A grid of photographs appeared—faces staring out from driver's licenses and passport photos. Beside each, a clinical report with timestamps and coordinates.
I pushed back from the table, needing physical distance from what I saw. "These are—"
"The pilot program's targets." Evelyn's voice remained steady, but her knuckles whitened around the edge of the laptop. "People flagged by the system and subsequently eliminated."
Alex leaned in, scanning the grid of faces. Then, he froze.
His breathing stopped.
"Wait," he said, his voice cracking. "Go back. Right there."
Evelyn's fingers hovered over the trackpad, uncertain. "Where?"
He jabbed the screen.
HALE, MARISSA. Age: 35. Deceased. Flagged: September 14. Neutralized: September 22.
For half a second, I didn't understand what I was seeing.
Then Alex made a sound I'd never heard from him—a sound pulled from somewhere primal—and lurched backward, knocking into the corner of the table with enough force to rattle the laptop. His hand went to his mouth like he had to hold the scream in. If he didn't, something inside him might come apart.
"No," he gasped. "No, no, no—she died in a crash. That's what they said. It was an accident. It was supposed to be an accident—"
He turned toward Evelyn, eyes wild. "Why is she on that list?"
She looked stunned. "I don't know. I wasn't part of targeting. Maybe she was close to someone flagged. Maybe a data correlation. I—I don't know."
Alex shook his head violently. "Sheknew. She didn't trust any of it—no smart tech, voice assistants, or apps with location tracking. She used to pull the battery from her phone if she thought someone was watching. I told her she was being paranoid—"
He stopped. His whole body trembled. I reached for him, but he backed away like my touch might shatter him completely.
"She was right," he whispered. "All that time, and she wasright."
Then, he dropped.
Not all the way. Just enough for his knees to hit the floor as he crumpled forward, hands braced on the cabin's hardwood floor like he was trying to anchor himself to the earth. I was beside him in a second, crouched low, one arm tight around his shoulders.
His face pressed into his arm, and shudders raked through him—deep, wrenching ones. No sound came. Just those awful, quiet shakes of someone who'd run out of tears months ago but was still breaking anyway.
I whispered to him. "I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry."
"She wasn't supposed to be there. She wasn't supposed to bepartof this."
He lifted his head just enough to look at Evelyn.
"She was everything good. And you let your fucking machineerase her."
Evelyn didn't flinch, but the guilt hit her like a slow, grinding punch to the ribs.
"She's not the only one, but I'm sorry. I truly am."
Alex's gaze turned to the screen again, to the tiny line of text that had rewritten his entire world.
Then he stood—unsteady but upright. His voice when he spoke was raw.
"She doesn't get to vanish."
He looked around the table, eyes landing last on me.
