Brock leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving my face. “I’ve been waiting for this moment, Ms. Durham. Longer than you know.”
The door swung open fully. A figure stood in the threshold, silhouetted against the hallway light. As they stepped forward, the fluorescent lights revealed their features.
My breath caught in my throat. The world tilted sideways.
Xavier.
But not Xavier.
My brother’s face, his build, his height—all perfectly familiar yet horrifically wrong. The man before me moved. His posture was military-rigid, shoulders squared, chin level with the floor. His hair, once a wild mess Xavier refused to tame, was now shaved, just like I had seen on that recording. A fitted black tactical uniform replaced the worn T-shirts and battered jeans he’d lived in.
Seeing that video footage had sent ice through my veins…but it was nothing compared to having him stand right in front of me. It was worse than I could have ever imagined.
But it was his eyes that struck me the most. Those eyes that had always crinkled at the corners when he laughed, that had flashed with righteous anger at injustice, that had softened when he spoke about his passions—they were empty now. Vacant. Like looking through windows into an abandoned house.
A strangled sound escaped my throat—not quite a word, not quite a sob. The noise echoed in the concrete room, bouncing back at me like a cruel reminder of my helplessness.
“Xavier?” My voice cracked, breaking on the second syllable. “Xav, it’s me. It’s Maeve. Your sister. I came here to see you. I came to…”
The words evaporated in the space between us. He didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. His gaze remained fixed on some invisible point beyond my shoulder. The complete absence of recognition felt like a physical blow.
Something fragile inside me shattered. This was worse than finding him dead. Death would have been final, clean. This was desecration.
“Xavier, please.” I strained against my restraints, feeling the metal bite into my wrists. “Say something. Anything.”
Nothing. His chest rose and fell in measured breaths. Nothing else moved.
Brock watched us with fascination, as if he was truly enjoying the scene before him. He looked proud even, proud of the way he could break a man so he didn’t even recognize his sister.
Desperation clawed up my throat. “Remember the tree fort behind Donna’s house? When you broke your arm trying to save that bird’s nest?” My voice turned raw, pleading. “You climbed higher than you should have because you couldn’t stand to see the baby birds fall. You told me—you told me that sometimes you had to risk getting hurt to do what was right.”
Not even a flicker crossed his face. The memory that had shaped him—that had revealed his core of protectiveness even at a young age—meant nothing to the empty shell standing before me.
“He can’t hear you,” Brock said, his voice almost gentle, which made it infinitely worse. “Not in any meaningful way, at least. But you’re welcome to try.”
Tears finally rolled down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them back anymore as I stared at the person I loved the most—the person who didn’t even recognize me now. B circled Xavier like an art dealer appraising a sculpture, his movements fluid and proprietary. “Asset designation: Blackout. Quinta generation.” Pride colored his clinical tone. “Exceptional aptitude scores. Truly remarkable retention rates during conditioning.”
My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. “What have you done to him, you sadistic bastard?”
Brock trailed his fingers along Xavier’s shoulder, the gesture intimate and violating. “We’ve perfected him. Removed the weaknesses. The emotional baggage. The misguided moral code that landed him in prison.” His voice softened with genuine admiration. “Your brother had extraordinary potential, Ms. Durham. We simply… unleashed it.”
“You goddamn monster,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage, tears burning hot tracks down my face. “Was ruining lives part of your job description, or just a perk you particularly enjoyed?”
Brock’s expression didn’t change, but something dark flickered behind his eyes for just a moment—a glimpse of whatever twisted mind existed beneath the polished exterior.
“Blackout, the woman has disrespected me.” Brock’s voice shifted slightly, taking on a commanding edge. “Slap her.”
Before I could process the words, the thing wearing my brother’s face moved. Three steps brought him directly in front of me. Without hesitation, without a singlechange in expression, his hand snapped across my cheek with calculated force—enough to sting sharply without causing lasting damage.
The physical pain barely registered. What broke me was watching him return to his original position, resuming his stationary stance as though nothing had happened. As though he hadn’t just struck his sister for the first time in our lives.
“Xavier,” I whispered, the word barely audible even to myself. The taste of copper filled my mouth where my teeth had cut into the inside of my cheek. “Xavier, please. It’s Maeve. Your sister.” I pleaded again as I leaned forward against the restraints, searching desperately for even a flicker of recognition.
Brock waved his hand dismissively, and Xavier—Blackout—turned on his heel and marched from the room.
“The video you saw was from his early conditioning phase,” Brock said conversationally. “That was six months ago. He fought admirably, I’ll give him that. Most break within weeks. Your brother held on for nearly two months.”
Six months. The timeline crashed through me like a wrecking ball. All this time, I’d been searching for him, risking everything to save him. Following trails and leads across continents. Confronting Reaper. And Xavier had been gone before I’d ever started looking.
