I took photos of the files with the burner, just in case. Then I shut it all down, every window, every trace. I had the feeling that if I kept reading, I’d only find worse.
Dante came out with his hair wet and a towel slung low on his hips, eyebrow cocked at me in the blue TV-glow.
“You okay?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Define okay,” I said.
He stepped closer, kneeling between my knees exactly where he’d been a few hours ago, and I had the weird urge to laugh. He was still just wearing the towel, his chest still steaming. He smelled like hotel soap and the afterburn of adrenaline. Not even close, I started to say, but he put his hands on my thighs and squeezed just hard enough to bring me back.
"You want to run this by me?" he asked, and his voice was soft, almost hoarse.
I tilted the screen toward him, scrolled to the section I’d flagged. The cold horror had switched off my higher brain, but he read it line by line, silent and intent. Then he looked up, those dark eyes bottomless. I could have lied to myself and called it empathy, but what I really saw was calculation. We were the same that way.
"How many?" he asked.
"Three that I can see," I said. "Two terminated, one ongoing. And the one they didn’t mention is already off protocol. They escalated—probably to see what the vectors did at higher load."
He made a low sound in his throat, like a growl, but didn’t say anything. I realized he was waiting for me to tell him what I needed. For once, there wasn’t any pushback, no plan to drag me screaming to a bunker outside Saskatoon. He just knelt there, letting my hands rest on his shoulders while the room filled with the smell of wet skin and old fear.
I clung to him, breathing in the warm, animal comfort of his neck. "I feel like if I ever stop moving, I’ll shatter," I said.
"We’re not stopping," he said. "Not until it’s done."
I lay there, head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. For a few seconds it was just noise and heat and the sound of the city waking up outside. Then I whispered, "I need to get into the vivarium."
He stilled, then pulled me back to look at my face. "That’s not in the plan."
“You don’t get to tell me what’s in the plan.”
He let out an incredulous breath. “You’re pregnant, Jade.”
“I’m also the only one who can read that data in real time. Unless you want to trust that Heller and her B team are going to let me just…plug in from outside?”
He bristled, but his hands stayed gentle. “You want to go in? Fine. But I’m coming with you. We do this together, or not at all.”
I almost laughed. “You think they’ll let you waltz into a level-four clean room with a glock tucked in your waistband?”
He straightened, dropped his hands, and started searching for his shirt. “I don’t need a gun. I just need to keep you between me and every maniac on the premises. You’re the star. I’m just set dressing.”
I pulled on a fresh blouse and tried not to let my hands shake. The plan was half a plan, maybe less, but it was better than nothing. I’d get into the vivarium, pull the logs, maybe even talk to the team working the off-hours. If anyone was going to screw up, it would be the night shift. Or me.
Dante found his jacket, dug out the burner, and texted Marco next door. The answer came back immediately: “All clear. No tails. Getting bagels.”
He showed me the message, a silent Are you sure? in the way his eyes held mine.
I nodded, zipped up my boots, and grabbed my laptop bag. “Let’s go.”
The drive to the lab was silent. The city had woken up angry, glass and steel and salt trucks chewing the edges of the road. I watched the windshield wipers click back and forth, counting the seconds until we hit the parking garage. I wondered what it would be like to live a normal day, to care about coffee andweather and maybe the next episode of whatever was on TV. I wondered if I’d ever get that back.
Inside, the security desk was manned by the same woman as before: perfect hair, perfect teeth, eyes that didn’t blink. She checked our IDs, made small talk about the cold snap, then handed us temporary passes and pointed to the elevator. “Dr. Heller is waiting for you upstairs,” she said.
I forced a smile, but it probably looked like a tic.
The lab was even quieter than yesterday. No Victor. No muscle in the halls. Just the hum of servers and the light, chemical scent of bleach. Heller met us at the conference room door, her lab coat pristine, her voice syrupy as ever. “Jade! You’re early.”
“I work best when I set the pace,” I said.
She laughed, too loud, then gestured to a tray of saran-wrapped muffins. “Help yourself. We have a lot to cover.”
