. Every breath stalls halfway in.

The phone rings.

Asher.

I manage to swipe one numb finger across the screen.

“Hey,” Asher says, distracted. I hear movement behind him. A cart wheel. The low murmur of voices. Groceries. Shopping. “I’m at the canned fruit. Quick question. Do you want the pears packed in water or syrup?”

I try to answer.

Nothing comes out.

I reset. My mouth opens. A thin, torn sound scrapes free. “N-need…”

It barely qualifies as a word.

There’s a pause. His breathing changes. Sharpens. “I’m coming back. Right now.”

I can’t get enough air. My fingers curl against the floor, nails catching on the wood.

“Stay with me,” he says. I hear footsteps, quicker now. “You don’t need to talk. Just breathe for me.”

My vision swims. The room tilts sideways.

“I’m leaving the store. Nine minutes out. Maybe eight.” His voice is so steady. So certain. Like nothing ever truly rattles him.

I want to answer. But I can’t manage more than a broken whimper.