Page 75 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

The next few videos blur together despite the different rooms they are recorded in. The light in her eyes fades a little more in each recording. I don’t think she understood everything they were doing.

Each one is filled with more excuses she invents for her handler. I’m glad the fucker is dead. I wish I could have been the one to take the credit. The asshole took the glory from me when he found out I was on his trail.

“Ettie, we can take a break.”

I shake my head. “I’m okay. I just need to finish.”

He mumbles something to Elliot, and I can’t hear it. I click on the last log. Half the screen pixelates before the image settles. The sound crackles like it’s underwater. For a second, I think it’s empty.

Then her face appears. It takes me a moment to recognize her. Her skin is thinner. Pupils are blown even in dim light. There’s glitter on her collarbone, and she’s in a tank top. The one she was wearing when she died.

She leans too close to the camera. “Okay,” she whispers. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be doing this anymore. They don’t want video records.”

The room behind her is unfamiliar.

“Things have changed,” she says slowly, like she’s choosing each word carefully.

My heart is in my throat.

“We were told we need to tolerate the drug to take down the main players at clubs and out in the field.”

Her hand shakes as she pushes hair off her face.

“Everything we take, and how we respond to different dosage intervals, it’s all recorded. That way when we go undercover, we can work with it in our systems. Build up a tolerance.”

She’s a test subject not an agent like they promised.

“It’s not true. We’re being tracked,” she continues. “Not the dealers. Not the buyers. Us. We were never here to go undercover. We’re here for data collection. They want to see how much they need to get us hooked, how we respond, and when we need more.”

My fingers dig into my thigh.

Her breathing picks up. “We’re told when and how much to take. They tell us to sell it, too, so they can follow the trail.” Her pupils are massive now, swallowing her irises whole. A tear slides down her cheek, and she doesn’t wipe it away.

“They say it’s to understand distribution patterns. To get us over the addiction. But they are the reason I’m addicted.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “I got into the lab computer. Orders are coming from the director himself. There are profit projections and plans to expand to other countries.”

They weren’t trying to understand dealer patterns or make arrests. They were manufacturing an epidemic.

“This was never to keep Vinculum off the streets,” she continues. “It’s all been to make it perfect for younger kids.” Her hands tremble more visibly now, but she continues. “I can’t stop taking it.”

That’s the first time she says it plainly.

“I tried to skip a dose, and my handler called within the hour.” An uneven laugh escapes her. “He said I was compromising the trial, and if I couldn’t do it anymore, it reflected on my family. It was a threat to hurt Lee’s career…”

Her head tilts slightly, like she’s trying to keep the room from spinning.

“They’re not taking down dealers.” Her eyes lock onto the camera. “They are the dealers.”

The camera shuffles like she is trying to hide it in her lap. During the shift, a man crosses the room behind her. Tall in a lab coat, red-blond hair that’s shaggy to his ears.

Julian stiffens beside me. “Wait. Go back.”

I freeze the video and drag the image back until the man’s face fills the screen.

Julian leans closer, all the color draining out of his face. “That’s him.”

I don’t have to ask who he means. I already know.

“The man from your apartment,” he says quietly.