The sun was a pale, distant coin, barely risen above the horizon, its light strained and thin as it pressed through the frost-streaked glass. Beyond the window the world unfolded in endless starkness—white stone and ice, ridges thrown flat beneath the merciless clarity of the Arctic. The sky was flawless, bleached of cloud or blemish, but the wind never ceased. It scoured the plateau in long, hollow gusts, rattling against the pod until the walls themselves seemed to tremble, as if the structure felt the cold and shivered in protest.
Lianna sat at the edge of her narrow cot, the therapy helmet heavy in her hands, still carrying the ghost-warmth of its circuits. Noon, though the light could have been dawn or dusk—here, winter erased the difference. She pressed her fingertips to her temple, chasing at a headache that never loosened its hold.
The sessions helped, but always too little, always too late. Three weeks had passed since the collider—three weeks since the blast that had left her broken. The delay in treatment had buried the damage deep where no quick repair could reach. They called it moderate to severe, as if measured words softened reality. It was a traumatic brain injury. A career ender. The truth was harsher than any report: no one could rewind those hours, no one could undo what had rooted itself inside her skull.
They had promised recovery. Promised the helmet would make a difference. Yet each morning was the same: waking into a fog that clung to her, a lurch of dizziness if she moved too quickly, a sharp edge of anger that lay too close to the surface. Some days its sudden arrival frightened her, how easily fury came. Other days she clung to it, the heat of it reminding her she wasn’t numb yet, not entirely gone.
Her hand drifted to the scar cutting across her scalp. The medics had called it superficial. The mirror disagreed. Each time she caught her reflection, the mark stared back like a verdict, refusing to fade. Worse than the scar were the absences—the jagged gaps where memory should have been. The attack replayed in fragments, disjointed flashes that refused to form a whole. She remembered walking her rounds that morning. She remembered Rowan’s voice for an instant. Then frozen images, flashes until the aftermath. Everything else she “knew” came from replayed footage: ships descending through fire and smoke, angles her own eyes had never seen. She’d watched them take captives—though that word was scrubbed from reports, bent until it snapped.
The feelings hadn’t faded with memory. Sadness struck without warning, heavy and blinding, as sharp as if death had played out in front of her. Anger came like a stormfront, tearing through her before she could brace against it. The episodes were rarer now, but when they hit she was helpless, pulled under by a current she couldn’t fight. The medics had explained it away: chemical misfires, the brain struggling to reroute. Patience was required.
Patience—something she had once commanded easily—felt like a stranger now. Her jaw tightened. She had been outmaneuvered, and the truth burned. She had built a team from the ground up, disciplined, loyal, sharp—and still they had failed. Some were dead. The mission was meant to be simple: protect the asset, preserve the research, extract if necessary. Science first. Morality had lingered in the background then, an echo she ignored. But the attack had not been chance. It was deliberate. Coordinated. An enemy with organization and purpose. She couldn’t allow it to stand. They would regroup. They would return to the mission.
Drawing a sharp breath, she pressed the call button on the wall. The door slid aside a moment later, and Mel Rienhardt stepped into the room. Combat uniform still on, blood dark across the fabric—some of it hers, maybe, she wasn’t sure. His hair was cropped close, jaw freshly shaved, every movement carried with precise intention. He lived by order; even here, it showed.
“How are you feeling?” His voice was calm, but weighted, as he reached for the helmet. He set it on the shelf with careful hands, then drew a small light from his pocket. Lianna squinted as he shone it into her eyes, her pupils chased by the sharp white beam. The stab of brightness pierced her skull, and she flinched. He nodded, unsurprised.
“You’re still showing normal outward signs. The sensitivity should pass soon.” She frowned. He had said it would be “soon” for days. Her hand rose instinctively to her temple, fingertips tracing the ridge of scar that still felt foreign against her skin. Mel’s eyes caught the motion.
“Is that giving you trouble? Pain, pressure—anything unusual?” She shook her head, slow and deliberate. “No. Just a reflex. I keep touching it without realizing.” He studied her face for a moment longer, measuring more than her words, before sliding the light back into his pocket.
“How are my scans?” she asked at last. She aimed for steady, but the faint tremor of hope betrayed her.
Mel’s eyes softened, though his tone held steady, clinical. “Minor improvement. Like we’ve talked about, if we’d reached you sooner, the damage wouldn’t have set. But you went nearly four hours without proper intervention. There were tools on site, but… we regrouped here. Recovery is going to be… unique to you.”
A bitter laugh escaped her throat, short and sharp. “Unique,” she echoed. Her gaze drifted to the helmet on the shelf—the promise of healing contained in plastic and wiring. She wanted to believe it, to believe him, to believe anyone. But the truth pressed heavy behind her eyes, throbbing with every beat of her heart.
Mel pulled a slim pad from his chest pocket, fingers moving across the screen. Above them, a low hum stirred the air as a medical arm descended from its housing. Polished joints unfolded with insect precision, the faint glow of its scanner painting pale arcs of light across the pod walls.
Lianna didn’t wait for instruction. This was routine now, ritual. She leaned back against the cot, exhaling as though surrendering to inevitability. Each morning began this way. She closed her eyes and listened to the device whisper and rotate, felt it comb unseen lattices through her skull—mapping nerves, charting impulses, cataloging flaws she could never see but could feel in every moment of weakness.
The scanner gave a soft chime, then withdrew as smoothly as it had come. Lianna opened her eyes in time to catch Mel’s face shifting as he scrolled through the results. A furrow in his brow. A pause. A breath held too long. And then the sigh. Deeper this time. Heavier.
Her chest tightened. “Did you find something?” The words came too sharp, betraying the pulse of anxiety rising in her throat.
Mel shook his head, but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers. “No. Nothing new. But there’s almost no change compared to the last few days.” He tapped the pad once, lowering it to his side. “It looks as if the field equipment’s done all it can. Without proper facilities—real medicine back home—the road ahead is going to be slow. And hindered.”
Slow. The word rattled through her like stone against glass. She shut her eyes, and her thoughts slipped—not to the mission, not to the base, but to her sister. It had been far too long. Distance was always easier than explaining why she stayed out here, why she kept walking into fire.
“What would that look like?” she asked finally, though she already knew. She wasn’t leaving.
Mel hesitated, gaze sliding to the far corner of the room, as if the answer lingered there. He drew in a breath, heavy and reluctant. “You’d have options. Stem-cell scaffold infusions. Neuroplasticity simulators. BCI-guided rehabilitation. State-of-the-art.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “But they’d take months to bring full results.”
She shook her head before he had even finished. Months were a currency she didn’t have. “And they’re not guaranteed,” she said flatly. He let out a breath that carried resignation, but no argument.
“We need to get back to the mission,” she said. The words felt hollow even as they left her lips, but she forced herself to stand. The motion unleashed a sudden wave of dizziness, the floor tilting beneath her. She gripped the cot until it passed.
Mel’s hand twitched, as if he meant to steady her, but he stopped himself. His voice carried the steadiness instead. “You’re not in any condition to lead. You need rest. Recovery is what you should be focused on. A brain injury doesn’t heal under stress.”
Her jaw locked, teeth grating against the truth she refused. “I’m still in charge,” she snapped. “You’re just a low-rank medic.” The words hit. His eyes dropped from hers, sliding toward the wall. Whether it was deference or disapproval, she couldn’t tell. Regret pricked at her anger—it wasn’t like her to strike out.
When he finally spoke, his tone was measured, careful. “You’re going to have symptoms for a while. Possibly forever, if you push too hard. Dizzy spells. Confusion—worse some mornings than others. Mood swings you won’t be able to control. Anger. Sadness.”
She drew a long breath and let it out slow, steadying herself against the truth she didn’t want but couldn’t deny. He wasn’t wrong. He was trying to help. And still, her head moved in a small nod as the last trace of dizziness ebbed.
“We need to get to work,” she repeated, this time with iron in her voice. She brushed past Mel and crossed to the door. The panel slid aside with a hiss, revealing the narrow passage to the adjoining unit. She didn’t look back.
The base was nothing more than a scatter of linked pods, airlifted into place by heavy VTOLs before the mission began. Their first fallback had been near the collider itself, but after the attack, command had shifted them here—Devon Island. Once it had been NASA’s proving ground for Mars habitats, a rehearsal for survival in places no human was meant to live. Now it was theirs. Smaller, tighter, less secure than what they were used to, but it held.
The next chamber opened wider, its bare walls pressed into service as a briefing hall. Rex stood near the display, arms folded across his chest, posture carved from stone. Viktor and Kendra sat together off to the side, their silence thick with weight. Mel trailed behind her, while Terry Anderson and Cyril Fenrik—Rex’s men—kept uneasy vigil near the doorway. A handful of others lingered, but the circle was mostly officers, leadership, those who mattered.
The air was dense, coiled with something unspoken. Eyes cut toward her as she entered—some guarded, some weary, some sharp with expectation. She felt their gaze press against her like static, but she forced it aside.
“We need a plan,” she said, her voice cutting into the silence. “Three of ours taken. The mission damaged. And all for three scientists?” Faces shifted, glances traded like whispers. Fatigue showed in their eyes, cracks of doubt bleeding into the edges of discipline. She ignored it. Hesitation had no place here.
“Where did we track them?” she asked, turning to Kendra.
Kendra folded her arms, expression unreadable. The pause was slight, but Lianna caught the ripple of silent glances before moving on. “Coran. Status.” Coran’s fingers moved across the console, steady and precise. The wall display lit in response, a three-dimensional map blooming into place. “It’s online now,” he said, eyes on the data. “Stable link.”
The map expanded, their own position flaring red, the collider behind them marked in muted gray. From that point a trajectory stretched northward, curving out toward the sea until it anchored on a single, pulsing icon.
Lianna stepped closer, frowning. “What is that?”
“An icebreaker,” Coran replied flatly.
Her brow furrowed. “An icebreaker? Cargo hauler? Science vessel? They still use those?” Kendra answered, her voice clipped. “Unclear. What we do know is this—the strike team that hit us deployed from that ship. And they returned to it. It’s not a simple research vessel.”
Beside Coran, Talia turned in her chair to face her. Delta Squad—she and Coran both. Specialists at pulling truth from noise.
“I’ve been combing through logs,” Talia said, voice level. “Registry traces back to Norway. On paper, it’s a documented research mission—multi-year deployment, northbound toward the magnetic pole. The official purpose: charting radiation density tied to solar events.”
The words hung. Silence thickened. Whoever had struck them wore legitimacy like a mask, and they all knew it.
“That’s where we need to go,” Lianna said at last, her voice hard, steady.
No one moved. Talia’s eyes flicked toward her once before sliding back to her console. It was Mel who broke the quiet.
“We’re not in position for anything,” he said. “You’re still recovering, Lianna. It’ll be months before you’re close to yourself again.”
The anger surged up fast, hot, beyond control. “I’m in command,” she snapped. “You’ll do what I say.” Mel’s lips pressed thin, but he said nothing.
Rex unfolded from his chair, the motion deliberate, his presence filling the room. The lines of his frame shifted like coiled wire as he stepped forward. “He’s right,” he said, voice low. “That isn’t our mission.”
Lianna held his gaze. For a heartbeat, the thought flashed—what it would take to break him, to bring him down. Then it was gone. He wasn’t wrong. The mission had never been revenge. The assets mattered. The science mattered.
“Where are Albert and Theodore?” she asked, her voice cooled to steel.
Across the room, Viktor stood rigid, grief hollowing him. He had lost two of his own—Adrick Kennedy and Murdock Easton—and his voice was flat, scraped clean of emotion. “They’re fine.”
She read the silence in his eyes, the weight he wouldn’t give voice to. And then the door slid open. Albert stepped in, loud, too casual.
“You break the news yet?”
The tension cinched taut. Heads turned, no one answered. Rex folded his arms once more, posture closed, unreadable. A pulse of pain beat at Lianna’s temple, dizziness sweeping her again. She caught the back of a chair and lowered herself slowly until the spinning dulled, though the ache remained.
How could they finish the mission if even this room stood against her?
Albert chuckled at the silence, his grin sharp. “Well, don’t everyone speak at once. Strong, silent types in a room together. Real party killers.” He turned to her, tone slicing. “Lianna—you’re out. Was that so hard to say?”
Kendra shifted uneasily. Viktor stared at the floor. Rex didn’t move.
Albert’s voice rose with a brightness that rang false, cheer sharpened into mockery. “Nothing personal. But you cost me money. And I don’t take kindly to that. So, yes, I guess it is personal.” He drew a cigar from his pocket, struck the flame with casual ease, and let the smoke coil upward as he paced past her chair. He exhaled the first cloud directly into her space. “You didn’t bring much to the table anyway. Overpromised. Underdelivered.”
Lianna straightened, jaw tight. “I’m in charge. You contracted us to keep you from harm. Consider yourself protected.”
Albert’s laugh cracked through the silence—harsh, delighted, cruel. He leaned close, blowing another stream of smoke into her face. “You’re not my commander. I bought you. You’re a toy I own. And unlike a broken toy, I can’t take you back.” His grin widened, carving deeper into his face. “But I can replace you.”
The words struck like a fist. Replace her—replace all of them? Her anger surged, body moving before thought. She rose to her feet, standing eye to eye with him, her right eye twitching as she fought the urge to strike. Fury pressed to the edge of control. “Rex. Viktor. Escort him out.”
Albert didn’t flinch. His grin held steady, calm, deliberate. He took another long drag, then blew smoke across her face again.
“Rex,” he said smoothly, never breaking eye contact with Lianna. “Remove her. Let her keep a shred of dignity—if she’ll take it.”
For a breath she expected defiance from her team, some word in her favor. Instead, a hand clamped around her arm—iron, unyielding. She twisted sharply. “What are you doing, Rex?” His features were carved in stone, eyes hard. “Let me go! I order you to unhand me!” Her blood boiled.
Rex didn’t move. His grip was steady, his voice flat but not triumphant. “Don’t fight it. We’ve been tracking your recovery. You’re not fit to lead.” Her heart hammered in her chest. “We? You don’t get to sideline me. A vote must be done—and unanimous!” She snapped the words, though her gut already knew the truth.
Kendra stared down at the floor. Viktor’s jaw tightened, refusing to meet her eyes. Albert reclined into a chair with the ease of a man settling onto a throne, grin widening at the spectacle.
“Sorry, Lianna,” Albert said, his voice laced with mock softness. “But I’ve found someone more capable. No hard feelings. Rex will be busy cleaning up your mess.” He puffed another plume of smoke, watching it curl and spread into the stale air.
Lianna’s eyes burned. “We fulfilled our objective—protecting you. That was the contract.”
Albert’s sneer cut across her words. “And what of the mission? It wasn’t just guard duty. It was to complete, to see it through.” He leaned closer, his grin fading as his voice dropped into a low rasp. “You’re babbling about revenge. Three prisoners who were never meant to be there are gone. I had use for them, but that’s done. And when things got messy—you ordered everyone to flee.”
The tip of his cigar glowed as he drew another breath, the smoke thickening the room. Lianna pulled against Rex’s grip, but his hold was iron.
Albert’s tone shifted, quieter, sharper. “You disappoint me, Lianna. You were the best. The one who never failed, even when it cost you everything. You would’ve died to see a mission through. But this time? You let your people die. You abandoned the mission. And now you’re abandoning the contract.” His eyes narrowed, grin gone. “You’re incompetent.”
The words crushed her anger, broke it apart like glass. Rage still clawed at her, begging to fight, to tear him down with her bare hands. But despair rushed in, suffocating, filling the hollow his words had carved out. Three dead. And it was her fault. She had lost comrades before, but this was different.
Albert’s grin returned, widening as her silence stretched. He took it as victory. “There it is. The weight of failure, finally catching up. But I’m generous. Forgiving. I won’t let your catastrophic mistake tarnish my name.” He flicked his cigar onto the floor, ash scattering. “You’re free to go. A one-way ticket to… wherever people like you fade away.”
Lianna’s lips parted to strike back, but Rex’s grip shifted, tugging gently at her arm before she could speak. “I’ll take her down,” he said. His voice was steady, not unkind. “We’ll be back tomorrow at the latest.”
Kendra looked up, her voice low. “I can move her out.”
Rex studied Lianna for a long moment, then gave a single nod. “Do it. Remote operations will run from here.
Albert turned toward Kendra, voice casual as though nothing in the room had just fractured. “How far out is he?” Kendra checked her sensors, eyes flicking across the readout. “He should be landing there now.”
Albert’s grin sharpened. He turned back to Lianna. “Perfect timing. And before you ask, Kade—out of the kindness of my heart, I paid you in full.” He blew another deliberate stream of smoke in her direction, the grin widening. “Looks like that knock to the head has earned you an early retirement. You’ll be low class, sure—but that comes with certain… benefits. Maybe pop out a few kids before you die alone.”
The words clawed under her skin, but she forced the reply down, biting back the retort that burned at her throat. She had already lost the mission; she would not hand him the satisfaction of watching her break. She turned toward the door. Rex released her arm without protest, but she could feel his presence close behind, a shadow dogging her steps.
They moved in silence down the corridor. Outside, the ships hovered in the frost-bitten air, their cargo bays sealed to the hangar proper. Stacks of crates lined the walls, supplies staged for months of survival if needed. The door closed behind them, sealing Albert’s smoke and poison words away, but not their weight.
Inside the hangar, Rex finally spoke. His voice was low, carrying no malice. “No hard feelings. It’s business. At full health, you’re more than capable. But the scans…” He trailed off. Lianna stopped, waiting. He met her eyes. “They’re not promising. Mel told you what he had to, but without real help, you’ll only degenerate further.”
The words pressed like a stone against her chest. She nodded once, sharp, unwilling to give him more.
Kendra caught up, moving to the cargo door panel. A few keystrokes, and the bay opened with a hiss. Aldin was inside, bent over a crate, struggling with a stubborn strap. He looked up, breath misting, and called out, “Almost ready.”
Lianna paused at the threshold. Bitterness curled across her tongue. The primary objective had been met—Albert and Theodore were safe. And yet she was the one being stripped of command, exiled with those willing to follow her out. Her gaze cut to Rex. “I’ll remember this. Tell Viktor the same.”
Kendra lowered her head, eyes on the floor. No denial. No defense. Just silence. Lianna stepped onto the ramp, anger rising inside her with nowhere to land.
Her vision blurred suddenly, the floor pitching sideways. She caught the frame of the door, forcing the words out before anyone could move. “I’m fine.” Straightening, she walked the ramp. Aldin’s eyes lingered as she passed, but he said nothing. She was glad he wasn’t among the leadership. She’d get a debrief from him later, when it mattered.
Kendra followed her aboard, while Rex lingered behind. “Good luck,” he said, voice flat but not unkind, before turning away. His absence left her hollow. The doors remained open as Kendra moved toward a seat near the cockpit.
The cargo bay swallowed her in its silence. The air felt heavy, pressing on her temples, amplifying every symptom. She was alone. “It’ll be a bit,” Kendra said softly. “A couple more will join us. You can settle in.”
Lianna drifted forward into the cockpit, lowering herself into the pilot’s chair though she had no intention of flying. The viewport stretched ahead, a pale ice field under brittle light. She heard the quiet shift of Aldin lowering himself into the seat beside her. She didn’t look at him.
“I’m not doing anything stupid,” she said, flatly, cutting off the concern she knew was there. Her fingers slid across the console, pulling up the roster. One by one, she deleted the fallen. Each name disappeared into silence. Her eyes stopped on one. Sara.
Her sister.
It had been years. Too many. She couldn’t even recall how many, only that their last words had been sharp, their distance easier than explaining why she’d stayed away. She felt the sadness stir like a wound reopening. Her hand hovered, then pressed connect.
The cabin hushed. The tones pulsed through the speakers, each one hanging in the air. Even Aldin understood—he rose and withdrew to the cargo hold, giving her the space.
A voice answered, startling in its familiarity. “Hello?” It was Sara’s voice—but younger, higher than she remembered.
Lianna’s heart stumbled. “Sara? It’s Lianna.”
Silence stretched. Then—“This is Kelly. I’ll get her.”
Her stomach dropped. Kelly’s voice was older now, steady, almost grown. The years blurred, disoriented her. The last she remembered, Kelly had been eight. Jena would be close in age too. Both teenagers now. Maybe adults. Time had slipped, stolen while she was away.
Another voice filled the line, one she could never mistake. “Lianna?”
Her chest eased for a breath. Despite the ache, she smiled. “It’s been a while.” The words caught in her throat. Memories crowded close—good ones, dark ones—and for a moment she couldn’t continue. The silence between them stretched until Sara inhaled, breaking it.
“It has. I haven’t heard from you in what… eleven years?” Her tone was sharp, teetering between disgust and resignation.
Lianna blinked, searching for a memory recent enough to anchor her, but nothing came. Time refused to arrange itself. “It feels like it’s only been a couple…” Her voice trailed, the words collapsing under the weight of disbelief. Months, maybe days—that’s how it felt. At last she conceded, quieter. “Years.”
On the other end came a sigh. “It feels that way to you. But Kelly grew up believing you died. Jena didn’t know you long enough to remember.”
The words cut clean. Lianna tried to summon their faces, but the years blurred them. “How old are they?” she asked, almost dreading the answer.
A pause. “Kelly is legally an adult now, though she doesn’t act like it. Jena is fifteen, following close in her footsteps.”
Despite herself, Lianna felt a smile tug at her lips, imagining what they must have overcome in her absence. The smile faltered as old promises returned—their childhood dreams of land, of families side by side, of becoming something larger than life. Promises now long broken.
“I’m sorry for not being there,” she said.
Sara sighed. “Yeah, well, tell that to Mom and Dad.”
The words cut deeper. Lianna remembered the day they died, the rupture in the scramjet’s fuel line, the fire that consumed the craft in a burst of liquid flame. She had seen the footage replayed endlessly, as if repetition could etch permanence into grief.
Sara’s voice pulled her back, edged with dismissiveness. “So—are you in trouble? You need something? Or is this just guilt?”
Lianna’s first impulse was to defend, to snap back. Instead, calm spread through her like a wave, silencing the reflex. “I’ve been injured,” she said.
The line went quiet. She knew her sister was sorting through the words, testing them against her own emotions. Lianna continued. “Caught in an explosion. Head wound.” She let the admission hang.
Sara inhaled, then released a sigh. “How bad?”
Relief flickered through Lianna at the question, at the shift in tone. “Moderate to severe. I’ll need specialists if I want any chance of reversing the damage.” She wasn’t even sure why she was sharing—maybe because this connection was one of the few her mind still clung to.
Sara sighed again. “So it is about you. I figured you wouldn’t just call to catch up or check on us.”
Lianna closed her eyes. Sara wasn’t wrong; selfishness had defined her before. But something was different this time, and she wanted her sister to hear it. “I need your help.”
The words lingered in the silence. Another sigh on the line, but no immediate answer.
“The dizzy spells… the memory gaps,” Lianna forced herself to go on. Her breath caught, but she pushed through. “I need you to be an anchor for me while I recover.”
Sara’s pause was shorter this time. “How long?” Her voice carried caution, but also a sliver of hope. “A month. Maybe two. It depends on the assessments.”
Silence again, though Lianna could hear the decision already forming. At last Sara spoke. “Okay, Lia. One month. But if you disappear…” She let the threat dangle, unfinished. The meaning was clear.
“I’ll be taking off soon,” Lianna promised. “Should be in your area by tomorrow.”
When the connection clicked silent, Lianna was left tangled in mixed feelings. She was returning to a past she had nearly forgotten, stepping into a space where she no longer belonged. She remembered leaving with a plan—certain, confident. Now she returned broken. Like a toy, discarded and replaced.
Turning slowly in her chair, she caught Aldin watching her from the corner, pretending disinterest. He glanced away. She rose, forcing her voice steady. “Kendra. Take me to my sister’s, she’s—”
“Belay that.”
The voice cut through the cargo bay. Lianna turned. Theodore stood framed in the entry, hands clasped behind his back, glasses perched snugly on his narrow nose. Coran was beside him, silent, unreadable.
Her frown deepened. Theodore was always like this—difficult to track, slipping in and out of rooms without sound, a shadow of Arnold’s bluster. Where Arnold could be heard in every corner, Theodore could vanish into silence.
Before she could speak, he continued. “I’ve been reviewing your incident. While my business partner doesn’t share my view, I believe we can still help one another.”
Lianna’s frown held. She glanced at Coran, then at Kendra—but neither spoke, their faces offering no answer.
“I think I’ve had enough of this arrangement,” she said flatly. “I’ve already lost too much.”
Theodore stepped forward, adjusting his glasses with the same meticulous touch as always. “This isn’t another run-and-gun operation. I need information. And as it happens, you’ve been burned. Officially killed in action. Which means no one is looking for you—unless your sister proves talkative.”
Confusion twisted in her gut. She had nothing left to offer, even as a ghost. “She has nothing to do with you,” she said, the threat clear in her voice.
Theodore’s grin returned. “Stop. I’m not here to threaten. And I’m not here to demean. That strike against us was no small crime syndicate. It was larger.”
Lianna shook her head in instinctive refusal, unwilling to give ground. “They’re right. I’m not about revenge. I was outmaneuvered. And now I’m out of service.”
Theodore chuckled, low and measured. “So you’re giving up? That doesn’t sound like you. Your record paints you as a fighter—different from the rest. Outmaneuvered, yes. Wounded, yes. And now you’re retreating into the life you once ran from? Almost as if a part of you enjoys the defeat.”
Heat coiled in Lianna’s gut. He knew nothing of her. “Three people under my command are dead because I didn’t see what was coming. I have irreversible brain damage that will have me second-guessing myself for the rest of my life. My squad abandoned me—chose Albert and his psychotic end over me. There’s nothing left here.”
She slammed her fist into the wall beside her. Pain reverberated up her arm, rattling through her elbow, but she kept her face stone.
Theodore only nodded as she spoke, expression calm, no trace of fear or anger. “You call it defeat,” he said softly. “I call it fate. An unseen victory.” His grin followed, not cruel this time—almost reassuring, though no less unnerving.
Lianna narrowed her eyes. He wasn’t making sense.
“Those four prisoners,” Theodore continued, “the ones in custody under U.S. jurisdiction. They were the key. Specifically—the three who were rescued.”
Her head tilted slightly, but she gave nothing else away. Half-formed statements didn’t deserve reaction. She had learned that much.
Theodore broke eye contact at last, turning toward Kendra with a nod. She flinched—just barely—but it was enough. A reflex she couldn’t hide. Lianna’s stomach sank. Kendra was working with him. The walls closed in. She had walked into something already set in motion.
“If you agree to help,” Theodore went on, “I have a team en route with equipment to reverse the worst of your damage. You’ll never be whole. But ninety, ninety-five percent—possible.”
Her pulse quickened despite herself. She tried to mask it, but Theodore’s eyes flicked knowingly, catching the shift.
“What’s the job?” The words slipped out before she could stop them, and anger stirred at her own weakness. She wasn’t supposed to be easy to read.
Theodore’s smile widened. “Simple. Information. Now that we know their location, this ‘scientific experiment’ no longer interests me. What matters is what they’re hiding. Your role is to gain their trust—and steal it. Kendra and Coran are already with me. Aldin will follow.” He turned deliberately to Aldin.
Aldin hesitated, gaze flicking to Lianna. For a moment his loyalty wavered in the open, before he finally admitted, “I go where you go.”
Lianna felt the weight of it but gave no outward reaction. “And after this job?”
Theodore adjusted his glasses with precise fingers, smiling fully now. “After this, you’re free. Your sister, your nieces—you. None of you will ever have to work again.”
Her face remained still, but inside she bristled. Too many promises. Too little evidence. Arnold had at least paid her despite failure—Theodore’s word was far thinner.
“Fine,” she said at last. “What exactly are we looking for? Who are they?”
His grin sharpened. “An encrypted drive aboard that ship. Everyone knows the name Nightshade, but few understand the depth of their ties.” He studied her closely, eyes tracing every flicker of reaction.
“They’re extremists,” Lianna answered slowly, recalling fragments of intelligence. “Environmental militants. Violence as their tool.”
“Precisely. What isn’t known,” Theodore said, leaning forward, “are the scientists and technologies they’ve aligned with. That’s what I want—their data. Knowledge is my currency, not power or money. I leave that to the loud mouths.”
Her eyes drifted to Kendra and Coran, both giving subtle nods of confirmation. Then to Aldin, still watching silently, resigned.
“How do they fit in? And my in?”
Theodore’s grin widened again, a teacher about to reveal the next lesson. “They’ll be your wings. Your eyes.” He turned his gaze to Aldin. “And your shadow.”
Lianna steadied her voice. “What’s the plan?”
“Simple,” Theodore said, as if discussing logistics of a supply run. “On this return flight, we hunt you. We’ll broadcast coded signals—capture alive or dead. Once you’re close, we shoot you down.”
Lianna’s hands rose instinctively, shaking her head. “That’s insane. Why would that buy us a way in?”
Theodore’s smile never faltered. “Because the story will write itself. You stole information from us. You smuggled it out with three defectors. And with the attacks and winter closing in, we couldn’t chase you further. They’ll want answers. We’ll give them exactly what they crave.”
Lianna’s frown deepened. The risk was enormous. The chance of survival was slim—they knew her face.
“And when Miranda, Bryan, and Isaac identify me?” she asked, voice cutting through the silence. “I’ll be their prisoner before I can breathe. How does that serve you—or me?”
Theodore’s eyes glimmered behind the glass of his lenses. “That matter has been resolved. As of two days ago, they left for the mainland. No doubt debriefed, but whatever description they gave will be second-hand at best. And with…” He lifted a finger, tapping his own temple. “…your new look, even the scanners aboard won’t give a clean match.”
Almost without thinking, her hand drifted up, fingers brushing the ridge of her scar. The skin throbbed faintly, a reminder she hadn’t yet grown used to. She dropped her hand, forcing her expression flat.
“What about my sister?” she pressed, the question heavy with warning.
Theodore tilted his head, almost amused. “It’s been eleven years. What’s another week? You get in, get the data, and get out. Quick. Clean. Easy.” His tone hardened as he stepped closer. “But if you accept and you’re caught, they’ll trace every connection you have. That little call of yours was… unfortunate. I had hoped to intercept you sooner. No matter. My people repair your mind, you deliver what I need, and there’s your cover. You arrive on your sister’s doorstep in a week or two, whole again, because we brought the technology to you.”
Lianna’s jaw tightened. The pitch sounded simple enough. Except for being shot out of the sky. Except for infiltrating a group that had already bled her squad. Except for Theodore holding the reins.
It was a chance to make the deaths of her people mean something. It was a chance to claw back what had been taken. And it was a chance—however slim—to be close to herself again, if his promises were real.
“What’s the catch?” she asked.
Theodore adjusted his glasses with deliberate care, his voice calm, measured. “You were under United States command, and you’ve already been declared dead. If you’re caught alive, it becomes an international incident. Norway is an ally, yes, but one with thin ties to Washington. Nightshade runs that vessel—or hides within it. And they’ll use any leverage they can find.”
He let the words hang, then turned slightly, his reflection glinting cold in the viewport. “And if that leverage is you…” His voice dropped, quiet, certain. “…you’ll wish you had stayed dead.”