Reaper watched me eat with unsettling intensity. He took the remaining crackers from the packet and arranged them in a perfect line on the desk beside him, edges aligned.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I ventured, nodding toward his untouched row of crackers.
He shrugged, the movement barely perceptible. “I can function without food or sleep for extended periods when necessary.”
“Water, at least?” I held up my half-empty bottle.
Reaper stared at me, something flickering behind his eyes—confusion, perhaps—before giving a curt shake of hishead. The gesture seemed strange, as if sharing resources was a foreign concept. He picked up one cracker, examined it, then placed it back in exact alignment with the others.
“So,” I said, wiping crumbs from my mouth, “how do you want to do this? Should I just start talking, or...”
“Why did you recognize me?” He cut me off, voice sharp. “How did you know my trigger response?”
I took a deep breath, the musty air filling my lungs. “It’s complicated. There’s context you need to...”
“Skip the context,” he snapped. “Answer the question.”
“Fine,” I said, irritation flaring. “The short version? I think the same people who took my brother took you too. They wiped your memories and turned you into their slave.”
Something dangerous flashed across his face. “I’m nobody’s slave.”
“Then tell me your mother’s name.”
His jaw clenched. “That’s irrelevant.”
“What about your hometown? First girlfriend? Favorite food growing up?” I pressed, watching his expression carefully. “Can you tell me any of that?” I didn’t even wait for him to respond, because I knew he wouldn’t. “You can. Because they’ve taken every single aspect of your personality and erased it to enslave you to carry out whatever dirty missions they have in mind.”
Reaper lunged forward suddenly, stopping just inches from my face. “You’re stalling.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I forced myself to hold his gaze. “I’m proving a point.”
A tense silence stretched between us. The drip of water somewhere in the factory marked each second. I could practically see the patience drain from his eyes.
“My brother,” I finally said, “disappeared from prison six months ago.”
Reaper stepped back, watching me with cold calculation. “Prison for what?”
“Does it matter? The charges were bullshit.” I took another sip of water to hide the tremor in my voice. “Xavier was ex-military, working security gigs that got progressively shadier. Then suddenly he got paranoid, checking for bugs, and started speaking in code.”
Reaper didn’t say a word, though I had a strong feeling the two of them shared many traits.
“Then he was arrested on fabricated charges, thrown into max security, and three weeks later, I’m told he died of an aneurysm.” I laughed, the sound bitter even to my own ears. My eyes burned all over again. I could still clearly recall the phone call when they broke the news to me. I refused to believe it back then, and I refused to believe itnow.“They cremated him before I could see the body. ‘Administrative error,’ they said.”
Reaper remained perfectly still, as if he was hanging onto every word I said. I sighed, wiping my eyes to prevent the tears from rolling down my cheeks. “So I started digging. My job, thankfully, had given me many contacts, and I utilized every single one. I called in favors, bribed guards, and did whatever it took. That’s when someone sent me coordinates to an abandoned facility outside Detroit.”
“Someone sent you?” Reaper’s voice sharpened. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Anonymous tip.”
His face hardened with suspicion. “Convenient.”
“Yeah, too convenient,” I agreed, surprising him. “Like someone wanted me to find what was there. But I was desperate, so I went.” Back then, there was no way of telling whether it was a setup or a chance to discover something. But I had no other leads, so I decided to risk it all. Xavier would undoubtedly be mad at me, but I wouldn’t give up until I found him.
“And found what, exactly?”
I hesitated, wondering how much to reveal. But I needed him to believe me.
“Files. Hidden in an air vent. About some fucked-up program creating assassins through mind control and memory wipes.” I watched his face carefully.
