“Flagged for what?”
The operator’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.
“Psychological resilience. Medical specialization. Resistance tolerance. Leadership under stress.”
The words sound clinical.
Cold.
Like I’m reading a damn report instead of talking about my life.
Clay’s voice drops lower beside me.
“Who flagged her?”
The operator finally looks directly at him.
“People who invest in assets.”
Asset.
Not person.
Asset.
Rage flashes hot through me.
“You kidnapped civilians for a human acquisition program?”
The militia commander calls out from outside before the operator can answer.
“She was never supposed to stay with us this long.”
Operator.
Militia.
Separate groups.
Working together.
But not allies.
The realization crashes into place hard and ugly.
The operator’s team wasn’t sent to rescue me.
They were sent to recover me.
Like property.
Clay realizes it at the exact same moment I do.
And suddenly the air around him changes completely.
Not anger anymore.
Something colder.
