"Tell me about both locations," he says, his voice carrying the clinical precision I remember from our correspondence. "Everything you know about the buildings, the access points, the surrounding areas. Shaw may have nine years of research on us, but she doesn't understand what we become when we work together."
I take a shaky breath and force my mind to shift from panic to analysis. Kent is right—Shaw has been studying us as individuals, documenting our separate psychological profiles and responses to trauma. She has no data on how we function as a team, no understanding of how our combined skills and shared darkness make us far more dangerous than the sum of our parts.
"Riverside Rehab has been closed for three years," I begin, pulling details from memory. "The building is structurally sound, but the city condemned it because of asbestos issues. Multiple entry points, but most are chained shut. Janine always said the place was like a maze inside—therapeutic rooms, group meeting spaces, administrative offices all connected by corridors that don't follow logical patterns."
Kent nods, processing the information with the systematic attention he once brought to selecting hunting grounds. "Defensive advantages for Shaw, but also opportunities for misdirection if we can get inside undetected. What about the warehouse?"
"Industrial space, mostly open floor plan. Aliyah rented the third floor for her studio because of the natural light from the skylights. Loading docks on the ground level, freight elevator that may or may not still work. The building's been partially renovated for artist studios, so there might be other people around during normal hours."
"Which means Shaw either cleared the building or she's counting on witnesses to complicate any rescue attempt." Kent'sjaw tightens as he considers the tactical implications. "She's had time to prepare both sites, to anticipate how we might approach each rescue."
The mathematics are brutal and getting worse the more we analyze them. Shaw has every advantage—time, preparation, choice of ground, and the knowledge that we'll be operating under emotional pressure that compromises rational decision-making.
But she's also made assumptions about who we are and what we're willing to do.
"We're not choosing," I realize aloud, the certainty hitting me like lightning. "She wants me to choose because the choice itself is what destroys me. But what if we refuse to play by her rules?"
Kent's smile is sharp and predatory, recognition sparking in his eyes. "What do you have in mind?"
"Shaw thinks she understands us because she's been documenting our behavior for years. But all her research is based on us trying to be normal, trying to fit into acceptable social roles. She has no data on what happens when we stop pretending to be reformed."
The plan crystallizes in my mind with startling clarity, born from desperation and the kind of moral flexibility that Shaw has been trying to awaken. It's dangerous, probably impossible, and will require us to become exactly the kind of people we've been trying not to be.
But it's the only way to save them both.
"Tell me," Kent says, and I can see that he's already committed to whatever I'm about to propose.
I meet his eyes and let him see the decision I've made, the line I'm finally willing to cross.
"We're going to hunt Dr. Evelyn Shaw."
Kent moves to Janine's overturned coffee table, righting it with efficient movements before spreading out his phone and pulling up mapping applications. His transformation from supportive partner to tactical planner is seamless, and I watch him shift into the methodical mindset that once made him such an effective killer.
"Show me both locations," he says, his voice carrying the clinical precision I remember from our letters. "I need to understand the geography, the timing, the logistics of what Shaw thinks she's forcing us to do."
I pull up the addresses on my phone, my hands steadier now that we have a plan forming. The abandoned Riverside Rehabilitation Center appears first—a sprawling complex on Millfield Road that looks like a small campus from the satellite view. Multiple buildings connected by covered walkways, surrounded by overgrown parking lots that have been reclaimed by weeds and wild grass.
"Thirty-seven minutes from here," I read from the navigation app. "But that's with current traffic. During evening rush hour, it could be closer to an hour."
Kent studies the layout with the intensity of someone memorizing battlefield terrain. "Multiple buildings means multiple places Shaw could have Janine hidden. She'd want maximum psychological impact, so probably the main therapy center where Janine actually worked. Familiar environment turned threatening."
The Mackenzie Warehouse comes up next—a converted industrial complex on the east side that's been partially transformed into artist studios and small business spaces. Thebuilding itself is massive, five stories of red brick and steel windows that speak to the city's manufacturing past.
"Forty-two minutes," I report, though we both know the timing is irrelevant if Shaw has no intention of letting us save both women. "Aliyah's old studio was on the third floor. Natural light from the skylights, open floor plan that she could section off for different projects."
"Defensible position," Kent observes. "Shaw would have clear sightlines, multiple escape routes if something goes wrong. She's chosen locations that give her tactical advantages while maximizing emotional resonance for us."
I watch him analyze the situation with the systematic approach that once terrified me and now provides the only comfort I can find. Kent understands predators because he is one, and that understanding might be the only thing that saves the people I love most.
"But here's what Shaw doesn't know," he continues, looking up from the phone with eyes that have gone completely cold. "She's been documenting us as individuals, studying our separate responses to trauma and pressure. She has no research on how we function as a team."
"What do you mean?"
"Shaw thinks this is about forcing you to choose between competing loyalties, but she's fundamentally misunderstood the parameters of the situation. She sees two separate rescue attempts, two impossible timelines, two people who will operate independently under emotional duress."
Kent's smile is sharp and predatory, and I feel an answering darkness stir in my chest. "She doesn't realize that we're not going to play her game at all."
The pieces start clicking together in my mind, the tactical possibilities that Shaw's academic arrogance has blinded her to. She's spent years studying us as case studies, individual subjects responding to controlled stimuli. She has no data on what happens when the Carver and the girl who thanked him for murder decide to work together with a common enemy.
