My voice shakes violently.
“You kept records.”
Wu’s expression hardens.
“Necessary operational tracking.”
Operational tracking.
Like children were inventory.
Something inside me snaps completely.
“No more.”
Wu studies me carefully now.
Calculating.
Then very quietly—
“You still don’t understand what you are.”
The words send cold down my spine.
But before he can continue—
one of the Sentinel operatives suddenly lowers his rifle fully.
Then removes his helmet.
Young.
Maybe twenty-five.
Scars along his jaw.
Terror in his eyes.
“I remember her,” he whispers, staring at me.
Wu’s head turns slowly.
Dangerously.
The operative’s breathing shakes.
“She used to sing at night.”
Oh my God.
Another operative lowers her weapon too.
Then another.
Tiny fractures becoming cracks.
Wu’s voice drops into something lethal.
