Hannah goes very still.
Rain taps softly against the warehouse windows.
The generators hum.
Coffee steams between us.
And for a second she suddenly looks heartbreakingly young.
Not because she’s weak.
Because she’s tired.
So unbelievably tired of death.
Then her eyes lift slowly.
And whatever softness lived there before tonight?
Part of it’s gone now.
“He buried children beneath concrete.”
Her voice doesn’t shake anymore.
“He stood there while Avery died. He refused to let me help her.”
Nobody moves.
Nobody interrupts.
Because Hannah Bowers just crossed a line emotionally.
I can feel it.
She looks directly at Gabriel.
“Will the CIA help us destroy Sentinel?”
Gabriel thinks about it for a long second.
Then:
“Maybe.”
Not reassuring.
But honest.
Russ leans forward over the table.
“We’ll need evidence strong enough that they can’t bury it again.”
Hannah whispers:
“The red room.”
Gabriel nods.
