Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
The war room went silent. The words landed like shrapnel, no one moving, no one breathing.
Claire’s voice trembled. “He gave me something before he left. A picture, colored pencils. Said coloring would make me feel better.”
Her fingers tapped the edge of the table unevenly, harder with each beat. “It was a beach scene. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t just that. The borders of each photo…” Her breathing hitched. Her tapping quickened into a staccato rhythm, the sound sharp against the table.
Reid leaned closer, instincts firing even before he knew why. “Claire?”
Her chest heaved, shallow, frantic. Her eyes went glassy, pupils darting at things he couldn’t see. Then the words spilled out, frantic, low, and terrifyingly precise: “Four-eight-two… red-blue-green… arc-seven-nine… repeat, repeat, tide-turn, tide-turn…”
Reid’s stomach dropped. Not nonsense. Rhythm. Code.
“Two-one-five-four… border-line… storm-path-seven… repeat…”
He caught her as she slid, her body rigid and shaking. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him. Her pulse hammered so violently, it jolted through his chest.
“Claire,” he whispered, “stay with me. You’re not there. You’re here.”
But she didn’t see him. Didn’t hear him. Her voice cracked on: “Firefly… four, one, zero, turn, turn, turn…” Her body jerked once, then sagged into him, her breath catching. Her words dissolved into silence.
The door burst open. Pete Walter was at the front of the team, calm and precise, even as his eyes narrowed at the sight. “Anchor, put her on the bed. Now.”
Reid obeyed, carefully laying her against the sheets in her bed. His hands lingered until Pete moved in.
“Pulse racing, BP unstable.” Pete checked her vitals manually before clipping an oxygen mask over her face. “Oxygen, ten liters.”
A nurse handed him a line. Pete slid the IV home, practiced hands working with terrifying speed. “Start fluids. And,” he drew up a syringe, “Ativan, two milligrams, IV push.”
As the medication flowed into her system, Claire’s chest hitched, her frantic tremors softening. Her eyes, glassy and unfocused, flickered toward Reid. Somehow, through the blur, she found him.
Her lips parted. Not words, just breath, soft and raw. But her gaze clung to him, and for a heartbeat, she connected.
Reid leaned down, his hand wrapping around hers, steady and warm. “I’m here.”
Her chest eased, her breathing slowing under the oxygen’s hiss. Then her eyes closed, lashes wet against pale skin, and she drifted into sleep.
Pete exhaled, nodding once. “She’s stable. For now.”
The door opened again. Apex stepped back in, Ian Chase at his side.
Ian’s gaze went immediately to the bed, then to Reid.
Claire’s eyes remained shut as he sat, anchored at her side, his hand wrapped tight around hers, thumb moving in small circles against her knuckles, grounding himself as much as her.
Pete Walter stripped off his gloves. “She had a panic-triggered hyperventilation episode. Code patterns spilled. Exhaustion took the rest. She’s down, but she’s stable.”
Ian’s eyes never left Claire. “Prognosis?”
“Short-term? Sleep,” Pete answered. “Long-term? If those episodes keep coming, she’ll crash harder. She needs calm, structure, and people she trusts. Not more interrogation.”
Ian’s gaze flicked to Reid. “And she trusts him.”
Reid didn’t look up. His thumb kept tracing across her knuckles. His voice came low, rough. “She found me. Even in the middle of that storm, she found me.”
Ian studied him a long moment as Pete started packing up his kit. “She’ll sleep for a few hours now. If she wakes, she’ll need him more than us.”
Ian gave a short nod, and Pete left. Apex lingered in the doorway, but Ian waved him out. The door clicked shut, leaving Ian with Reid and the fragile sound of Claire’s breaths.
“You understand, don’t you?” Ian asked. “What this means now.”
Reid finally lifted his eyes, the weight in them unmistakable. “Yeah,” he said softly. “It means I don’t get to let go.”
The hiss of oxygen was the only sound. Claire’s chest rose and fell steadily now, her hand still caught tightly in Reid’s. He didn’t release her even as sleep dulled her features, even as her pulse eased under his thumb.
Ian stood across the room, hands folded behind his back. He let the quiet linger, let Reid have the space to sit hunched in the dim light, lines of strain still carved into his face.
Reid pressed his lips to the crown of Claire’s hair. “I’ve got you.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed faintly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Not judgment, just recognition. The room held like that for a long time.
Slowly, Ian shifted. “Vos is inside the walls.”
Reid didn’t look up. “I know.”
“And Heather hasn’t called. Not once. She’s letting this hang on us.”
Reid’s jaw flexed, the words scraping out low. “She’s letting it hang on Claire.”
Ian nodded once. “Which means this isn’t just personal. It’s tactical. And if that man tested her once, if he left code in her, Chase International is already compromised.”
Reid finally looked up, eyes steady, still holding Claire’s hand like a lifeline. “Then we fix it. Together.”
Ian stepped closer. “Good. Because, by morning, every board member will know Claire’s no longer just a professor caught in the crossfire. She’s the center of the storm.”
Reid’s grip tightened around her hand. “Then I’ll hold the line.”
Ian’s gaze didn’t break. “You’d better.” He slipped out, then the door opened a crack. Apex stepped in, quiet but unflinching, his eyes going first to Claire, then to Reid.
Reid lifted his head. “What’s the situation?”
Apex set a folded tablet on the bed for Reid to see. “The team is going over everything a second time. Every outlet from Lansing to D.C. is still circling, no thanks to Heather Bowman.”
Apex glanced at Claire’s sleeping form again. “The momma from hell showed up at her Michigan office an hour ago. Cameras caught her. She didn’t ask about her daughter. She told the press she’s ‘cooperating fully with any federal inquiry.’”
Reid’s chest went tight. He didn’t answer right away.
Apex didn’t push, just added quietly, “Ian’s reconvening the board. They’re waiting upstairs.”
Reid looked back at Claire, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead with the gentlest touch. “I’m not leaving her.”
Apex nodded. “I’ll sit here. You go. She won’t wake up alone.”
Reid studied him, then finally, reluctantly released her hand. The absence felt like losing a part of him.
He straightened, rolling his shoulders once, pulling command back over the hollow ache in his chest. He glanced back at Apex. “If she stirs, tell her I’ll be back before she opens her eyes. And send someone to interrupt the meeting to get me.”
Apex gave a short nod. “Done.”
Reid turned toward the door, every step heavier than the last. And upstairs, the board was already waiting.
EXECUTIVE BOARDROOM – 1342 HOURS
The table was full of faces lined under low light. Every director had pulled back in, some with travel bags still at their feet, no one daring to leave while the walls of Chase Ann Arbor shook.
Ian Chase stood at the head, one hand flat on the polished surface, the other holding a manila folder that looked almost out of place in a room of glass and screens.
“Vos has clearly invaded Ann Arbor. We’ve locked down our systems here.
Everything digital is suspect. Everything.
We’ll move immediately to courier transmission for sensitive data.
Hand to hand. Paper only.” He dropped the folder to the table with a dull thud. “Old ways. Proven ways.”
Zach Wentworth leaned forward, fingers steepled. “That means someone inside gave him a way in. You don’t ghost your way through these walls without a key.”
“Agreed,” Ian said. “And that’s why, from this moment, nothing leaves this room without my approval.”
Kyle Cooper exhaled hard through his nose. “You’re saying Vos already owns part of this board?”
“I’m saying,” Ian replied, “Vos has been hollowing us out since that day on the ridge. He’s patient. He’s deliberate. And now he’s inside our space.”
A ripple of unease passed around the table.
Wes Crockett shifted in his chair, jaw tight. “So, we treat Ann Arbor as compromised ground until further notice.”
Ian’s gaze swept across them, iron-steady. “We treat ourselves as compromised ground. Every communication, every corridor, every handshake. Vos wants us paranoid. Good, let him. But he won’t find us blind.”
The silence stretched until Zach spoke again, blunt. “And Claire?”
Ian’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not leaving our protection. Not to Heather. Not to the NSA. Not to anyone.”
He straightened, both hands now braced on the table. “Vos took his first shot. We answer by tightening the circle until nothing gets through. And when he reaches for her again, we’ll be ready to break his hand.”
No one argued.