Chapter 8 #2
"Sarah's coordinating warnings through back channels," Kane says. "Anonymous calls. Encrypted messages. Instructions to go to ground immediately. We'll save who we can."
"And the ones we can't save?" Reagan's voice stays level but her hand tightens on mine.
"Acceptable losses." Kane's tone is flat. Matter-of-fact. "We prioritize high-value targets. People who can testify. People with information critical to Delaney's case. Everyone else gets a warning and hope."
"Acceptable losses." Reagan repeats the words like they taste bitter. "Like Charlie. Like Ellen."
"Like anyone who gets close to a Committee operation." Kane doesn't soften his delivery. "This is war. People die in war. Our job is to make sure their deaths accomplish something."
The silence stretches. Stryker studies his coffee. Khalid's expression goes carefully blank. Reagan's hand stays locked on mine, grip tight enough to hurt.
I need to say something. Bridge the gap between Kane's necessity and Reagan's guilt over casualties she couldn't prevent. Find words that make this bearable.
But I spent years delivering Kane's same logic to operatives who questioned orders. Spent years making peace with acceptable losses because the alternative was paralysis. The words don't come because I'm not sure I believe them anymore.
Reagan stands abruptly. "I need air."
She leaves the kitchen before anyone can respond. Khalid watches her go, then looks at me with silent accusation.
"She needs time to process," Kane says.
"She needs better answers than 'acceptable losses.'" I release my coffee mug. Follow Reagan out of the kitchen before Kane can argue protocols.
I find her in the courtyard behind the safe house. Early morning sun casts long shadows across concrete. She stands with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at nothing.
"I knew there would be risks," she says without turning. "I knew investigating the Committee meant exposing my sources. But I thought risk meant losing jobs or facing pressure. Not this. Not watching Kane calculate which people are worth saving and which ones get warnings and hope."
"Kane's calculating because someone has to." I move to stand beside her. "If he doesn't make those calls, everyone dies. High-value targets. Low-value sources. You. Me. The entire operation. So he does the math and lives with it. Same way I did for eight years."
"How?" Reagan turns to face me. "How do you make those calculations and stay human?"
"You don't. Not entirely." The admission tastes like ash. "You sacrifice parts of yourself so other people can survive. You build walls between the decisions and the emotional cost. You tell yourself the mission matters more than individuals. And eventually, you believe it."
"Is that what happened to you? Before Echo Ridge?"
"Yes." No point lying about it. "I became very good at breaking people for information.
Very good at calculating acceptable losses.
Very good at building walls so high I didn't feel anything except mission parameters.
" I pause. "Then the Committee killed my family.
And I realized all my brilliance didn't protect the people who actually mattered. "
Reagan moves closer. Close enough that conflict shows clearly in her eyes—journalist's drive to expose truth versus human grief over the cost.
"I don't know how to do this," she says. "How to help build a case that destroys the Committee while people keep dying because I asked questions."
"You carry it. The same way Kane carries every operator he's lost. The same way I carry every interrogation subject who died in my rooms. You carry the weight and you keep moving forward because stopping means they died for nothing."
"That's a terrible answer."
"It's the only answer I have."
She leans into me. I wrap my arms around her, hold her while the morning sun warms the courtyard. This moment feels stolen. Borrowed from a future that might not exist if the Committee finds us in days instead of weeks.
"We should go back inside," Reagan says against my shirt. "Figure out how to help Delaney with what we have."
"In a minute."
"Dylan—"
"Just one more minute." My arms tighten slightly. "Before we go back to work. Before Kane runs more calculations and Tommy tracks more breaches. Just one minute where we're two people who care about each other and not assets in an operation."
Reagan's arms wrap around my waist. We stand in the courtyard holding each other while the sun climbs higher. Sixty seconds of peace before reality crashes back.
It will have to be enough.
The day dissolves into planning. Reagan works with Kane on building preliminary case documents from existing evidence. Stryker coordinates with Sarah about source warnings. Khalid stays close to Reagan, offering quiet support through his presence.
I spend hours reviewing perimeter security. Checking approach vectors. Calculating response times if the Committee finds us. Building contingency plans for evacuation routes and fallback positions.
Professional distance should be easy after years of practice. Should be automatic.
It's not.
Every time Reagan moves across the command center, I'm aware of her position. Every time she speaks, I track the conversation. Every time she looks stressed, my shoulders tense with the urge to fix it.
Stryker notices. Crosses the room during a break in planning. "You're distracted."
"I'm focused."
"You're watching her instead of the displays." He keeps his voice low. "Not a criticism. Just an observation."
"I can do both."
"Maybe. But can you make the hard calls if it comes down to saving her versus completing the mission?" Stryker's expression is serious now. "Because that's what Kane's worried about. That you've compromised your judgment."
The question lands like a punch. Because I don't have a good answer. Don't know if I could sacrifice Reagan for mission objectives the way I've sacrificed others in the past.
Don't know if I want to be someone who could make that calculation anymore.
"I'll do my job," I say finally.
"That's not what I asked."
Before I can respond, Tommy's voice cuts through the command center from the speakers. "Kane, we have a problem."
Everyone stops. Converges on the main terminal where Tommy's face appears on the secure video feed from Echo Base.
"Talk to me," Kane says.
"The Committee's cyber division just pinged four locations in Montana." Tommy's fingers fly across keyboards on his end. "Automated probes searching for digital signatures. They're being systematic. Checking every property within fifty miles of Reagan's last known position."
"How systematic?" I move closer to the screen.
"Grid pattern. They're eliminating possibilities through exclusion.
Any location without normal digital traffic gets flagged for physical verification.
" Tommy pulls up a map showing the search pattern.
"They've covered forty percent of the target area in the last six hours.
At this rate, they'll hit this location soon. "
"Can you mask our signature?" Reagan asks.
"Already doing it. But masking makes us look suspicious. Too quiet is almost as bad as too loud." Tommy's expression is grim. "They're thorough. They're patient. And they have resources we can't match."
Kane's jaw tightens. "Revised timeline?"
"Days." Tommy closes the map. "You need to start planning evacuation. Because when they find you, they won't probe. They'll hit hard and fast with overwhelming force."
The words settle over the command center like a death sentence. Not much time before the Committee finds us. Before this safe house becomes a battlefield. Before we're running again with nowhere left to hide.
I look at Reagan. She meets my eyes across the room. In that moment, conflict shadows her expression—the same calculation I'm running. How to survive when the enemy has unlimited resources and we're running out of places to disappear.
Kane starts issuing orders. Stryker moves to prep evacuation kits. Khalid sits very still in his corner, book forgotten in his lap.
Reagan crosses to me. Stands close enough that fear shows clearly despite her control.
"Not much time," she says quietly.
"No," I agree.
"Think we can make it count?"
I take her hand. Feel the calluses from her keyboard, the tremor she's suppressing. "We better. Because after that, nowhere is safe."
Kane's voice cuts through the room, sharp and efficient. "Evacuation protocols. Everyone familiarize themselves with three exit routes. Emergency kits packed and staged. Reagan, you stay within twenty feet of Dylan at all times."
Reagan's jaw tightens but she doesn't argue. Knows the protocol makes sense even if she hates the restriction.
"Tommy, keep monitoring their search pattern," Kane continues. "Alert us the second they narrow the radius. Stryker, coordinate with Sarah on alternate locations. We need options if this one gets burned."
The team moves into action. Practiced. Efficient. This is what we do—adapt when operations go sideways. Plan for worst-case scenarios. Survive when survival seems impossible.
But watching Reagan's hand in mine, feeling Khalid's eyes tracking us from across the room, seeing Kane calculate odds that keep getting worse—this feels different.
This feels like we're running out of moves.
Outside, the Committee's cyber division works through their grid. Property by property. Location by location. Each check brings them closer. Each hour shrinks the circle of possibilities.
I look at Reagan's hand in mine. At Khalid watching us from his corner. At Kane already calculating evacuation routes on his tablet.
We're running out of places to hide.