The lights overhead burned cold and bright. No shadows. Monroe preferred it that way. She stood over Unit 17. No name. No memory. Just precision.
“Uptake stable,” Ellis said. “Motor function eighty-seven percent. Verbal locked.”
“Deploy by Friday,” Monroe said.
“You want to skip the control stack test?”
“She’s not going to ask questions,” Monroe replied.
Ellis went quiet.
They were closer now than Gideon ever was. That was why she’d been chosen. Gideon wanted to build obedient soldiers—but clung to the myth they needed to be saved. Monroe didn’t believe in saving anything. She believed in clean starts.
In the observation hub, Rafi waited at the map display. “We’ve got eyes on Marcel. He’s clean. Minimal security. Went to see Mara again.”
Monroe tapped his address. “Stage an incident. Leak intel. Make it look like Pratt’s the source. Let’s see how Marcel reacts. Does he go to Charlotte—or does he try to handle it himself?”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Raise the stakes. Tip the FBI. Leak a file. Frame Cullen as the task force leak. Make Marcel question her. That’s where it breaks.”
“Then we take him?”
“Yes. Once he doubts her, he’s vulnerable. Then we take him. Quietly.” She looked back at Unit 17, still and empty behind the glass.
“The old guard made things personal,” she said. “We won’t. We’re not chasing ghosts. We’re finishing the job.”
Rafi hesitated. “Everhart…”
“She’s already losing,” Monroe said. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
A ping. A secure message on her tablet:
STOKES: FBI suspects internal leak. No idea it’s me. Will slow investigation.
Monroe typed one word in reply:Continue.
Twenty-Six
Alex was working alonein one of the rooms Ethan had also annexed for the task force. He was typing a report about Mara and preferred to concentrate on it alone. His phone buzzed against the metal table, rattling in rhythm with the blaring of “Ride of the Valkyries.” He didn’t need to look to know it was Noah. The ringtone was their own private joke—a nod to the war zone they often found themselves in and the bond that had survived it.
He could picture the scene even before Noah answered. Ethan glaring. That passive-aggressive way he’d hold out the phone like he was offering a loaded weapon. Noah would already be on his feet, jaw locked tight.
Alex didn’t wait. He was already moving, phone clutched in his hand as he walked out of the room and into the hall, where the air was colder and quieter.
“Alex, hold on a second,” Noah said, already sounding wired.
Alex stopped walking and leaned back against the doorframe, pressing the phone tighter to his ear. “Talk.”
“There’s a leak,” Noah said, clipped. “Ethan just got a headline sent to him. Early. Too early.”
Alex swore. “What about Cullen or Charlotte? Did they give you anything?”
“No,” Noah snapped. “And I’m not playing middleman between you and Charlotte. You’re both grown.”
“Answer me,” Alex growled.
Noah let out a breath. “Cullen said the former cellmate—the one still in lockup—said Ward kept muttering the name ‘Rook’ in his sleep.”
