“Stand down.”
Nobody moves.
And for the first time—
Director Wu looks afraid.
34
Clay
Nobody moves.
The tunnel feels frozen in place.
Sentinel operatives stand scattered beneath flickering red lights, weapons lowered just enough to become dangerous in a different way now.
Not soldiers.
Survivors.
And Wu knows it.
I can see it all over his face.
Not panic.
He’s too controlled for panic.
But calculation?
Oh yeah.
Director Wu is recalculating the second he realizes memory is spreading through his people like a virus.
The young operative who lowered his helmet keeps staring at Avery’s body.
Shaken.
Lost.
“She used to help us during blackout drills,” he whispers again.
Another operative swallows hard beside him.
A woman.
Maybe early thirties.
“There was a little girl with braids,” she says softly. “She hid bread in the vents.”
Hannah goes completely still beside me.
Memory hits her instantly.
I see it in her eyes.
“She got caught.”
