Chapter 30
Thirty
The Blackwell Institute stood quiet under a washed-out sky, the kind of gray that blurred the lines between afternoon and evening. Brad pulled into the private lot and parked in his usual space. He sat for a moment, hands still on the wheel, then grabbed his coat and stepped out.
He was expected.
Inside the acute care unit, the air was cool and sterile but not unwelcoming. He walked through the sliding glass doors and barely made it past the reception desk before a familiar voice called out, “Brad.”
Tristan Blackwell approached from the opposite hallway, his tailored suit immaculate as always, though there was a tension behind his eyes that Brad caught instantly.
“Didn’t think I’d be this happy to see you,” Tristan said, extending a hand. Brad took it.
“No change?” Brad asked.
Tristan shook his head. “No.”
They walked together down the corridor, the sound of their steps echoing in the silence.
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Mara’s been almost entirely unresponsive. Then you show up, and we see movement. There hasn’t been a flinch or a spasm since. I’ve never seen programming like this in reality. The literature discusses things like this happening in North Korea and the former Soviet Union.”
Brad pursed his lips. “She knew I was there.”
Tristan nodded. “Which is why you’re here now. No interruptions. No observation glass. Just audio backup—noninvasive.”
Brad glanced over. “You trust me with her?”
Tristan met his eyes. “Brad, I saw how you worked with Izzy. I’m hoping some of the same techniques will get through to Mara.”
That landed. Brad gave a single nod.
Outside Mara’s room, Tristan paused. “She hasn’t had any episodes. Sadly, she’s quite placid,” he said. “But don’t push. If she locks up again…”
“I won’t push,” Brad said. “I’ll lead.”
Tristan half smiled. “Same difference in your world.” He stepped back. “Take your time.”
Brad pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. Mara Dwyer sat by the window, just like last time, knees tucked under her, her gaze on something no one else could see.
Brad closed the door behind him quietly and crossed the room with that same calm, confident stride.
“Hey, Mara,” he said gently. “It’s me again.” No response, but she didn’t look away. And Brad knew enough to call that a start.
He moved slowly, deliberate as always, the way you approached a wild animal—steady, non-threatening, but fearless and in control. He took the chair across from Mara—not too close, not far.
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. But her eyes tracked him. A slight shift. Barely there. But he saw it.
“We’ve got a little time,” he said gently, resting his hands on his knees. “But you and I both know… if you’re with me on this, that’s all we’ll need.”
Still nothing but the air shifted, just a little. Like the silence had shape. Like awareness was settling in.
“You remember what I said last time?” Brad asked, that familiar edge of gentle dominance creeping into his voice. “That I wasn’t going to pretend? That I wouldn’t talk to the ghost version of you?”
His voice dropped even lower. “I meant it.” He leaned in slightly, never breaking eye contact. “I don’t want the shell, Mara.”
Her breathing changed. Not much, but enough.
“And I get it,” he said. “They took something from you. They broke something inside you. But what they didn’t do was finish it.
You’re still here.” He let that hang in the air.
“I know about Elias,” Brad continued. “I don’t know what he meant to you.
I don’t know what he became. But I know you know him. ”
Mara blinked. Slowly, a tear slipped down her cheek, silent, unacknowledged.
Brad didn’t move. “I’m here to help you.” He paused. “I won’t hurt you.”
Her fingers twitched. Just once.
Brad leaned forward again. “If you’re ready, tell me something. One word. One look. One breath that’s yours. Because if you don’t, more people are going to die. And I know you. That’s the last thing you want.”
Silence. Heavy. Long. Then, finally—she shifted. Just her eyes, but they locked on his.
Brad sat perfectly still. Watching. Waiting.
Then she whispered, hoarse and cracked: “Elias… saved… me.”
Brad didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. He just reached forward slowly and took her hand. And this time—she squeezed.
Noah stared at his phone, thumb hovering over Alex’s name again. The logs in his fireplace burned. Ruth, his fiancée, sat curled up by his side.
One ring. Two. Then nothing. Just silence. No voicemail. No automated message. Like the number never existed.
He tried again. Harder this time, like force might change the outcome. Still nothing. There was no way.
Alex didn’t go dark. He didn’t vanish without warning, not in the middle of a case this loaded, not with Elias Ward circling the edges, not with Charlotte suddenly in the blast radius.
Noah opened the tracking app. Their team protocol, redundant, encrypted, always on. He searched for Alex’s ID tag.
Nothing. No GPS. No tower triangulation. No signal bounce. Not even a shadow ping. His stomach turned, cold and sharp.
A dead signal could be a glitch. But no trace at all? That was deliberate. He looked at Ruth, his eyes filled with rare panic. “Baby, grab your coat.” He picked up his jacket, already calling Brad.
“Yeah?” Brad answered, voice lighter than usual.
“Where did you drop Alex?”
Brad paused at the edge in Noah’s voice. “Conference center. He was going to talk to Charlotte. Said he needed to clear the air. Get straight on some things. He had something to unload.”
“Did he contact you after? Anything?”
“No. I figured he needed space. Why?”
“He’s off-grid.” Noah yanked open the door. “Phone’s dead. Tracker’s blank. He didn’t just shut down, Brad, he’s gone.”
A beat of silence. “That’s not like him.”
“No. It’s not.”
Noah killed the call and immediately called Charlotte. She answered on the first ring, “Noah?”
“What happened after you and Alex talked?”
She exhaled, tense already. “We talked—Ward, Elias, the visits. He was angry but calm. Focused. We were in the task force room maybe forty minutes. I dropped him at my place so he could grab his SUV. Said he was heading out.”
“Where?”
“A contact in Pierre. Some militia guy. Said if anyone knew about a black site, it’d be him. Called him harmless.”
“He took his SUV?”
“Yes. Said it wouldn’t take long. That he’d meet me at Sophie’s after. Noah, that was six hours ago. I expect him any minute.”
Noah’s stomach dropped. Cold swept in like a switch had flipped.
He didn’t say goodbye, just ended the call and dialed Ethan.
“Talk to me,” Ethan said.
“Alex is missing.”
“What kind of missing?”
“No phone. No signal. No tracker. Charlotte says he left for Pierre six hours ago. Nothing since.”
“Shit,” Ethan muttered. “No location data?”
“Scrubbed. Not failed. Wiped. No pings, no dead zones. Clean as a ghost pull. This isn’t bad reception—this was surgical.”
“He was meeting a militia contact?”
“I think I know who. I’ll start digging. Can you track the SUV?”
Silence for a beat, then Noah heard movement. Ethan was already shifting into gear.
“I’ll spin up a silent trace team. No press, no chatter. We find him before this blows wide.”
“Good. I’m back-tracing every tower he could’ve hit on the way out. If there’s even a whisper of a signal, I’ll find it.” He ended the call and gripped the wheel. Hard.
Beside him, Ruth placed a hand on his thigh. Her touch grounded him for half a second—but everything else was cold. Hollow. The kind of silence that screamed.
Noah drove, breath tight, mind burning through every scenario. This wasn’t panic. Wasn’t paranoia. It was instinct.
Alex Marcel didn’t disappear. He was taken.