Which is also why I’m choosing not to think too hard about the fact that Harrison and Lane were in Cason’s apartment. I quickly gathered that they were the ones who stopped his heart. The promise I made Cason is the only reason they’re not having a significantly worse afternoon.
Especially when I can still hear Harrison’s name on Cason’slips.
Now that I know thatthatHarrison is the one who killed him, it’s going to be a lot fucking harder to keep my promise.
But hating someone and recognizing they could be useful aren’t mutually exclusive.
They showed concern. They offered to help. None of that erases the fact that they’re responsible for Cason’s near-death experience. It doesn’t make me like them. But it does make it easier to stay focused on Malcolm instead of dropping everything to drive across the city looking for a fight I already promised not to start.
Harrison will just have to wait.
Cason’s also lucky I didn’t see anything that would’ve spurred me into action now when we can’t afford to be wasting time. I didn’t even want to let him go this morning, but he was right about everything. I worked for Malcolm for two years. I know how he operates, and I knew he wasn’t going to go after Cason just a day after letting us both go. Cason needed to go through everything he collected at the Institute, and I needed to talk strategy with Baz.
And the day didn’t go to waste.
I’m standing in the kitchen, leaning my back against the counter with my arms crossed over my chest. Sebastian is standing at the island, getting everyone connected on his laptop. Mia is perched on a stool on the other side, one leg bouncing slightly, like she’s already bracing for bad news. Several others are scattered around the kitchen.
Then Sebastian turns his laptop toward me, the screen holding faces of the rest of them. Grainy feeds, different locations, same tension.
Sebastian nods at me.
“Everyone listen up.” The room was already quiet, everyone’s attention already on me, so I don’t have to wait forit. “Things have changed. I told Malcolm I’d shut all of this shit down.”
There’s a flurry of quiet movement, heads snapping up, eyes meeting, someone on the feed for the safehouse in Sacramento swearing under their breath. The only one who doesn’t move is Sebastian. We already had this conversation in the study, even though I was paying a bit more attention to Cason inside his apartment.
“And you’re not going to,” Mia says flatly, not phrasing it as a question.
I stare at her for a moment. “No. I’m not. And I’m almost positive he knows that. Even so, now he believes he has control of the situation, which means he’s going to move.”
“You think he’s going to come after us?” one of our younger recruits asks. Rory, a freckle-faced man in his early twenties with flaming red hair.
“I think he has plans that we don’t know yet.”
Mia exhales slowly. “So, what? We just sit here and wait?”
“No. We get ready. Malcolm doesn’t make moves like this unless he’s already three steps ahead. Sometimes more than that. So we stop reacting, and we start preparing.”
“For what?” someone on Sebastian’s laptop asks.
“For a fight. We tighten operations. No unnecessary exposure, no solo movement unless cleared by me or Baz. We stick to protocol, you check in, and you don’t get sloppy.” My eyes move across the kitchen, then to the screen. “If Malcolm decides to make an example out of us, he’s not going to pick a fight he thinks he can lose.”
Sebastian huffs a breath. “It’shisturn to fucking lose.”
I don’t smile, though I fully agree.
“I just want everyone prepared. So get ready. Whatever’s coming…”
The words still for half a second. Because there’s somethingelse sitting under all of this, something that keeps nagging at me. Something I haven’t said out loud, but Cason did.
Flatline, revive, stabilize, kill again.
I swallow hard, something cold slithering down my spine as I remember. Not everything, but enough.
That first time—a bullet, a drop, nothing.
The second time—a table, restraints, a voice telling me to breathe. Then not breathing.
I’ve never told anyone that, not even Sebastian.
