Page 64 of Operation: Defiance

The elevator’s secure. No cameras. A key card for access. A six digit code for the apartment door.

Inside, the apartment is deliberately boring. Quiet. Temperature-controlled. Neutral walls. Soft light. No sharp smells or sounds. Calming.

Exactly as I designed it to be.

Too many extractions. Too many people who didn’t know how to come back to themselves without tripping every alarm in their nervous system.

I carry her into the bedroom, lay her on the bed, then kneel beside her.

“Raine,” I say quietly. “You’re safe. I’m going to touch you now. Only where I have to.”

No response.

I cup her cheek to keep her head steady. Her skin is cool. Dry in a way that tells me she’s horribly dehydrated. There’s swelling over her right eye, purple giving way to yellow around the edges. That bothers me more than I’d like.

Wrists and ankles bruised, deep enough to suggest nerve compression. Shoulder visibly swollen. The rise and fall of her chest isn’t quite even. At least one rib bruised or broken. Maybe two.

Her feet are mottled from the cold.

Fuck.

Exposure is one of the most insidious types of torture. The one you don’t see coming until you’re too hot or too cold to regulate anything else.

I reach for the med kit.

Heated blanket first. I drape it carefully over her, leaving her arms free. Temperature regulation before intervention. Always.

Electrolytes next. I mix them quietly and set the cup within reach for later.

A quick check of her blood pressure and pulse. Her BP is in the basement. Her heart is racing, trying to compensate.

If I thought she’d tolerate it, I’d start an IV. But I don’t know if they drugged her. Waking up with a needle in her arm could destroy her.

I move to the chair opposite the bed, cross my ankles, and think.

Not about what I’m going to do to the people who signed off on this.

That can wait.

I think about Raine

What not to do.

No sudden noise.

No unnecessary touch.

No waking her unless I absolutely have to.

I open a note on my phone and document what I can see. Record timestamps. Not for a report—for leverage against the people who did this.

After that, I keep watch.

Minutes pass. Then an hour.

At some point, she shifts. A small sound catches in her throat. Not words. Just breath snagging on memory.

I stay exactly where I am. Quiet, still, as non-threatening as I can be to someone who’s obviously been under constant threat for quite some time.