The operator hesitates.
Just slightly.
Then finally says:
“My name is Gabriel Walker.”
The name hits Russ instantly.
I see recognition flash across his face.
Which means this just got so much worse than I thought.
“Oh hell,” Russ mutters quietly.
I look sharply toward him.
“You know him?”
Russ’s expression goes grim.
“Not personally.”
That’s somehow worse.
Then Russ says the words that turn the entire situation upside down.
“Gabriel Walker died three years ago.”
23
Hannah
Nobody speaks for half a second.
Not me.
Not Clay.
Not even the militia commander outside.
Because apparently, the man standing ten feet in front of us is supposed to be dead.
Wonderful. He looks different from the instructor; his hair was blonde, but he apparently died it.
Smoke drifts through the shattered loading dock while distant explosions shake the river district.
But suddenly all of that feels farther away.
Less immediate than the cold weight settling in my stomach.
Gabriel Walker watches Russ calmly.
No reaction.
No denial.
Which somehow makes this worse.
