Chapter 6
DYLAN
Sarah's analysis waits on my screen when the morning watch rotation puts me at the main terminal.
Subject line: Systematic elimination confirmed. Apartment breached.
The file Tommy compiled overnight lays it out in clean, brutal detail.
Charlie, Ellen, the barista—not random hits.
A coordinated sweep. The Committee followed Reagan's digital footprint backward through every contact, every source, every conversation.
Working her investigation like a roadmap to everyone she talked to.
Four hours ago, they found her apartment.
Three-man team. Professional sweep. Took her desktop, external drives, paper files. Planted surveillance—cameras, microphones, network taps. Waiting for her to come back.
She won't. She knows better, and if she doesn't, I do. She's not leaving this safe house without an armed escort.
Sarah flagged multiple failed login attempts on Reagan's encrypted cloud storage. The Committee using brute force to crack her encryption.
Tommy's estimate: days, maybe less with NSA-level resources.
Not long until every name in her source list becomes a target.
Kane's already up. His footsteps in the hall carry that specific rhythm—too fast, too heavy. He appears in the doorway, eyes bloodshot from coordinating with Sarah all night.
"You saw the analysis."
"Just now."
"Blackout protocols." No preamble. No discussion. "Cut all external access. Lock down communications. She works from what we have until Tommy clears the threat."
"She'll fight you on that."
"She doesn't get a vote. This is operational security." Kane moves to the door, pauses. "Briefing at oh-nine-hundred. Get her there. She needs to see the casualty projections."
He leaves. The hallway swallows his footsteps.
Casualty projections. Nice way to say everyone she talked to might be dead soon.
The command center smells like burned coffee and electrical heat when I find her.
Reagan sits at Khalid's usual station, surrounded by monitors displaying Webb's financial network.
The kid perches beside her, pointing out connections with the careful precision of someone who learned pattern recognition from necessity.
One of the screens shows Delaney on a secure video feed from Echo Base, reviewing something on her end.
"We need to talk."
Reagan doesn't look up. "Khalid found a link between Webb and someone named Archer. Financial transfers through—"
"Now."
The word comes out harder than intended. Reagan turns. Her eyes catch my expression and something shifts in her posture.
Khalid's already moving. The kid reads tension like it's written in the air. He taps a key, disconnecting the video feed with Delaney, then slips past me with his book tucked under one arm, giving us privacy for the fight he saw coming before I walked in.
"What happened?"
"They found your apartment."
The blood drains from her face. Not slowly—all at once, like someone opened a valve.
"Four hours ago. Professional sweep. They took everything you left behind.
Desktop, external drives, paper files. Planted surveillance throughout.
They're waiting for you to come back." I pull up Tommy's analysis, angle the screen toward her.
"Every database you accessed yesterday? The Committee hit three of them within hours.
They're tracking your digital signature.
Following your investigation in real time, using it to find your sources. "
Reagan's hand moves to her throat. Drops. "My cloud storage—"
"Multiple failed login attempts. They're trying to crack it."
"How long?"
"Tommy says days. Maybe less if they're using NSA resources." The terminal fan hums between us, filling the silence. "When they break your encryption, they get everything. Every name. Every source. Every person who helped you. All of them exposed."
Reagan stares at the screen like she's watching people die in real time. Maybe she is.
"We're implementing blackout protocols. No external access. No new database queries. You work from what we already have—"
"No."
"—until Tommy can guarantee the Committee can't track—"
"I said no." Reagan stands. The chair rolls backward, hits the wall. "You're cutting me off from current intelligence. From financial records, personnel files, communication logs. Everything I need to help Delaney build this case against Webb."
"Everything that creates a trail they can follow."
"The trail already exists. They have my apartment. My files. They already know who I contacted. Hiding now doesn't save anyone."
"It saves future sources. Anyone you haven't talked to yet."
"I need access to archived personnel records.
Webb's operational history. Morrison's service record.
Twenty years of classified deployments that prove they ran Protocol Seven together since the nineties.
" Reagan crosses her arms, fingers digging into her elbows.
"Tommy found them yesterday. I can't help Delaney build a comprehensive case without—"
"Tommy downloads them. You work from local copies."
"Local copies. No verification. No way to cross-reference current databases or confirm they haven't been altered." Her voice climbs. "You want us to build a federal case on faith that twenty-year-old files are accurate."
"I want us to build a federal case without painting targets on everyone who helped you get here."
"The targets are already painted. The Committee already knows my sources. You're not protecting them. You're just stopping me from finishing what they died for."
The comparison lands wrong. Twists in my chest. "They're not dead yet—"
"Charlie's dead. Ellen's dead. That barista is dead.
" Reagan moves closer. The electrical heat from the monitors makes the air thick between us.
"The Committee is working through my source list right now.
While we're standing here arguing about database access, they're eliminating witnesses.
By the time Tommy clears external access, everyone who helped me will be casualties. "
"Or by the time Tommy clears access, we've protected the ones we can and you help Delaney build a case that actually convicts Webb instead of getting more people killed."
"You're controlling my investigation."
"I'm keeping you alive."
"By cutting me off from my research. By deciding what I can access.
By treating me like a problem you need to manage.
" Reagan's jaw tightens. "Just like you did for the Committee.
Making people disappear because someone decided they were problems. Controlling their lives because you thought you knew better. "
The words hit like a fist to the throat. For a second I can't breathe around them.
"That's not—"
"How is this different?" Her voice stays level but her hands shake. "You're making decisions about my work without consulting me. Limiting my options. Taking away my agency. Deciding what I need without asking what I want."
"Because problems get eliminated. People get protected." The words come out louder than they should. Sharper. "There's a difference."
"Not when the person being protected doesn't get a say in how that protection works."
"You want a say? Fine. Here's your say: you cut off external access or I watch you get killed.
Those are your options." My hands grip the edge of the terminal.
Knuckles white. "The Committee thinks you know Echo Base's exact coordinates.
They want to capture you and extract that information so they can attack us.
They're eliminating everyone connected to your investigation, following every trail that might lead them to you.
Every database you touch gives them another thread to follow.
Another name to add to their list. You keep working in the open and you don't just die—you get everyone around you killed first."
"I understand the risk—"
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, you understand researching a story.
You understand investigating. You don't understand that three people are already dead because they talked to you.
You don't understand that the Committee doesn't care about evidence or truth or justice.
They care about eliminating problems. And right now, everyone connected to your investigation is a problem they're solving with bullets. "
Reagan flinches. Barely. Just a slight pulling back of her shoulders.
The silence stretches. Outside the command center, footsteps echo down the corridor. Stryker checking perimeter sensors. The normal rhythm of safe house operations continuing while we tear into each other over a terminal that might get us all killed.
Reagan's voice drops. "I know you're trying to protect me. I know without you, I'd already be dead. But we're running out of time."
"I know."
Kane appears in the doorway before either of us can say more. "Briefing starts in five. Both of you."
Reagan looks at me. Not defiant. Just determined. "We'll figure it out. Together."
She follows Kane toward the conference room. Leaves me standing in the command center trying to figure out how to keep her alive when everything she needs to survive requires risking her death.
The electrical heat from the monitors presses against my back. The burned coffee smell turns my stomach.
Maya used to say I controlled everything because I was afraid of losing anyone else. She was eight when she said it. Didn't even know what she was calling out. But she was right.
Years later and I'm still doing it. Still controlling people because I think I can protect them. Still making decisions for them because I've already lost everyone I failed to protect.
Reagan's not Maya. She's not Lisa. She's a grown woman with her own agenda and her own methods and her own willingness to die for what she believes in.