Page 114 of What Remains

Carter didn’t pull in the whole team, just enough bodies to make the air feel tight and the voices mix together. The rest of our people are in their suites with their families and awaiting news.

I hand Mya back the bag and nod my thanks as something chimes on Natasha’s rig. “What was that?” I go over to where she’s working.

Dad and Carter are hovering behind her. Carter makes space for me and joins Easton, who’s quietly standing next to Jesse and Oliver.

“It’s what we suspected.” Natasha’s words pull my eyes back to her screen. “ATC escalated this to a systems compromise. Not a mechanical failure or pilot error. Someone got inside their network.”

I look over her shoulder at the scrolling code, red warnings stacked on top of each other. “A cyberattack from my rig, most likely. Whoever turned it on while Easton and I were downstairs already killed the connection, but the signature matches my rig.”

Zoey, Julian, and the others are en route to Hyde Park, where the signal pinged, but I doubt they’ll find anything by the time they get there.

“The crash could be another deepfake, right?” Easton’s saying exactly what I’ve been praying is the case since Dad told us what happened ten minutes ago.

My stomach knots hard at his question. “How many angles did people capture of it? If we get the raw footage, I can tell if it’s real.”

“Both planes are scheduled to land at Heathrow any minute,” Dad says.

“So if they land,” I murmur, “we have our answer.”

“But the runways won’t be expecting them,” Easton points out. “And if comms are down . . . The videos might be fake, but if we don’t warn Heathrow, the crashes will be real.”

“They won’t believe us without proof.” Natasha gestures to my uncle. “Get Dad on the phone. POTUS can make that call. They’ll listen to him.”

Gray nods and disappears into the guest bedroom, phone already at his ear.

Easton grabs a throw blanket from the couch and wraps it around my shoulders. His knuckles brush my collarbone, like he’s reminding my body it still belongs in this room.

“Thank you,” I whisper, fisting the blanket to my chest.

“Everything will be okay.” His hands settle over my arms, warm even through the blanket. “I promise.” His hooded eyes capture mine, and all the side conversations and chatter become ambient noise as he stands before me. “How can I help you?”

There’s weight to his words. Not just compassion, but something more. Like a man choosing me over everything else.

I’ve never been anyone’s “everything” before. And I don’t know what to make of that.

“You already are,” I force out, wishing we could remain locked in this moment.

“Why flip on the real laptop, not use the clone for this? They have to know we’ll be tracking it.” Oliver’s words have me facing him.

“Maybe because they’re looking to frame me?” I take a second to piece more of this theory together. “Jezebel knew you’d go to Australia to chase that lead, then divert to save me. She counted on you ID’ing Bodhi, then doing everything off the books, never making my abduction public.” I glance at Easton and lift my chin. “And she both anticipated and wanted you to save me, which is why she kept you two alive.”

“And since my plane landed in Vanuatu that night,” Carter joins in, “we can be blamed for causing that Aussie strike on the compound.”

“Then they baited our team to London with that footage of Molly, planning to use my rig for the attack and pin it on me.”

“But you didn’t go, and they don’t know Julian’s alive, or that his family is working with us,” Easton says. “I assume he’s being careful about being caught on camera while there, so as far as these bastards are concerned, we didn’t fall for their bait.”

“But they moved on with their plan anyway.” I tighten my hold of the blanket, anxiety trying to claw at my chest.

“They need you in London.” Natasha turns in her desk chair to face me. “They know we can easily disprove a deepfake video of you in the city if they planted one of you there like they did with Molly.”

“They’re also hoping turning on my rig will draw me out this time.” But then . . .? “If this is their plan, then why not just kidnap me and take me straight to London? Save themselves the trouble of all this. Just sit me in a room and blame me for everything they’ve planned. Or for that matter, why didn’t they just reach out to me at The Sapphire and demand I come to London or else?” I mime an explosion with my free hand. “Use a deepfake video like they did back on that island to force my hand. They could simplify things quite a bit by threatening to hurt people if I don’t help out.”

“Maybe the island has a secondary purpose other than drawing you there. And also”—Natasha gestures with her head to the guys in the room—“the reason she didn’t send you a threatening video at The Sapphire is because she knows you’re too smart to go rogue. You’d have told us what’s going on.”

“That’s why they needed to get me away from everyone. So I couldn’t rely on you all for help.” I twirl my wrist, catching sight of that scar Easton kissed earlier, and I stall out for a second. “Not until they wanted that domino to fall. In other words, have Easton and Zoey save me, and wipe out that island.”

“Not that I wouldn’t have done everything in my power to get to you,” Easton begins, “but we were heavily outgunned, so my guess is Jezebel distracted men away from that building so there weren’t more there to fight.” He closes his eyes, more than likely reliving what happened. “Having no cameras on the grounds helped us get away, too. She told the guards it was to prevent being hacked and seen on any CCTV, but maybe that wasn’t entirely true.” He discards a deep, sobering breath before opening his eyes.