Chapter Eighty
Raine
I should get up. Eat something. Drink water. Instead, I move to the seventh name on the Coherent Path contractor list.
Brett Wallburn.
My mouth goes dry. I know that number. For a beat, the tremor in my fingers stops me from working the trackpad. I force a slow, deep breath. Four counts in. Hold. Six out.
Switching back to my log file, I scroll all the way to the end. The disposal cluster is only thirteen lines. The last four are biometric checks. Heart rate and blood pressure. One rising dangerously high, the other falling so far, I could barely stand when Asher unlocked the restraints.
Two movement codes.
Seven more, grouped together. Contractor C-96 delivering three separate shocks of increasing amplitude with a cardiac stability check after each one. Then, a request for authorization that was answered four minutes after Asher put me in his car.
I know what that authorization was for now. Who Brett Wallburn is. Why his ID appears at the end of every log file that ended in disposal.
He’s Voss’s Grim Reaper.
Inara picks up on the fourth ring. “Raine?” Her voice is rough, thick with sleep and exhaustion.
“I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have called. You were up all night.” Guilt pulls a wince free. “I’ll call you lat—”
Something rustles over the line. “What do you need?”
Inara doesn’t ask what’s wrong. She assumes something’s wrong and moves straight to how she can help. I don’t have a framework for people like that. I’m still learning how to accept they exist.
“Backup. There’s…a person in Georgetown I need to have a very convincing discussion with. He doesn’t know it’s non-optional.”
Two seconds pass. Maybe three. “Scale of one to ten. One being a strongly worded conversation, ten being an international incident.”
“Three. Maybe four.” I hold my breath. She could still say no. She should say no.
A relieved sound—almost a sigh—carries over the line. “I probably don’t have to worry about bloodstains, then? It’s laundry day and all my black sweaters are dirty.”
The tight knot lodged in my chest starts to loosen.
“Probably not.”
“Okay.” The sleep is completely gone from her voice now. “What time?”
“I’m in Bellevue. If I leave at ten—”
“I’ll come to you. Text me the address.” Another pause, and her voice softens. “Have you eaten?”
The question catches me off guard. I have to actively think about when I last moved from this chair. “I had yogurt. At…four thirty.”
“I’ll bring food. Forty-five minutes.”
The line goes dead, and I simply stare at the phone. At the hospital, she’d offered her friendship. I filed it away as something I didn’t know how to do.
I still don’t. But I text her the address anyway.
Inara pulls up to the curb in a powder blue convertible. I tug the bright orange floppy hat down over my eyes, and lower myself carefully into the passenger seat.
“Donuts,” she says, gesturing to a pink box sitting next to the gear shift. “And a large coffee. Black.”
I lift the lid and stare. It’s completely full. “Did you buy out the entire bakery?”
With a light laugh, she lifts her own cup of coffee in a mock salute. “Anything less than a dozen is a waste of time. Plus, I didn’t know what you liked. So I got one of everything.”
My cheeks flush at the unexpected consideration, and I pick out a chocolate donut with sprinkles. “I have…issues. With food.”
“Oh, shit. We can make a pitstop. There’s a grocery store a couple of blocks away.” No hesitation. Only an immediate offer to fix it.
I’ve spent my entire life bracing for the follow-up question. Or the sigh that means I’m being a bother. Some of the tension thrumming in my chest fades when it doesn’t come.
“No, it’s okay.” I slide a couple of napkins out from under the box. “Chocolate donuts are…safe.”
“If you’re sure…” She pulls onto the freeway, hitting the gas with enough enthusiasm, I’m glad I wasn’t holding my coffee.
I manage half the donut before I work up the courage to speak again. “I should tell you what you’re walking into. How dangerous this actually is.”
“Raine—”
“I mean it.” I keep my eyes glued to the road. “Once you know, you can’t unknow it. And I’m...” The sentence dissolves before I can stop it.
Inara sets her coffee back in the cup holder with the calm of someone who’s made up her mind and doesn’t expect fanfare or fuss.
“I was the second woman to join the 75th Ranger Regiment,” she says. “The first…well, she’s a friend. Now.” She checks her mirrors, and glances over at me briefly. “I’ve been followed by worse things than the truth.”
By the time she pulls off the freeway in Georgetown, she knows…everything.
Brett Wallburn’s duplex sits at the end of a block that’s seen better decades. Weathered siding, gutters crooked by degrees, and the neighbor’s yard full of slimy, dead weeds and half a truck tire. I leave the hat in the car. No security cameras around here to worry about.
But the small strip of garden running along the front of Brett’s unit is immaculate. Kale, a few herbs, and small purple flowers I don’t recognize that have no business being this healthy in February.
Inara clocks it the same time I do. She doesn’t say anything as I ring the bell.
The door opens three inches, chain engaged, and Brett peers at us through the gap. He’s in his late forties, unremarkable—the kind of guy you’d walk right by on the street and not look at twice.
Except for his eyes. They’re tired in a way that can’t be fixed by sleep.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
I know his voice as well as I know the sound of the kettle in the morning. As well as I know the sound Asher makes when something surprises him. It lives in a part of my brain I don’t have full access to. Stored there without my permission during a time when I had no permission left to give.
“Mr. Wallburn,” I say, “we need to talk.”
“I’m not interested.”
He starts to close the door, but Inara’s hand slaps the wood, and she wedges a thick-soled boot in the opening.
“We’re not selling anything,” she says, her voice almost sugary sweet. “We’re not leaving either. You might as well let us in before this gets…messy.”
After a long moment, Brett’s gaze darts from her hand to her boot to her eyes. Then over at me. I want to look away. But I don’t.
“Okay.” He nods, and once Inara steps back, closes the door enough to slide the chain free, and opens it again.
Inside, the duplex is spotless. Every surface gleams. The quick view of the kitchen I get from the entryway reveals dishes draining in perfect alignment. A folded dish towel. A single mug.
Something small and white darts out from around the corner of the couch and regards us with huge, dark eyes.
“That’s Toby,” Brett says.
The dog—some sort of terrier mix, barely larger than Inara’s boot—sniffs in our general direction once, then hops up on a small, folded blanket draped over one of the cushions.
Through the back window, the garden continues. Raised beds. A cold frame. More of those purple flowers.
Brett stands in the middle of his living room like he’s forgotten he lives here. Like having two people show up on a Friday morning has left him completely off balance.
“Sit down,” Inara says. Her voice isn’t as sweet now.
“I don’t know who you think I am—”
My hand slips into my pocket, and I run my thumb over Asher’s challenge coin. “You administered electroconvulsive therapy to detainees held at a black site in Centralia, Washington. That site stopped…existing…last night around eleven p.m.”
Brett sinks onto the couch next to Toby, and the color drains from his face. “How did you…”
“You wrote an incident report six years ago. A detainee who expired after the third session. It went to a man named Dr. Julian Voss. Not long after, Voss decided that was a very efficient way to dispose of detainees deemed compliance failures.”
Inara stands between the couch and the back door, arms loose at her sides. She hasn’t said a word since telling Brett to sit down. She doesn’t need to. Her presence is its own argument.
Brett flinches, and next to him, Toby lifts his tiny head. “Whatever you think you know—”
“I know that if a detainee didn’t show sufficient cardiac instability after the third session, you sent an authorization request to Voss.
” I keep my voice steady—steadier than I feel.
“A request for secondary intervention to induce cardiac arrest by injection. I know that you’ve been the sole contractor responsible for administering ECT and those injections for the past five years. ”
His hands are shaking. He clasps them together, and when that doesn’t work, shoves them under his thighs.
“I can’t—” His voice breaks. “You don’t understand what he’ll do.
He has me on camera. Killing people. And…
I have—had—a family. They left, but Voss knows where they are. If I say anything, he’ll—”
“Voss is finished. So is the program. There is no version of the next forty-eight hours in which Julian Voss retains enough power to hurt you. Or anyone. Ever again.” I let my words hang between us for a moment. “The only question remaining is what side of this you’re on when that happens.”
Brett stares at the floor, then reaches over to stroke the dog’s head. Toby makes a contented little noise and settles closer to his human.
“How do I know you can actually do that?” He lifts his gaze, hope filling his tired eyes. “Take him down.”
“I have your incident report. The very first one. I also have the original memo that created Coherent Path. And a copy of every disposal order Voss signed over the past six years. Ninety-seven of them.”
“Ninety-seven.” He whispers the words, then touches Toby’s head again.
I’m not sure he even realizes he’s doing it.
When he looks back up, his expression has changed.
The suspicion is gone. What’s left is older and quieter and has been waiting a long time.
“What do you want from me?” His voice is flat. Not hostile. Emptied out.
I ease myself onto the well-worn sofa. It might be old, but it’s immaculate, not a single thread out of place.
“There’s a whistleblower organization called the Public Integrity Project working to expose GSD and dismantle Coherent Path for good.
The more evidence they have, the better.
I can put you in touch with them, and they’ll protect you until Voss is no longer a threat.
But you’d need to give them your name. Testify…
on the record. Your account of the protocol, the incident that started it, and what happened to the detainees who went through the disposal pipeline. ”
He closes his eyes briefly. Opens them. Blinks several more times and swallows, hard. “If I do that—”
“Voss goes to prison. Or worse,” Inara says from behind him, her voice quiet and certain and absolutely lethal. “Either way, he never touches anyone again.”
Brett looks at his hands for a long moment.
“I have notes,” he says finally. “Not official records. Personal ones. Dates, detainee IDs, what I administered.” He pauses, a tiny sob caught in this throat.
“What happened after. I’ve kept them since the beginning.
I had to do…something.” He stops and shakes his head.
“Give me a minute, and I’ll get them for you. ”
He disappears down the hallway. Toby watches him go, looks at us, then looks back at the hallway.
Inara moves silently, head cocked to one side, listening in case Brett decides to run. But after a moment, she nods, satisfied, and peers out the back door.
“This is the garden of a man carrying a fuckton of guilt that has nowhere to go,” she says softly. “He creates life where he can.”
I don’t ask her how she knows this. But…I find I want to. I settle for something safer. “Are you okay?”
Her shoulders loosen, and when she turns back to me, her expression is as unshakable as ever—until she smiles, and genuine warmth infuses her tone. “You know that’s what a friend would ask. Right?”
Before I can give her an answer, Brett returns with a composition notebook, the cover soft from handling. He holds it for a moment before he passes it to me. “It’s not much. We’re watched there. Well…we were watched there. But maybe it’ll help.”
“Thank you.” Two words aren’t enough for what he’s risking, but they’re the only two I have.
Inara passes him a card. “Call this number. Tell them Indigo said you need a safe place to land for the next forty-eight hours, some privacy, and video recording equipment. They’ll take care of you. And the pup.”
I force a swallow. This…is the hardest part.
“When you give your testimony, I need you to do one thing for me. It might not make sense now, but it’s important.
” At his nod, I continue. “I need two different videos. On the first one—where you document everything you did at Coherent Path—don’t mention Voss’s name. At all.”
His eyes widen, and he takes a step back. “You said you were going to stop him. If you can’t—”
“Oh, I’m going to stop him. That’s why I need you to do this.
The second video needs to be all about Voss.
How he threatened you. How he signed off on the disposal orders.
The process, the timing…everything.” I pause for a breath.
I shouldn’t tell Brett why. But if he doesn’t do this, Asher will suffer even more.
“I need them separate because Voss has someone I lo— Someone important to me in custody. And this is part of the leverage I’ll use to get him out before the end.
I swear to you, Mr. Wallburn. By the end of the day, Voss won’t be in a position to make demands or give orders. To anyone. Ever again.”
He searches my face, and whatever he’s looking for, he clearly finds. “Two videos. I can do that.”
Relief hits so hard, my legs tremble. “Thank you. Get Toby all ready to go. Then record your testimony as fast as you can.”
I nod at Inara, and we head for the door.
“Wait,” he says as her fingers close around the handle.
He stands in the center of the living room, Toby tucked against his chest, one hand moving in slow circles over the dog’s back.
“There was this detainee.” His voice is careful.
“The last one I…worked on. I was waiting on authorization when— She got out.” He shakes his head.
“She was oriented after the third pulse. No one’s ever oriented after the third pulse. She said—”
My heart takes residence somewhere in my throat. “She said, ‘I’m not okay.’”
Brett goes completely still, eyes wide, staring at me like he’s just seen a ghost.
I tug at the sleeves of my hoodie. The bruising has faded from deep purple to splotches of blue mixed with yellow, but the shape is unmistakable. A record written in skin.
He looks at my wrists for a long time. “You’ll end this?”
I manage a single nod. “I’ll end this.”