The informant shifted position, leaning closer to whatever camera fed the animation. “But there’s something you both should know.” The distortion couldn’t disguise the urgent warning. “You’re being watched. As of today.”
Reaper’s grip tightened instantly. “Specifics.”
The informant’s silhouette leaned forward. “There’s been significant chatter through secure channels about yourwhereabouts. Your handler is searching for you,” he said addressing Reaper.
My breath caught in my throat. “Because of me?”
“Because he didn’t report in,” the informant said. “Two missed check-ins. Two unanswered requests for mission status. That’s unprecedented for an asset like Reaper.” I glanced at Reaper, whose jaw had hardened to granite. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, but calculations ran visibly behind them. “Your handler is particularly… invested in this situation now.”
“Meaning?” Reaper asked.
“Meaning that while he was initially focused on eliminating Ms. Durham as a security risk, his priority has shifted. He’s now equally concerned with recovering you.”
A chill spread through my chest. “Because of what I know about the conditioning? About the Marionette Project?”
“Partly,” the informant answered. “But more because of what’s happening to Reaper. Assets who begin to malfunction are immediately recalled. An asset that actively refuses orders represents a catastrophic failure of conditioning protocols.”
The room contracted around us, the air thinning. I was acutely aware of every point where Reaper’s body stood close to mine.
“And me?” I asked. “What about me?”
The informant’s silhouette went perfectly still. “Brock’s interest in you has increased exponentially, too. Your profile has been elevated. You’re no longer just a journalist withinconvenient information. You’re now the catalyst for an asset malfunction.”
“Which makes me more valuable dead,” I said, feeling blood drain from my face.
“Or alive,” Reaper interjected, his voice different now—harder, yet somehow more human than before. “If they think I’m responding to her, they might want to study that reaction.”
The informant nodded. “Yes. Which means they might attempt to capture rather than eliminate. For both of you.”
I thought of the poker chip in Reaper’s pocket—the one clue to his past identity. What other fragments might he recover if given time? And what might I learn about Xavier?
“How long do we have?” I asked.
“They’ve already deployed a secondary team to São Paulo. Your previous accommodations have been thoroughly searched.” The informant’s distorted figure shifted urgently, showing that the time for chit chat was now over. “You don’t have much time. There’s a USB drive hidden under the keypad by the door. Just tear the panel apart—it’s designed to break away. Everything I could gather on short notice is there, including your brother’s intake files. It’s not much, but…” He trailed off.
I exchanged a quick look with Reaper, whose eyes widened fractionally at this revelation.
“As soon as you leave, I’ll destroy the equipment in this room.”
I glanced at Reaper, whose expression hadn’t changed, but I could sense the subtle shift in his posture—coiled tighter, ready to move.
The informant continued, voice dropping lower. “I’ll keep digging, try to stay ahead of their tracking algorithms. Keep the burner phone. I’ve hardened it against basic surveillance, but don’t use it unless absolutely necessary. And never from the same location twice.”
I stared at the silhouette, torn between gratitude and suspicion. “Why help us? What do you want in return?”
The informant’s posture straightened with quiet determination. “The same thing you want, Ms. Durham. To burn it all down. To expose the Marionette Project. To find out who we were before they took our lives away. And to prevent them from taking anyone else.”
A beat passed as I absorbed his words. Beside me, Reaper’s expression shifted subtly—something almost like recognition flashing in his eyes.
The silhouette suddenly stiffened. “Wait. Something’s wrong.”
I felt Reaper’s muscles tense beside me before I even registered the change in the informant’s tone.
“What is it?” I asked, heartbeat accelerating.
“Your location—Mooca district—it just pinged on their secure channel.” The informant’s voice dropped to an urgent hiss. “They’ve triangulated a signal from this building. How the hell did they...”
Reaper stepped forward. “Time frame?”
