Chapter Fifty-Seven
Raine
After a few clicks, I’m staring at GSD’s internal dashboard. It’s so familiar, my hands remember what to do before my mind can catch up.
“What did you search on?” Claire leans in, frowning, as hundreds of results fill the screen.
Asher shifts in his chair, shoulders tensing as his hand inches toward his jacket pocket for a beat before he relaxes again.
I return my focus to the screen. “This approval code is tied to the black site escalations. Before…I was taken, I found half a dozen agents who’d disappeared from the personnel rosters with no explanation. No retirement paperwork. No medical reports. They were just…gone.
I guide the mouse pointer to a file with a time stamp I recognize. “This is my personnel record.”
“Wait,” Claire says. “Three lines up. That’s…Tessa’s ID.”
If I could, I’d spare her the knowledge that she’s been part of a system that destroys dissent and sends agents to be erased. But I won’t lie to her to make this easier.
I let my gaze sweep over the list—scanning, not reading. It would take me days to go through all the files, and we don’t have that kind of time. Not here.
With one click, I sort the list so the oldest entry moves to the top. A single document sits at the beginning of a long list of employee files and budget records going back more than eleven years. The name is generic—probably related to the cost center that created it—but I open it anyway.
Operational Standards Intensive Program Charter.
This is the start of it. Of everything.
The first paragraph is clinically boring, but sounds almost…pleasant.
The Operational Standards Intensive (OSI) is a voluntary, seven-day residential renewal program for agents experiencing tactical fatigue or measurable performance decline.
This voluntary program offers a restorative environment developed by licensed clinicians that features guided reflection, journaling, movement sessions, and meals structured to support cognitive and physical restoration.
To maintain focus and encourage full engagement, participants agree to suspend outside communication and remain on site for the duration of the program.
Claire glances between me and the screen, her frown deepening. “That sounds…kind of nice.”
She isn’t wrong.
“It might have started out that way. It’s nothing like that now.” I plug a thumb drive into the terminal and copy the file before returning to the search results.
The next few pages aren’t all that interesting. Budgets, contracts, and a couple dozen agent referrals each year. But six years ago—a few months before Ellen retired—I find a file titled Program Revision Memo.
I don’t want to read it. Not after what Ellen told me. But I have to.
To: Commissioner Adams
From: Julian Voss, PhD, BCBT
Effective immediately, I am assuming direct oversight of the Operational Standards Intensive program. A voluntary “renewal” program is ineffective at addressing performance decline due to erosion in discipline and ideological defiance.
The Coherent Path Program (CPP) will replace OSI in both structure and intent.
Participation is mandatory once an agent has exceeded defined thresholds.
Agents will remain in controlled isolation until compliance can be assured.
Reintegration is not guaranteed, and will only be approved when independent judgment no longer interferes with operational objectives.
“Oh, my God,” Claire whispers.
I tug at my sleeve so she can’t ignore the dark bruises circling my right wrist.
“My mentor was one of the first women sent through the new program.” I lock eyes with Claire for a moment. “When she got out, they forced her to retire. And a few days ago, they threatened to send her back there. They’re monitoring Tessa. Because what they did almost destroyed her.”
A tear rolls down Claire’s cheek.
“I didn’t know. I swear—”
I hold her gaze long enough for her to see the sorrow in my eyes. “I believe you. But you know now.”
She nods, and I turn back to the computer.
Julian Voss. I let the name roll around in my head, learning the shape of it.
The edges. The way it makes my blood run cold.
He created Coherent Path. He created the room I was kept in.
The codes in my file. The disposal order with my name on it.
The ECT protocol designed to end me. I won’t just burn him.
I’ll make sure he sees everything he built reduced to ash before I destroy him.
Along with every single person who knew, yet didn’t put a stop to it along the way.
I transfer the memo to the thumb drive, then go back to the search results.
“Raine, it’s been fifteen minutes,” Asher says. “How much more time do you need?”
“I’m close.” My heart rate ticks up as I filter the results to personnel records.
I’ve seen too many ops blow up because no one planned for redundancies.
When I go public, I need more than these two memos and my personal account of what I went through.
I need to know all the bodies Coherent Path has buried over the years.
Otherwise, it’ll be too easy for GSD to write me off as unstable—unreliable.
My eyes run down the list as I select the files and move them to the drive. There are so many of them. One hundred and seventy-three since OSI became Coherent Path. Twice that number when the program was still…voluntary. A bulk export will be noticed. But I don’t have a choice.
While the files transfer, I open a new window for the final piece of the puzzle. At least from inside GSD.
Our internal dashboard should show me the organizational chart for any employee from a janitor all the way to the Commissioner.
Dr. Julian Voss is listed as the Director of Risk Management.
“W-we d-don’t have a Risk Management division,” Claire stammers. “There has to be some mistake.”
I open the org chart. The roster is short. Julian Voss plus four others. One of those four has a long string of letters after his name, the other three are standard contractors. Voss reports directly to Commissioner David Adams, the head of GSD.
My fingers are so cold, they barely feel like mine. Where’s the cursor? I blink twice before I find it. A deep ache settles between my shoulder blades, and my legs tremble from the effort of holding myself in this chair.
I’m about to take a screenshot of the directory tree when the screen glitches, then the connection shuts down.
“They noticed.” The words scrape out of me. I knew this would happen. But knowing doesn’t stop my heart from slamming against my ribs at the thought of a GSD security team bursting through the library doors.
I yank the thumb drive from the terminal and shove it back into my pocket before turning to my boss. My thoughts are moving too slow, but I reach for the challenge coin to help me focus.
“Listen to me, Claire. They won’t take you.
You’re the Assistant Director of a department that’s lost two analysts in as many weeks.
But they will pressure you unless you give them exactly what they want.
Tell them I was unstable. That I threatened you.
That I took your phone and forced you to give me your password.
They’ll believe it, and you’ll be safe long enough for me to finish this. ”
Asher offers me his arm, his gaze fixed on the library’s front door. I let him steady me while Claire gapes. If I thought my body would accept anyone’s touch but Asher’s, I’d hug Claire. But I can’t risk unraveling here.
“When you get back to GSD, go straight to Security. Don’t wait for them to come to you. Make yourself useful, give them what they want, and you’ll be safe.”
Claire picks up her bag and rushes down the steps to the front door.
I lean against Asher. Standing suddenly feels too hard. The room loses focus around the edges, and conversations blur together until they’re nothing but a dull hum in the background.
Asher wraps an arm around my waist and steers us toward a set of stairs at the back of the building. In under five minutes, we’re out on the street and heading for the car.