Chapter 26
Xavier
Coffee tasted like ash, but I drank it anyway.
Black. Bitter. The kind of punishment disguised as routine, exactly what I needed after spending ten hours upstairs keeping vigil over Clare’s sleep, afraid if I closed my own eyes she’d vanish like everyone else who’d ever mattered.
The safe house kitchen was generic rental beige. Laminate counters. Outdated appliances. A window over the sink that overlooked snow-covered pines and nothing else for miles. Hellhound had chosen well.
Perfect place to disappear.
I sat at the scarred wooden table, palms wrapped around the mug for warmth. No tremor. Strange, that absence. My body kept expecting the shaking to start, kept bracing for symptoms that didn’t come anymore.
The implant was deactivated. The chemical overdose stopped. I wasn’t dying.
Should have felt like freedom. Felt more like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Fifty-five kills sat heavy in my gut, heavier than the bitter brew. I’d spent the night cataloging every freckle on Clare’s sleeping face, trying not to think about the lives I’d ended while my mind was locked behind Dresner’s conditioning.
Didn’t work. The memories were integrated now, all of them. No more fragmentation, no more dissociative breaks between who I was and what I’d done.
Just me. Xavier Hale. Master Sergeant. Prisoner. Weapon. Killer.
The man Clare thought she loved.
What happened when she really saw me? When the adrenaline wore off and reality sank in, she’d fought to save a man who’d killed fifty-five people without hesitation or remorse?
I forced another swallow. Focused on the burn instead of the spiral.
Outside, dawn was breaking. Pale light slipped through frost-covered windows, turning the world silver and still. The storm had passed sometime during the night, leaving behind the kind of quiet that felt fragile. Like sound itself was afraid to break it.
An engine rumbled in the distance.
I reached for the weapon I’d positioned on the chair beside me.
Then I recognized the sound.
They were back.
I forced myself to relax. Took another drink. Let my palm fall away from the gun.
The door opened, bringing cold air and the smell of snow. Hellhound entered first, arms loaded with grocery bags. Havoc followed, carrying tech equipment and what resembled a pharmacy’s worth of medical supplies.
Both appeared exhausted. Wired. The particular combination that came from running on adrenaline and bad caffeine for too long.
“Xavier.” Hellhound set the bags on the counter. Relief crossed his features. “You’re awake.”
“Yeah.”
“How is she?” he asked quietly.
I glanced toward the stairs. Listened for movement. Nothing yet. “Asleep. Hasn’t come down.”
I’d checked on her twice during the night. She’d been curled on her side in one of the upstairs bedrooms, dead to the world. Exhausted beyond anything I’d seen from her before.
Hellhound started unpacking supplies. Bread. More caffeine. Basic provisions. The kind of staples you bought when you didn’t know how long you’d be hiding.
“We got untraceable phones.” Havoc pulled devices from a bag. “Clean laptop. Cash. Everything you’ll need if you have to run again.”
If. Not when. Small mercy.
I helped them unpack in quiet. Domestic normalcy felt surreal after Geneva. After everything.
Havoc set up the laptop, fingers already flying across keys before it finished booting. Always moving. Never pausing. His particular brand of restless energy.
“Coffee?”
“Already had two cups.” I lifted my mug. “But thanks.”
He poured himself one. Black. No sugar. We stood there for a moment, three men in a generic kitchen drinking bad caffeine as though the world hadn’t tried to kill us.
“How do you feel?” The question was careful. Clinical.
I considered lying. Decided against it.
“Different.” I flexed my fingers, noting the steady movement. “No tremor. No pressure behind my temples. Memories are... there. It’s strange.”
“That’s good.”
“Is it?” I held his gaze. “I remember each kill for Dresner. Every mission. All of it.”
Hellhound didn’t look away. “You remember what was done to you too.”
Fair point. Didn’t make the burden any lighter.
Havoc glanced up from his laptop. “We should brief you. Before Clare wakes up.”
Something in his tone made my stomach clench.
“Brief me on what?”
“Sit.”
I sat. They joined me, Hellhound to my right, Havoc across. The laptop screen glowed between us, displaying files I couldn’t read from this angle.
“Dresner escaped,” Havoc said without preamble. “Before we could lock down the facility. Professional extraction. He had contingencies.”
Of course he did. Dresner always had contingencies.
Rage blazed hot and sharp through my chest.
“Where is he now?”
“Unknown.” Hellhound’s jaw worked. “He’ll go to ground. Regroup. But he’s exposed now.”
“Exposed how?”
Havoc turned the laptop toward me. “I’ve been sending data to Maeve Durham for weeks.”
The world tilted sideways.
I stared at him. At the name on the screen. At files labeled with her byline.
“Maeve Durham?”
“Investigative journalist.” Havoc didn’t notice my reaction, focused on pulling up files. “She’s been building a case against Oblivion since she helped another escaped operative, Ronan, break free. He connected us. Her first articles cut deep into Dresner’s pride and credibility.”
The pieces started falling into place.
Ronan. Reaper. The Prima generation operative who’d broken conditioning first. Who’d found his journalist and escaped Dresner’s reach.
“Ronan was known as Reaper before breaking conditioning,” Havoc added, fingers moving. “His woman helped expose the first fragments of Oblivion’s operations. We’ve been coordinating ever since.”
My windpipe constricted.
“Maeve Durham is my sister.”
Havoc’s typing stopped. His head snapped up.
Hellhound went completely motionless.
Quiet crashed down.
Havoc’s expression shifted to shock. Hellhound’s usual tactical calm broke for a heartbeat.
“Your... sister?” Havoc repeated slowly. Like he needed to hear it again to believe it.
“The journalist who exposed Reaper’s conditioning?”
“Yeah.” My windpipe was closing. “Foster care. We entered together after our parents died. She became an investigative journalist. The kind who doesn’t let go.”
The kind who’d search for her brother for six months after the world declared him dead.
The kind who’d build a case against the organization that stole him.
“She already published a post on the dark Web that gained major traction in the main media.” Havoc’s tone was subdued. “Unveiled Oblivion’s existence. The conditioning. The operatives. The whole operation.”
My chest squeezed. “When?”
“Months ago. It went viral. Governments launched investigations. Interpol got involved.” Havoc pulled up a new file, headlines, articles, Maeve’s name repeated across dozens of outlets. “She burned Oblivion’s secrecy to the ground.”
I stared at the screen. At my sister’s work. At proof she’d never stopped fighting.
“But she couldn’t name Dresner. No hard evidence tying him personally to Oblivion or CuraNova. Nothing that would hold up legally.”
“Until now.” Havoc’s fingers resumed their dance. “The data I sent her from the Geneva infiltration, schematics, conditioning protocols, financial records, Dresner’s kill orders with his signature, even the proof of your chip when you get it out, it’s all there. Everything she needs.”
“Maeve has the ammunition to shatter CuraNova’s legitimate facade,” Havoc continued. “To put Dresner’s name out there as the man behind it all. The architect of Oblivion.”
“The pharmaceutical company cover is done. Once she publishes, Dresner will be exposed. No more operating from Geneva or anywhere else. No more legitimate business front.”
The implications sank in.
“She’s been fighting for me this whole time.”
“She never stopped.” Hellhound’s tone was subdued. “Even after exposing Oblivion, she kept digging. Looking for proof to nail Dresner personally. And looking for you.”
“With this evidence, he’ll have to go into hiding. No more public image. No more untouchable businessman routine. He’ll be a wanted man.”
Good. Let him run. Let him hide. Let him feel what it was like to be hunted.
But underneath the satisfaction, something else stirred. Complicated. Raw.
Maeve had been searching. While I was locked in conditioning protocols, killing on command, my sister had been building a case to destroy the man who’d stolen me.
And I hadn’t even known.
“I need to see her.” The words came out before I’d fully processed them. “After the chip comes out.”
Hellhound and Havoc exchanged a glance.
“I know a surgeon. No questions. Someone who specializes in staying under the radar. I can arrange it.”
“How soon?”
“Three days. Maybe four.”
“I’m not reuniting with my sister while carrying Dresner’s hardware.”
And we’d send the physical chip for forensic analysis. Strengthen the case. Give Maeve one more piece of evidence to bury Dresner with.
“Agreed.” Hellhound nodded. “We’ll make the arrangements.”
Quiet fell. Not uncomfortable. Just... weighted with things unsaid.
Then Hellhound’s phone buzzed.
He pulled it out, read the screen. His expression went icy. Hard.
“What?”
“Dresner. Emergency recall. All active operatives.”
Havoc’s chair scraped back so hard it nearly toppled. “Fuck that.”
Hellhound’s gaze cut to him. Sharp. Warning.
“You think I’m going back?” Havoc’s tone was all edges. Raw fury barely leashed. “You think I’m answering one more goddamn recall? Pretending to kneel while that bastard walks free?”
“Havoc...”
“Don’t.” His palm slammed down on the table. Liquid jumped in mugs. “I’ve had enough. I’m done playing loyal soldier while Dresner slips through our fingers again.”
The anger in his words wasn’t just surface heat. It was years of it. Compressed. Waiting to explode.
“He should be dead. Or rotting in a cell. Or at least, at the very fucking least, stripped of power and thrown to the authorities.”