And that was the day.
When we finally left the vivarium, my brain was buzzing with all the things I hadn’t said. I wanted to ask Heller where she found her subjects, whether she slept at night, if she dreamed about the animals with their heads shaved and their eyes gone bright with fear. I wanted to ask if she’d ever been on the other side of the glass, or if she’d always been the one writing the numbers down.
I hated her. And the more we stayed there, the more I realized I had to put a stop to this.
Chapter 19: Dante
Iwatched her sleep.
She curled away from me, arm slung over her belly like she was trying to protect the baby even in dreams. Hair a tangle over her face. Brow still furrowed. Jade didn’t rest so much as recharge in bursts, like a machine that knew it couldn’t power down without someone gutting the whole system.
And she was right—we couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when we knew what they were doing.
I got up quietly, careful not to jostle the mattress. Marco was still next door. I'd checked on him twice already, made sure his cough hadn't worsened, that his fever hadn't come back. He needed rest. Jade needed time. And I needed a plan.
Not a hope. Not a maybe. Not another one of those half-baked ideas that depended on luck and an unlocked door. I needed something solid.
I grabbed a pen and hotel stationery from the desk. Drew a rough map of the facility from memory—hallways, keypads, that stupid metal door with the fingerprint lock. I marked out the lab where they’d walked us through the protocols. Then I circled the parts that didn’t fit.
Where were they hiding the real testing rooms? Why the decoy demo? Why walk us through a setup if they were just going to show us the ugly part later?
Because they wanted us to see it. They wanted Jade rattled. They wanted her off-balance, running back to them for control. But that meant they weren’t watching me.
And that was their mistake.
My burner buzzed. PI. Right on time.
I picked up. “Tell me something good.”
“Victor’s shell company—Vetrum Limited—is a holding under three different firms. One’s in Liechtenstein. One’s a biotech venture group out of Milan. The third is a front for a sovereign wealth fund. Dubai, I think.”
I swore. “Jesus. That’s not a lab. That’s a weapons contractor with a PhD.”
“Pretty much. The Milan office registered a patent for gene-silencing tech last year. Similar structure to the protocol your girl built. Could be coincidental. Could be stolen.”
“Track who bought in. I want names.”
“Already on it. There’s a Dr. Heller on the board of the Milan group, but she’s not the big dog. That would be—hold on—” I heard the muffled clatter of a cigarette lighter, the wet suck of a drag.
“You ever hear of a Daniel Smith? Goes by D. Smith on most paperwork. Ex-military, special projects. Got out after the last round of layoffs, started consulting for pharma.” He paused. “If he’s the one in charge, you’ve got a real problem. That guy doesn’t leave witnesses.” I wrote the name in the margin, circled it twice.
“Where’s his office?” “Never sets foot in one place for more than a week. Last known was Geneva, but I’ll bet he’s already in Toronto. That’s how these guys work. They like to watch the show up close.” I thanked him and hung up. My hand shook a little. Not from fear. From the way everything clicked into place.
They’d brought us here to finish the work. But that wasn’t the endgame. The real play would be to burn every bridge behind us, erase the witnesses, and vanish with a working prototype.
It was always the same script: recruit, coerce, discard. Victor was the velvet glove, Heller the scientist who’d sold her soul for a chance at first place, and D. Smith—the ghost behind it all—was the hammer waiting to drop.
I heard Jade in the bathroom, running water, the soft clink of her ring against the sink.
She came out in my old T-shirt, hair wet, eyes clear. She looked at the map on the desk, then at me. “Who were you just talking to?”
“PI. He found a name.”
I tapped the paper. “D. Smith. Ex-military, now head of the project. He’s here, somewhere.”
Jade’s face didn’t move, but I saw the little ridge in her brow deepen. “That’s who Heller was answering to. Not Victor.”
I nodded. “He’s the next meeting. If you impress him, you’re in. If you don’t—”
