Chapter 10 Asher
Chapter Ten: Asher
The briefing starts as soon as we get downstairs.
Smaller team. Fewer bodies to fill the space. Dom's absence is a hole that nobody mentions but everyone feels. Kira will be staying behind with Thiago, he can’t shoot properly and she’s a mess, which leaves me, Jinx, Marlee, Jace, and Jagger.
Five people to extract children from a facility on the other side of the world.
The odds aren't great. But when have they ever been?
"Singapore." Jagger pulls up the schematic on his tablet, projects it onto the wall.
The facility is larger than Geneva, more complex, a sprawling compound on the outskirts of the city.
"Intelligence suggests the children were moved here three days before our Geneva operation.
They're being held in the east wing, same setup as before.
Dormitory style, minimal personal effects, constant monitoring. "
"Security?" Marlee asks.
"Heavier than Geneva. Twenty guards on rotation, plus administrative staff. The perimeter is monitored by motion sensors and thermal cameras. Local police are on the payroll, so we can't count on external intervention if things go sideways."
"They went sideways in Geneva, and we barely made it out." Jinx's voice is flat. He's sitting across from me, arms crossed, jaw tight. The stubborn set of his shoulders says he's already planning contingencies. "What's different this time?"
"We are." Jagger meets his eyes. "We're not walking in blind anymore. Geneva was a trap because they knew we were coming. This time, we've taken precautions. No electronic communication, no paper trail, nothing that could leak. The only people who know about this operation are in this room. I didn’t pull anything from Moore’s archives for these schematics.
This is all shit I found online, through back-end channels based on what Aurelio supplied. "
"And if there's still a mole?"
"Then we're fucked regardless." Jagger's voice is blunt. "But I've checked everyone's movements since Geneva. No suspicious contacts. No unexplained absences. If someone in this room is feeding information to the Silent, they're doing it through channels I can't detect."
"Comforting," Marlee mutters.
"It's the truth. I don't do comfort. I do intel." Jagger zooms in on a section of the schematic. "Entry point is here. Maintenance tunnel that runs beneath the east wing. According to the source, it's used for utilities and waste removal. Minimal traffic, especially at night."
"Source?" I ask. "What source?"
Jagger hesitates. Just for a second, but I catch it.
"Jonah's contact. A journalist who's been investigating the Silent for years. She's been feeding us information since before Geneva, but she only recently got access to this facility."
"How convenient."
"I know how it sounds. But her intel on Geneva was accurate. The children were there, exactly where she said they'd be. They were just moved before we arrived." Jagger's expression is grim. "She's our best lead. We don't have the luxury of being picky."
"Who is she?" Jinx asks. "This journalist."
"Someone who's lost a lot to the Silent.
Someone with a personal stake in seeing them burn.
" Jagger pulls up a photograph. A woman in her forties, sharp features, gray streaking her dark hair.
"Her name is irrelevant. What matters is that she's given us a window.
Three days from now, there's a scheduled transfer.
The children will be moved again, this time to a facility in Buenos Aires.
If we don't get them out before then, we lose them. "
Three days. That's not much time to plan, prepare, and execute. But it's what we've got.
"There's something else." Jagger's voice drops. "Something the source mentioned that we need to discuss."
The room goes still.
"The facility is being overseen by someone high up in the Silent's hierarchy. Helena Cross."
The name lands like a bomb.
Jace's hand drifts to his knife. Marlee's expression hardens. Jinx goes very, very still.
I'm the only one who doesn't recognize it.
"Who's Helena Cross?"
"The Director of the Ministry of Design," Jace says quietly.
His hand hasn't moved from his knife. "She designs the conditioning programs. The psychological techniques they use to break children down and rebuild them into weapons.
She developed the methods. Refined them over decades.
Every child who came through the Foundry was shaped by her work. "
"So then she’s the one who built the Harrison Protocol." Jinx's voice is rough. "The program they used on me and my brothers. The reason we are what we are."
Jesus Christ.
"What do we know about her?" I ask. "Background. Weaknesses. Anything we can use?"
"Former intelligence. MI6 or CIA, depending on who you ask.
She disappeared from official records thirty years ago, right around the time the Silent started expanding their operations.
" Jagger pulls up another image. Grainy, taken from a distance.
A woman in a tailored suit, silver hair swept back from a severe face.
She's older than I expected. Sixties at least. But she carries herself like a powerhouse.
"She's rarely in the field. Usually operates from the shadows, overseeing things from a distance.
If she's at this facility in person, it means the children there are important.
Valuable enough to warrant her direct attention. "
"Or she knows we're coming." Marlee's voice is flat. "Setting another trap. Geneva 2.0."
"Possible. But the source doesn't think so.
Cross is a perfectionist. She likes to be hands-on with her most promising subjects.
She personally oversees the final stages of conditioning, the ones that lock in the programming and ensure the product is ready for deployment.
" Jagger's mouth twists on the word product.
"The fact that she's there suggests these children are being prepared for something specific.
Something big enough to bring her out of hiding. "
"All the more reason to get them out." Jinx stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and paces to the window.
The tension in his shoulders could shatter glass.
Outside, the farmhouse grounds stretch toward the tree line, peaceful and ordinary, nothing like the violence we're planning.
"If Cross is there, we take her too. Or we kill her.
Either way, she doesn't walk away from this. "
"Jinx, that’s a lot for—" Jagger starts.
"No." Jinx spins, and his eyes are burning with a fury I've rarely seen.
"You don't get to tell me to be calm about this.
That woman is the reason I spent my childhood being tortured into compliance.
She's the reason we can't feel things properly.
She's the reason we had to unlearn everything we knew about being human before we could figure out who we actually are.
She's a monster, and she's been making monsters for three decades.
If there's a chance to end her, I'm taking it. "
"I'm not disagreeing." Jagger's voice is steady, calm in the face of his brother's rage.
"But we need to be smart. Cross is dangerous.
She's survived this long because she's careful, methodical, always three steps ahead.
If we go in guns blazing, focused on revenge instead of the mission, we'll get ourselves killed and the kids will still be lost. She'll win. "
"So what do you suggest?"
"Primary objective is extraction. Get the children out, get them to safety. If Cross presents an opportunity, we take it. But we don't sacrifice the mission for personal vendettas. We don't become what she made us." Jagger holds Jinx's gaze. "Can you do that? Can you put the kids first?"
The silence stretches. Jinx's jaw works. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, knuckles going white.
I want to go to him. Put my hand on his shoulder, but he needs to answer for himself. Needs to make this choice without me influencing it.
"Yeah," he says finally. The word comes out rough, dragged from somewhere deep. "I can do that. Children first. Cross second. But if I get a clear shot..."
"If you get a clear shot, you take it." Jagger nods. "Just don't create that shot at the expense of the mission."
"Understood."
"Good." Jagger closes the briefing, powering down the projection. "We leave in twelve hours. Get some rest. This is going to be a long operation. And if anyone has second thoughts, now's the time to voice them."
Nobody speaks.
"Then we're agreed. Singapore. Extraction. And maybe, if we're lucky, the chance to take down one of the worst monsters the Silent ever created."
The meeting breaks up. People scatter to their preparations. Jinx lingers by the window, staring at nothing.
I cross to him, stand close enough that our shoulders brush.
"Hey."
"Hey." He doesn't look at me. His voice is distant, hollow.
"You okay?"
"No." He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "I haven't been okay since I was six years old and they strapped me to a table for the first time. Helena Cross was there. Watching. Taking notes. Making sure her precious protocol was working."
"Jinx..."
"I don't remember her face from that day.
I've tried. But I remember her voice. Calm and relaxed, like she was discussing the weather instead of watching a child scream.
'Subject is responding well to stimuli. Increase intensity by fifteen percent.
'" His hands are shaking. "That's what she said.
Like I was an experiment. Like my pain was just data. "
I take his hand and lace our fingers together. Anchor him to the present.
"She doesn't get to define you. Not anymore. Whatever she did, whatever she made, you're more than that now. You're Jinx Harrison. You're my partner. And you're going to help us save those children before she does to them what she did to you."
He finally looks at me. The fury is still there, but underneath it, pain. Old pain, dragged up from places he's tried to bury.
"I want her dead, Asher. I want to watch the light leave her eyes and know that she'll never hurt another child again."
"I know."
"Is that wrong? Does that make me what they designed?"
"No." I squeeze his hand. "It makes you human. She took everything from you. Wanting justice isn't the same as wanting violence for its own sake. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yeah. The difference is why. You want her dead because she hurts people. Not because hurting feels good."
He considers that. The tension in his shoulders eases, just slightly.
"Singapore," he says finally.
"Singapore."
"Let's go save some kids."
The flight to Singapore is eighteen hours of silence and planning.
We're traveling commercial, scattered across the cabin in ones and twos using fake ID’s we got on a bargain.
Less conspicuous than a private charter, less likely to draw attention from whatever eyes the Silent might have watching international travel patterns.
Jagger and Jinx are somewhere in business class, running final simulations on tablets that look like they're displaying movies.
Marlee is three rows behind me, pretending to read a thriller novel while her eyes scan every passenger who moves through the aisle.
Jace is somewhere I can't see. Probably hasn't moved since takeoff. The Reaper can stay still for hours, conserving energy, waiting for the moment when stillness becomes violence.
I'm alone with my thoughts. Which is dangerous.
Dom should be here. He should be sitting beside me, making dry observations about the recycled air and the quality of the in-flight meals, keeping me grounded with his quiet presence.
He'd have something clever to say about Helena Cross.
Something that would cut through the fear and make the mission feel manageable.
Instead, there's an empty seat and a grief that won't fade no matter how many miles we put between ourselves and that drainage ditch.
I chose Jinx over him. I'd make the same choice again. But knowing that doesn't make it easier. Maybe nothing will.
The woman in the window seat beside me shifts, pulling out earbuds and settling in for the long haul.
She's young, maybe mid-twenties, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Athletic build beneath her oversized hoodie.
Something about her face is familiar, but I can't place it.
Could be I've seen her somewhere before.
Could be she just has one of those faces.
"Long flight," she says.
"Yeah."
"Business or pleasure?"
"Business."
"Shame." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Those stay flat, watchful. Assessing. "Singapore's beautiful this time of year. The gardens are incredible. You should take some time to see the sights."
"Maybe next time."
She nods and puts in her earbuds, conversation over, but the exchange lingers. The way she initiated contact. The specific mention of the gardens. The fact that she chose to sit next to me when there were empty rows throughout the cabin.
Paranoia, probably. Geneva made me see threats everywhere. Every stranger is a potential enemy. Every coincidence is a trap waiting to spring.
But I didn't survive the pits by ignoring my instincts.
I pull out my phone, type a message to Marlee: Window seat. Dark hair, ponytail. Athletic build. Familiar face. Watch her.
A minute later, her response: Already watching. Noticed her in the terminal. She was looking at you. Tracked you to the gate. Chose this seat specifically.
Fuck.
Could be nothing. Could be a random stranger who thinks I'm attractive. Could be a journalist who recognized someone from one of the Harrison brothers' past operations and wants to know more.
Could be the Silent, keeping tabs on us before we even land. Making sure we walk into whatever trap they've prepared.
Either way, we can't confront her here. Too public. Too many civilians who could get hurt if things go sideways. We'll have to deal with it in Singapore, on our terms.
I type back: Don't engage. Watch and wait. We'll handle it on the ground.
Her response is a single thumbs-up emoji. Marlee's never been one for unnecessary words.
I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. The plane hums around me, engines steady, cabin pressurized. The woman beside me appears to be asleep, but her breathing is too even, too controlled. She's awake. Watching without watching.
In sixteen hours, we'll be on the ground in Singapore. In twenty-four, we'll be breaching the facility.
Helena Cross is waiting.
And somewhere in this cabin, or on the ground ahead, someone might be watching our every move. Making note of our numbers. Reporting our positions.
No pressure.
Just can’t afford any mistakes… that’s all.