Reaper’s hand tightened on his weapon, knuckles whitening. I knew he wanted answers as much as I did, yet no words left his lips, as if he was somehow…testing this persona.
The silhouette tilted, a gesture somehow both mocking and wounded. “We even worked together once. Not that either of us was supposed to remember. Memories are… inconvenient for our handlers.”
My heartbeat accelerated against my ribs. I turned to Reaper, searching his face for any flicker of recognition, but his expression remained carved from stone, even as a thin red line appeared at the edge of his nostril.
“If you’re like him—conditioned, controlled—how do you even know this? How can you remember?” I asked, eyes fixed on that drop of blood that Reaper didn’t seem to notice.
“I shouldn’t.” The modulated laugh carried a bitter edge sharp enough to cut. “Just like our friend Reaper here, I seem to be… defective. The conditioning didn’t take properly. Fragments started coming back—faces, names, missions. I suspect you’re experiencing the same symptoms, Reaper—nosebleeds, headaches… nightmares that feel too real to be dreams. And they keep getting worse, to the point where you come to wonder if one day they will become too much to handle.”
The silhouette leaned forward, and despite the distortion, urgency radiated from the movement. “I don’t knoweverything—far from it. The memories come in broken pieces, like shattered glass reflecting distorted images. That’s why I’m helping you, Ms. Durham. We’re both searching for truth in the dark. And to bring it to the light. That’s why I need you.”
“What do you know about me?” Reaper cut in, his voice a blade slicing through the space between us.
The informant’s posture changed instantly—shoulders drawing inward, voice darkening to something hollow and raw.
“Not much,” he admitted. “Same for me. Not even my own name. Not even my past.”
Something wounded in those words resonated in my chest—a pain I recognized. It echoed the desperate emptiness I’d glimpsed in Reaper when his conditioning cracked. The same haunted look my brother had in the prison visiting room the last time I saw him.
Without thinking, I reached for Reaper’s hand. His skin felt cool against mine, callused and rough. For a heartbeat, he went completely still, as if my touch had shocked him more than any weapon could. Then his fingers twined with mine, grip tightening almost imperceptibly—like it was the only thing keeping him steady.
The contact grounded me, too—two strangers clinging to connection in this sterile, hidden room, surrounded by secrets neither of us fully understood.
“If you know about the organization,” I said to the screen, “you’re in a better position than I am to dig into their operations. You clearly have resources.” I gestured at thetechnology surrounding us with my free hand. “Why involve me at all?”
The silhouette shifted, and a harsh sound—something between laughter and pain—came through the distortion.
“Better position?” The modulated voice dropped lower. “Ms. Durham, I’m compromised. Flagged. Hunted. I couldn’t meet you in that parking lot because there’s a kill order on me that makes your brother’s situation look like a vacation.”
My stomach hollowed. “What?”
“The moment they realized I was recalling fragments, I became a liability. I’m alive only because I’m good at staying ahead of them—for now.”
“My brother?” I repeated, my chest tight. “What do you know about my brother? Is he...”
Reaper’s hand tensed in mine, silencing the flood of words that threatened to spill. “How long?” he asked.
“Three months, two weeks, four days.” The precision needed no explanation. The informant had been counting every hour of borrowed time. “And I know less about your brother than I’d like to, I’m afraid.”
Fuck. Okay, still, we’re moving forward,I told myself, fighting the pang of disappointment that drifted through me.
“But your access...” I began.
“Is limited and dangerous to use. Each time I tap into their systems, I risk exposure.” The silhouette leaned forward. “I still have some resources and backdoors they haven’t discovered yet. But not nearly what I had before.”
I felt Reaper’s eyes on me, calculating, assessing my reaction with new intensity.
“And your mind?” I asked, remembering how Reaper had collapsed when I used the trigger words. “If they catch you...”
“If I’m captured and not killed outright, I’ll be reset. Wiped clean.” The informant’s voice hardened to steel. “And in the process, they’ll extract everything I know. Everyone I’ve contacted.”
The implication hung in the air like a guillotine blade. That included me. And Reaper.
“That’s why you need me,” I said, the pieces locking into place. “A journalist. Someone who can move in the open. Someone they aren’t already watching.” Though given Reaper’s mission, I wasn’t sure if that was the truth anymore. How long would it take for them to send someone else after me?
“Someone who can put the pieces together,” the informant confirmed. “I have fragments. You have research skills.”
I nodded, still holding Reaper’s hand. This stranger who was sent to kill me had become my only ally in a game where I didn’t know all the rules.
