"Embedded triggers. Injury profiles, behavioral flags." Farid retrieved the flask, noting the spilled whiskey with something like regret. "I didn't expect the bullet on the freeway, but the moment someone matching your patterns appeared in a Seattle ER, my network activated. I confirmed your identity within an hour."
He reached into his jacket, producing a small encrypted drive. "Updated. Everything you need to destroy Hoyle's empire. Bank records, personnel files, operational logs." His eyes met mine. "Three years of intelligence gathering for this moment."
Marcus's voice crackling through static: "Five minutes out. You need to move."
"Where will you go?" Matthew asked.
"Away." Farid pressed the drive into my palm, his fingers cold against mine. "Far enough they can't find me. Close enough to testify when the trials begin."
The fog had thickened around us, but in the distance, I heard the faint hum of approaching engines.
"We were all supposed to be dead," Farid said quietly. "Hoyle's greatest mistake was loving theater just a little too much. He feeds on drama."
Farid walked toward the shadows, then stopped. "Take care of him, Matthew. He's worth the manipulation."
"I know," Matthew replied.
Farid disappeared into the fog just as headlights pierced the industrial gloom.
"We are all alive," I said quietly. "The world hasn't taken everything. Not yet."
Matthew squeezed my hand again. "And we won't let it."
Chapter twenty-one
Matthew
The shift in my thinking surprised me. A week ago, security sweeps had felt like delaying tactics—desperate measures to postpone inevitable discovery. Now they had a different meaning.
I wasn't only checking for ways the enemy might get in. I was evaluating how quickly we could get out when the time came to move.
After meeting Farid, we returned to the safehouse, but I knew we would move soon.
Michael's voice cut through the thin walls. I knew that tone—cop voice.
"Confirmed location?" Michael's tone sharpened further. "How recent is the surveillance data?"
I mouthed the nameDanny Hoto Dorian.
"Understood. What's the timeline?" Michael's question confirmed that the Bureau was planning to move.
I positioned myself in the doorway between rooms, close enough to observe without obviously eavesdropping. Michaelstood with his back to me, phone pressed against his ear, while his free hand drummed against a table.
"Copy that. I'll brief the team."
The call terminated with a decisive snap. Michael turned, his jaw set.
"The FBI's closing the net." Michael spoke authoritatively. "Ho says they've triangulated Hoyle. Location confirmed in the Cascades."
The moment was arriving. Over two weeks of running and hiding were crystallizing into actionable coordinates. Hoyle's abstract threat had acquired GPS coordinates and satellite confirmation.
Dorian appeared at my side. Behind him, Marcus emerged from whatever corner he'd been occupying, followed by James clutching his ever-present laptop.
We crowded into the small room with Michael. We were no longer prey waiting for predators to find us.
Marcus stroked his chin. "How solid is the intelligence?"
Michael briefed us in a calm voice. "Satellite surveillance confirmed vehicular movement patterns consistent with Hoyle's modus operandi. Three black SUVs were accessing a private compound through restricted forest service roads. Electronic intercepts correlate with communication signatures Danny's been tracking for months."
