TV commentators struggled to maintain professional detachment as they raised their voices and spoke over each other. I had spent so much time studying historical inflection points—those moments when societies pivoted irrevocably.
Watching it happen in real time and being part of it was different. It wasn't abstract, and it was fast.
Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. "She's not holding anything back. No bargaining chips. No leverage for later."
"Because she knows this is her only chance." I stared at Evelyn's composed face. "Once it's all public, killing her accomplishes nothing."
Michael woke up and pushed himself upright on the couch. "Is that Evelyn?"
I nodded. She was displaying documents—internal memos with timestamps and signatures. It was evidence that couldn't be dismissed as paranoia or conspiracy.
Michael swung his legs over the couch edge, fingers raking through the buzz on his head that had started to grow out. "Any other updates?"
I did my best to catch him up. "Pentagon issued the standard non-denial denial. The White House promised a full and transparent investigation. Technology firms named in the files claim it's fabricated evidence." I gestured toward the window. "It's all noise. We've exposed the algorithms, and there's no putting them back in the box."
Miles collected our empty coffee mugs. "How much time do you think we have?"
"Not much." Marcus offered a firm response. "They'll need scapegoats or heroes; we're the most convenient option for both."
Michael pulled a chair up next to me. "Any regrets?"
I considered the question with a historian's instinct to weigh multiple perspectives. Regret for the safety lost? For our lives disrupted? For the uncertain future now unfolding?
"No." My answer was certain. "Marissa would have done the same."
I moved to retrieve my laptop, dormant since the upload completed. Its surface was cool beneath my fingertips. For weeks, it had been my primary weapon. Now, it seemed oddly obsolete—a tool from a battle already over.
The ranger station windows revealed nothing but forest and fog, yet I couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. Somewhere in Washington, algorithms were running, calculating our threat level and dispensability.
I wondered whether the humans overseeing the algorithms had families. When they looked at our files, did they see people or merely problems to be solved? I wondered what Michael's file said about him—decorated officer, combat veteran, brother, protector. Next, I wondered what mine contained—academic, widower, information conduit.
The phone in Michael's hand vibrated with another notification. He read briefly and then looked up. "They're making arrests at the Pentagon. Senior officials."
The first tremor came through the floorboards—a subtle vibration transferring from earth to wood to the soles of my feet. I might have dismissed it as imagination if not for Michael freezing in place. His body reacted before conscious thought, muscles tensing, and head tilting slightly.
His voice was low. "Feel that?"
Marcus nodded, already moving away from the exposed windows.
A mechanical hum began to rise from within the forest, resonating in the ranger station's timber frame. Ripples formed on the surface of Miles's abandoned coffee, perfect circles expanding outward.
Michael named the source of some of the sound. "Vehicles. Heavy ones."
Loud noise emerged from the woods—branches snapping in rhythmic succession, caused by the deliberate progression of machinery through undergrowth. Tires ground forward.
Miles stopped washing mugs. "They're circling us."
I moved to the north window, carefully staying to one side of the frame. Through gaps in the mist, dark forms materialized.
Marcus joined me at the window. "All-terrain vehicles—military grade."
"Shit." Michael spoke for all of us as he looked over my shoulder. "Look at the formation. They're not only coming up the road we took. They've created a perimeter. Multiple insertion points."
Michael's breath remained steady. "Professional operation. Coordinated approach from all sides."
The vehicles halted at the forest's edge, forming a broken circle around the cabin clearing. Personnel in dark gear spilled out of each.
Michael spotted their insignia. "FBI, not private contractors or military."
