Chapter 22
Selina
I woke to softness. Silk against my skin. A cashmere blanket weighed on my legs. My eyelids might as well have been bolted down. Every thought dragged.
Hospital? No… too nice for that.
The fog thinned. Panic scratched at it. Bright light seeped around gauzy curtains when I blinked. The room steadied: cream walls, antique furniture, a crystal chandelier.
Where the hell was I?
Cotton-dry mouth. Tongue slow. I pushed up and nausea rolled through me.
The last clear thing: the Zagreb hotel, going for coffee. Then… nothing.
Movement at the door.
Blackout stood there, motionless.
He was the operative I’d seen in the rubble after the explosion. Still as a cutout. The violent blur from the fight was gone. He wore a plain black tactical uniform with no markings.
I swallowed to wet my throat.
“Good morning,” I said, voice rough. “Or is it afternoon?”
Nothing. Not even a blink.
I swung my legs off the bed and steadied myself as the room lurched. “Nice place. Yours? Or are we both just visiting?”
His gaze tracked me. His face gave me nothing. Not cold, not curious. Just empty. A person-shaped device.
Specter’s words surfaced about Quinta-generation conditioning: They’ve rebuilt his neural pathways completely. There’s nothing left of whoever he was before.
That nightmare stood five feet away.
I caught the bedpost. “Not much of a talker, are you?”
Silence.
“I’m Dr. Crawford. But you probably already know that.” I kept my tone level.
Fingers locked on the bedpost, I forced my thoughts into order.
Blackout. What do I know?
I’d skimmed files at SENTINEL when I dug into Specter: names, dates, protocols. One detail stuck from the stolen documents he’d passed me.
He had a designation, and a name before they burned it out. Xavier. Xavier Hale.
He had family. A sister. Still alive. Still looking. That was it.
Maeve. Her name was Maeve.
That felt like a line I could throw. He wasn’t just an operative. He was somebody’s brother. Someone who refused to let him be erased.
I studied his face. Anything left of Xavier under the training? People don’t vanish so cleanly. Not completely. Patience. Find the seam.
“And you’re Blackout. Or were you Xavier first?”
No reaction to the name. He held position, shoulders squared, hands locked behind his back, feet set.
“Water would be nice.” The words scraped. “Whatever you dosed me with dries you out.”
After a beat, he moved to a side table, poured from a crystal decanter, and brought the glass closer. He stopped short and held it out.
I took it without touching him. “Thanks.” A sip cooled my mouth. I watched him over the rim. “So you do respond to requests. Good to know.”
He returned to the door and became a statue again.
I cataloged him: dark hair cut short; green eyes that showed nothing; a face that could’ve been handsome once, now flat, as if the small muscles that make a face human had been switched off.
“I’ve studied programs like the one used on you.” I kept it casual on purpose. “Rewiring pathways, dampening emotion, wiping personal memory and leaving skills intact.”
He stared at a point above me.
“How’d they do it in your case?” Another drink. “Quinta techniques are supposed to be advanced. Clean reconstruction. Makes earlier versions look like lab prototypes.”
No response.
I set the glass down and stood slowly. The room tilted, then steadied. “They hollowed out Xavier Hale and made something else.” One slow step closed some of the distance. “I wonder if anything’s left.”
His eyes tracked me. His body didn’t shift.
“Memory suppression leaks.” I edged nearer. “Primitive systems resist. Attachment. You might not remember, but some part of you knows something important’s missing.”
A small tightening at his jaw. Maybe.
I pressed. “The body keeps what the mind loses. That’s why they have to keep reinforcing it. Skip the maintenance and cracks show.”
I stopped close enough to read his breathing and the pulse at his throat.
“Your sister misses you,” I said quietly. “Maeve. She’s still looking.”
A tiny hitch in his breath. Gone in an instant. The mask reset.
“Is Dresner taking good care of his pet project?” I asked, shifting lanes. “Or did he hand you off to a new handler after Brock died?”
No reaction to Brock. At Dresner, his pupils ticked wider.
“I’d bet you’re valuable. Showcase material.” I circled, careful to stay out of reach. “Do you ever wonder why they picked you? What made Xavier Hale worth the resources to turn into Blackout?”
His head moved a fraction so I stayed in his line of sight.
“It must be exhausting,” I said, stopping in front of him again. “Holding that much control every second. No feeling. No questions. No memory.”
He spoke for the first time, voice even, flat. “You should rest. The Director will see you soon.”
The sound startled after all that silence. Deep voice, stripped of inflection. Scripted.
“The Director.” I let the title sit. “Dresner himself? I’m flattered.”
“Rest,” he said again. An order.
I smiled like my pulse wasn’t spiking. “I’ve been resting. I’d rather talk. I don’t often get someone like you across the room. Professional curiosity.”
His eyes narrowed a hair. “There is nothing to discuss.”
“On the contrary.” I gestured at the room. “Apparently, I rate this and a personal guard. Worth discussing.”
He offered nothing.
“Let me guess.” I sat on the bed’s edge. “I’m bait for Specter. Dresner thinks he’ll come.”
“The subject designated Specter has been located,” Blackout said. “Your purpose is different.”
That cut through me. “They found him? When?”
He did not respond.
“What purpose, then?” I kept my voice even. “What does Dresner want with me?”
“The Director will explain.”
New angle. “How long have you been watching me sleep? Seems like a waste of your skill set.”
“Time is irrelevant to the mission.”
“And the mission is? Babysitting?”
Something flickered across his features, annoyance maybe, then it was gone. “Protection and containment.”
“So I’m both protected and contained.” I let out a small laugh. “Neat trick.”
His jaw tightened a notch. “Your psychological tactics are ineffective.”
“Not tactics. Conversation.” I leaned back on my hands. “You must get bored standing there.”
“I do not experience boredom.”
“Right. That would require being human.” I studied him. “But you were, once. Before they stripped out Xavier.”
His fingers twitched at his side.
“I helped Specter pull pieces of his life back.” Calm, steady. “Even Quinta has gaps. There are always weak points.”
“Specter was defective,” Blackout said. “Prima and Secunda generation conditioning were flawed.”
“And yours isn’t?” I lifted a brow. “Then why the micro-reactions when I say certain names? The tight jaw. The pupil shift.”
He held my stare, and for the first time I saw something behind his eyes, not feeling but caution.
“They told you what I do.” I kept my voice low. “Warned you I’d try to play you. Gave you counters.”
He said nothing. It fit.
“I’m not trying to break your programming,” I said softly. “It’s breaking on its own. Force a mind to be something it’s not, and it pushes back.”
“You will cease this line of discussion.”
Hands up, palm-out. “Fine. Weather? Sports? Great thread count?”
His face didn’t change, but he went even stiller.
“Or we can sit in quiet. I’m good with that.”
He returned to his post, eyes forward. Perfect again. Still, something had shifted. The quiet wasn’t clean anymore.
I eased back against the headboard. My skull throbbed. Under the calm, a hard knot sat low in my gut. Specter had been located. Dresner wanted me for a reason. And my only company was a weapon in a human body.
But I’d seen the seams, small and quick, but there. That was my way through.
I had to pry them open before Dresner walked in.
Minutes crawled into an hour while I watched Blackout stand guard.
My mind kept circling Specter. Located. Not captured. That difference mattered. I held to the idea he was still out there, still moving.
A sharp knock at the door cut through my thoughts.
Blackout opened it without looking away from me. His focus didn’t slip as he stepped aside.
Tobias Dresner entered, and my blood went cold.
He wore a charcoal suit and a burgundy tie, immaculate. Silver hair combed into place.
“Dr. Crawford,” he said, smooth and cultured. “A pleasure to finally meet you. Your work on trauma-induced behavioral change is remarkable.”
He smiled without warmth and came closer.
“Forgive the unorthodox invitation,” he went on. “Traditional recruitment lacks… urgency.”
I squared up. “Kidnapping’s one way to recruit.”
“A crude term for a necessary acquisition.” He studied me like I was a specimen. “I’ve followed your career. Your methods for breaching psychological barriers are innovative. And I observed your talent firsthand on your little trip with one of my broken assets. Remarkable. Unexpected.”
“I’m flattered.” The words came out flat. “But I don’t work for people who drug and kidnap me.”
“Your expertise will be invaluable,” he said, drifting along the room’s perimeter. “Your grasp of where a mind gives and how to guide it is exactly what Oblivion needs now. What I need.”
The way he said it made my skin crawl. Tool, not person.
“Where’s Specter?”
Something finally shifted in his expression, amusement almost.
“Subject designation Specter has proven resilient,” he said, adjusting a cufflink a precise quarter turn. “Perhaps a testament to your influence. His conditioning should have collapsed after extended separation from handler protocols, yet he continues to function. An amazing hunter.”
Relief hit, then fear, as he kept talking.
“We’re taking steps to recapture the defective product,” he said. “His neurological response to your… involvement… created an anomaly we’ve never seen. Worth extensive study.”
“He’s not a product.” Heat built under my skin. “He’s a person.”
“A semantic distinction without scientific merit.” His tone never wavered. “What interests me is how your presence accelerated disruption in neural pathways designed to resist attachment.”
He paced to the window. “The basis for that resistance could be groundbreaking. We may need to extract tissue from the relevant structures once he’s recaptured. Perhaps compare with your neural activity while you observe.”
Acid crept up my throat. He discussed cutting into Specter’s brain while I watched, as if planning a lab demo.
“You’re a monster,” I said before I could stop myself.
“An emotional statement, not a scientific one.” He adjusted his tie. “Disappointing.” He turned back, gaze steady. “I expected you to appreciate the evolutionary weight of our work. We’re advancing human potential beyond its natural limits.”
“By torturing people and erasing them? That’s not advancement. That’s barbaric science-speak.”
“Your perspective is constrained by conventional morality,” he said. “A luxury we cannot afford in pursuit of true evolution.”
“I won’t help you.” No give in my voice. “Not with Specter. Not with anything.”
“Your consent is irrelevant,” Dresner said. “You will contribute willingly or otherwise.” He stepped closer, voice still conversational. “You understand the anatomy of breaking points. I can take what I need while I take you apart.”
The calm way he said it landed harder than a screamed threat.
“You, of all people, grasp what I can do.”
“Threatening me won’t work.” I kept my chin level. “Men like you confuse control with power.”
He turned to go, then paused in the doorway. The polish slid off. Something raw showed through.
“You think this is a negotiation?” he asked, voice dropping. “Defy me, and I’ll carve pieces off everyone you care about while you watch.”
The casual cruelty knocked the air from the room.
“Your friend Dr. Prieto has such delicate hands. Surgeons do, don’t they? How many fingers before she’s useless?” He smiled, wrong on his face. “Mr. Seok’s profile suggests extreme pain tolerance. An interesting problem.”
My gut lurched.
“As for the anomaly formerly known as Specter,” he added, almost bored, “recapture parameters have been adjusted. Dead or alive no longer matters, though I prefer enough brain tissue to study.”
The civilized coat was gone. The thing beneath looked out.
“Your cooperation keeps them breathing. Your defiance ensures they suffer. Simple math, Doctor. Even someone blinded by attachment should follow it.”
He nodded to Blackout. “Prepare her for transport. One hour.”
The door shut. I was left with the math he’d just drawn for me, and the fact that my compliance might be the only thing keeping Specter—and the others—alive.