I swallowed hard, focusing on my screen. “That’s not relevant to my goals and mission.”
I turned back to my laptop, fingers resuming their dance across the keys with more force than necessary.
“Nothing’s more important than exposing what they’ve done. What they’re still doing.” The words firmed up as I spoke them. “If we don’t stop Oblivion, how many more Xaviers and Specters will they create?”
The silence stretched between us.
“He’s not trying to control you,” Specter said suddenly.
My fingers froze mid-keystroke. “Excuse me?”
“Reaper. When he planned to send you away.” Specter’s voice remained neutral, clinical. “It wasn’t about control.”
My shoulders tightened. “I don’t recall asking for your psychological assessment.”
“I know more than you think.” He didn’t move closer, maintaining the distance of a man accustomed to calculating threat perimeters.
The basement suddenly felt airless. The walls pressed inward, the ceiling lower. My heart beat faster without my permission.
“I don’t need explanations for his actions,” I said, each word clipped. “His choices are clear enough.”
“Are they?” Specter crossed his arms. “Have you noticed how he watches you when you’re working? When you’re absorbed in something and don’t realize he’s looking?”
I shot him a skeptical glare. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s a look I’ve never seen on him before. Not when he was Reaper.” He stopped himself. “It’s reverence. And terror.”
My throat tightened. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Specter remained utterly still, his stillness more unnerving than movement. “I know operatives like him. Like me. Reading micro-expressions is a survival skill. And what I see when he looks at you…” He shook his head. “It’s surprising.”
My pulse quickened traitorously. I remembered Ronan’s hands on my skin, the way his eyes tracked my movements, how he’d wake instantly if I stirred in the night. I wanted to believe all of that had meant something, but his words proved otherwise.
Don’t think about it right now. You can’t get distracted.
“You don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I muttered, but the conviction in my voice wavered.
Specter stepped closer, his movement deliberate. “Do you know what it means that he’s remembered his name? His past?”
I said nothing, but I found myself leaning forward slightly.
“The conditioning process doesn’t just erase memories—it rewires neural circuitry completely.” His voice took on a clinical tone. “New pathways form in the brain, connecting pain receptors to specific thoughts.”
I pressed my fingers into the table’s edge until my knuckles turned white, remembering the nosebleeds, the way Ronan would collapse when certain memories surfaced.
“Every time he resists his programming, it’s like fighting against his own nervous system.” Specter’s eyes met mine. “Every time he chooses you, his brain is literally attacking itself. The data on recovery is virtually non-existent. No one’s successfully reversed this level of conditioning before. Not completely.”
“But he remembered his name,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded. “He remembered Brock’s betrayal.”
“Yes. Which is remarkable. And they may be the only memories he might be able to retrieve. Oblivion didn’t think about reverting his assets. They…Weare to be changed forever or die.”
I pushed away from the table, needing to move. The small basement suffocated me as I paced between the table and the wall. “Why tell me this now? What’s your angle?”
Specter’s eyes followed my movements, calculating. “Because I need you functional for what’s coming. And right now, you’re compromised by misunderstanding his actions.”
The image of Ronan carrying me through Brock’s facility flashed through my mind—his face contorted with pain, each step visibly fighting against his programming to keep me safe.
“He’s not running from you,” Specter said more quietly. “He’s trying to protect what’s left of you both.”