Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
“But you’re not.”
“I’m…” She trails off, searching for the word. “I’m functional. That’s what we’re trained to be. Functional, useful. Good at our jobs.” She meets my eyes. “We don’t get to be happy, Mia. That’s not part of the deal.”
The words sit between us, heavy and true. You’d think I’d be used to that by now, but this last month has changed my life and made me question everything. Day by day, everything I thought was black-and-white is now shades of grey.
“So what do I do?” I ask. “About Vanguard. About all of it.”
“You do your job.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “You gather the intelligence, you write the report, you let the people above us make the hard calls. That’s the only way to survive this work without losing yourself completely.”
“And if I’ve already lost myself?” I whisper.
She doesn’t answer. We stand there in the dark, two women who’ve spent their lives becoming other people, and for a moment, the masks slip just enough to show what’s underneath. For just this minute, we are more than ghosts.
Then, Kat squares her shoulders, and the professional is back.
“Come on. We need to debrief Bayo before the night’s out. And you need to figure out how you can get closer to Paragon. Perhaps Vanguard knows more than you think he does.”
He doesn’t, I’m about to tell her again, but I stop.
Because now, I’m wondering if I’m not the only one being played here.
CHAPTER 28
VANGUARD
I surface in pieces.
First thing I notice is the taste: metallic, chemical, coating my tongue like I’ve been sucking on pennies. Then, the sound, a low hum that vibrates through my skull, familiar in a way that makes my stomach churn even before I’m fully conscious. And finally, the pressure, restraints at my wrists and ankles, the curved headpiece pressing against my temples, electrodes like cold fingers against my scalp.
The chair.
I’m in the motherfucking chair.
My eyes snap open, and the world swims, too bright, edges blurred. The ceiling is a wash of white interrupted by harsh surgical lights that make me squint. I try to move, but the restraints hold firm, tight enough to remind me I’m not going anywhere until someone decides I can. The irony is, I could break out of them if I wanted to, yet I swear, they’ve put something in me that makes it feel impossible, like my limbs are made of lead.
“Easy.” Julia’s voice, close. Too close. “You’re still coming out of it. Give yourself a moment.”
I turn my head slowly, and it feels like my brain is sloshing around in there. I wince and find Julia standing beside the chair, tablet in hand, watching me the way a sculptor might watch clay taking shape. She’s wearing a white lab coat over her usual elegant attire, her silver-blonde hair pulled back, and there’s something soft in her expression I don’t trust, not one bit.
“How long was I out?” My voice comes out rough, scraped raw.
“Four hours. Standard calibration, as I said before.” She sets the tablet aside and reaches for my face. I flinch before I can stop myself, but she just brushes hair from my forehead, her touch clinical and somehow intimate at the same time. “A few days early, but you were overdue. Your readings have been so erratic lately.”
Erratic. Right.
The last few days blur in my memory. The helicopter ride back from Montana, Julia so furious that she gave me the silent treatment. Press conferences and disaster relief and smiling for cameras while thirteen families buried their dead. And underneath all of it, the ache of not seeing Mia. Five days since I left her at my father’s ranch. Five days of phone calls that ended too quickly and texts that said everything and nothing.
Five days of feeling like a piece of me was missing.
“I’m fine,” I say, testing the restraints again. They’re still locked, and I’m still too weak. “Can you—”
“Not yet. We need to discuss some things first.” Julia pulls a stool closer and sits, positioning herself at my eye level. At this distance, her perfume overwhelms me, cold and floral, making me think of death, like a funeral home. “Conrad wanted to be here, but he’s in Washington, meeting with the Secretary of Defense.”
Something in her tone makes my skin prickle. “The Secretary? About what?”
“About you.” She folds her hands in her lap, perfectly composed, while I feel like my stomach is dropping. “About your future. About the role Global Dynamix—and Vanguard—will play in ensuring America’s continued recovery.”
I wait. She wants me to ask, I can tell. She wants me to be curious, eager, the good soldier hungry for his next mission. I give her silence instead.
Her mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. “There are concerns at the highest levels about certain, shall we say, elements within the country. Groups that oppose progress. That want to drag us back to the chaos of the Dark Decade.”