Page 45 of Wraith: Lethal Impact

My father managed the financial cage holding Andrea. The Consortium lured us into a trap to silence me. The pristine life of a ballerina died on the Grand Solarium's stage, and its ghost is buried in the mud of that jungle compound.

Dax turns back at the tree line, his gray eyes finding me through the rain-streaked window. The tremors shaking my hands are undeniable. Exhaustion fractures the disciplined mask I fought to maintain.

He crosses to my side of the vehicle, pulls the door open, and extends a hand. "Inside."

I take it and slide out. My legs threaten to buckle the second my shoes hit the mud. The humid mountain air presses against my lungs.

Bronco hauls gear bags into the main structure from the second vehicle. The big one follows—Hammer, the one who took the wall down—carrying a canvas satchel away from his body the way you carry something that shouldn't be jostled.

He glances at me on the way past. Not the way the others look at me. No assessment in it, no calculation. A man checking that a civilian is still on her feet.

I follow Dax into the cavernous interior of the logging facility.

The building smells of decaying wood, motor oil, and damp earth. A generator thrums to life deep in the bowels of the structure, powering a string of lights along the exposed rafters.

"We need a secure terminal." Julian drops a canvas bag onto a rusted metal workbench and pulls a bundle of cables from a Pelican case. "The metadata from the staging area is encrypted. I need to crack the localized firewall before the Consortium scrubs their servers."

Dax stops in the center of the room, ignoring the tactical chatter. He drops his empty M4 onto a wooden crate, unclips his Kevlar plate carrier, and lets it hit the concrete with a thud.

He turns to look at me.

The detached operator is back in control. The sniper's mask is locked in place. He's putting the professional distance back between us because his team is watching. He's trying to protect me by pushing me away.

"There's a secure room in the back." His voice is a low rumble. "Take off the vest. Try to sleep. We'll formulate a strike plan when Julian cracks the encryption."

He turns his back on me and walks toward the weapons cache, where Bronco greets him with a tossed magazine pouch and a muttered, "You look like hell, Calloway."

I stand in the center of the room. The tremors in my hands worsen. My father's betrayal claws at the edge of my sanity. I'm alone in a room full of killers.

I refuse to accept the distance.

I refuse to let him push me away.

I cross the concrete floor, ignoring the sharp glances from Dax and Julian, and push through the heavy wooden door at the back of the facility.

The room is small, windowless, utilitarian. A single bed sits against the far wall. A rusted metal sink stands in the corner.

I drop my gym bag onto the floor, unclip the Kevlar vest, and let it fall. The absence of the weight is a relief, but it does nothing to stop the shaking that starts in my core.

At the sink, the corroded handle groans and a stream of cold water sputters from the faucet, splashing against the stained porcelain.

I plunge my hands into the water and scrub the dust, the grime, and the blood from my skin, my fingernails scraping against my flesh.

The girl in the cracked mirror above the sink is a stranger.

Her eyes are hollow. Her skin is pale and marred by bruises. The prima ballerina's posture is gone. She's fractured.

My father financed human suffering. He valued perfection. He demanded immaculate grades, flawless recitals, and total obedience. He cultivated my image as the perfect daughter. His masterpiece.

I hate it.

I want to destroy it. Burn down the identity he constructed over two decades. Shatter the porcelain doll he created and salt the earth where she stood.

He made me a commodity, an untouched prize the Consortium believes they own. I stare at my reflection, my breathing slowing as a cold resolve crystallizes in my chest. If my innocence is what makes me valuable to those monsters, I'll strip it away. I will take control of my body before they can sell it.

And I know who I want to give it to.

I turn away from the mirror just as the wooden door groans open.