Chapter 37
That fucking motherfucker.
I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. It clicks now in a way I can’t ignore, and I hate Malcolm even more for it. I honestly didn’t think that was possible.
Something in my gut tells me Cason is right. He wasn’t just collateral or a distraction. Malcolm didn’t only shape my future when he hired me to kidnap Cason. He shaped his nephew’s too. He planned for everything, and I wish I knew how the fuck he did it.
Seven years of damage, of pressure, of carefully placed pieces. And Cason right in the center of it all.
I’d really like to know why too, but right now, I have to do something else first.
Which is also why I’m choosing not to think too hard about the fact that Harrison and Lane were in Cason’s apartment. I quickly gathered that they were the ones who stopped his heart. The promise I made Cason is the only reason they’re not having a significantly worse afternoon.
Especially when I can still hear Harrison’s name on Cason’s lips.
Now that I know that that Harrison is the one who killed him, it’s going to be a lot fucking harder to keep my promise.
But hating someone and recognizing they could be useful aren’t mutually exclusive.
They showed concern. They offered to help.
None of that erases the fact that they’re responsible for Cason’s near-death experience.
It doesn’t make me like them. But it does make it easier to stay focused on Malcolm instead of dropping everything to drive across the city looking for a fight I already promised not to start.
Harrison will just have to wait.
Cason’s also lucky I didn’t see anything that would’ve spurred me into action now when we can’t afford to be wasting time.
I didn’t even want to let him go this morning, but he was right about everything.
I worked for Malcolm for two years. I know how he operates, and I knew he wasn’t going to go after Cason just a day after letting us both go.
Cason needed to go through everything he collected at the Institute, and I needed to talk strategy with Baz.
And the day didn’t go to waste.
I’m standing in the kitchen, leaning my back against the counter with my arms crossed over my chest. Sebastian is standing at the island, getting everyone connected on his laptop.
Mia is perched on a stool on the other side, one leg bouncing slightly, like she’s already bracing for bad news.
Several others are scattered around the kitchen.
Then Sebastian turns his laptop toward me, the screen holding faces of the rest of them. Grainy feeds, different locations, same tension.
Sebastian nods at me.
“Everyone listen up.” The room was already quiet, everyone’s attention already on me, so I don’t have to wait for it. “Things have changed. I told Malcolm I’d shut all of this shit down.”
There’s a flurry of quiet movement, heads snapping up, eyes meeting, someone on the feed for the safehouse in Sacramento swearing under their breath.
The only one who doesn’t move is Sebastian.
We already had this conversation in the study, even though I was paying a bit more attention to Cason inside his apartment.
“And you’re not going to,” Mia says flatly, not phrasing it as a question.
I stare at her for a moment. “No. I’m not. And I’m almost positive he knows that. Even so, now he believes he has control of the situation, which means he’s going to move.”
“You think he’s going to come after us?” one of our younger recruits asks. Rory, a freckle-faced man in his early twenties with flaming red hair.
“I think he has plans that we don’t know yet.”
Mia exhales slowly. “So, what? We just sit here and wait?”
“No. We get ready. Malcolm doesn’t make moves like this unless he’s already three steps ahead. Sometimes more than that. So we stop reacting, and we start preparing.”
“For what?” someone on Sebastian’s laptop asks.
“For a fight. We tighten operations. No unnecessary exposure, no solo movement unless cleared by me or Baz. We stick to protocol, you check in, and you don’t get sloppy.
” My eyes move across the kitchen, then to the screen.
“If Malcolm decides to make an example out of us, he’s not going to pick a fight he thinks he can lose. ”
Sebastian huffs a breath. “It’s his turn to fucking lose.”
I don’t smile, though I fully agree.
“I just want everyone prepared. So get ready. Whatever’s coming…”
The words still for half a second. Because there’s something else sitting under all of this, something that keeps nagging at me. Something I haven’t said out loud, but Cason did.
Flatline, revive, stabilize, kill again.
I swallow hard, something cold slithering down my spine as I remember. Not everything, but enough.
That first time—a bullet, a drop, nothing.
The second time—a table, restraints, a voice telling me to breathe. Then not breathing.
I’ve never told anyone that, not even Sebastian.
My jaw tightens, and I drag myself back to the present.
“We’re going to meet it head-on,” I finish.
The door opens, and every head in the kitchen turns.
Cason steps into view like he belongs here—he sure as fuck does now—with Felix held in one arm and that same defiant energy wrapped around him like armor.
I know him well enough to know that even though everything he learned today most likely affected him in some way, he won’t let it show. Not here.
Even still, for a moment, the room softens, and something in my chest loosens.
“You missed the inspiring speech,” Sebastian says.
“Tragic,” Cason shoots back as he walks into the kitchen and lowers Felix to the floor, who immediately bolts out of sight. “Was there a dramatic monologue? Hero or villain vibes? Because sometimes I can never really tell with him.”
“Don’t push it,” I mutter. “Sit down.”
He grins, but I can still see it, the edge under it. The aftermath of all those awful revelations still clinging to him.
I take a few questions, then the meeting breaks slowly. The feeds on the laptop cut off one by one, and people peel away in pairs, voices low, tension high. Sebastian and Mia both linger. Cason is opening a can of cat food in the hopes of luring Felix back out.
I’m about to speak when Sebastian’s laptop makes a noise, one I don’t think I’ve ever heard it make before. Every muscle in my body goes taut as Sebastian slides his computer to him, his hands flying over the device before I can say anything. The light of the screen flickers across his face.
“Oh, fuck,” Cason whispers despite his back facing the screen, his spine straightening.
Then Sebastian spins the laptop back toward me, and…
Malcolm.
He’s there on the screen, sitting cozy in his office chair with that wall of glass behind him. The others come to stand around me, and the moment Cason sees his uncle, he takes a step forward like he plans to jump straight through the computer.
“You son of a—”
I grab onto his arm and haul him back beside me, but I’m too late to stop a spark from skipping across the keyboard of the laptop, jumping into it through the seams. On the screen, what I suspect is that same spark appears in front of Malcolm’s face for a fraction of a second before fizzing out. Malcolm just chuckles.
“Well,” he says smoothly, like he’s hosting a fucking morning show. “I see I have your attention.”
No one else speaks. My hands curl into fists at my sides.
“I thought it only fair,” he continues, “to extend an invitation since we’re all on the same side now. Tomorrow evening, the Institute will be conducting a demonstration. A controlled Pulse Zero Event. A…showcase, if you will.”
My stomach drops, and I feel Cason go still next to me.
“I’m sure it’ll be very enlightening.” Malcolm’s smile is thin as he stares directly into the camera. “Attendance is optional. Though I suspect your conscience may feel otherwise.”
The feed cuts out. Just like that. And a heavy silence slams back into the room.
After several seconds, Sebastian lets out a low whistle. “That was not subtle.”
“No,” I agree.
It was not. Because it’s bait, a trap. An invitation and a threat.
My gaze finds Cason, and he’s already looking at me. We don’t need to say it, the thing neither one of us is speaking out loud. The others don’t get it, not really. They hear demonstration, and they think intimidation and a show of power, a quick and clean death to make a point.
But that’s not what this is.
One death is one thing. Two? Two is something else entirely.
If Malcolm is doing this again, this time with an audience, then he’s finally admitting to all of us what it really takes, what it is he’s been doing all along. If the demonstration is real, if he’s putting someone through it, then…
We don’t have a choice.
“We’re going,” Cason says.
It’s not a question.
I nod. “Yeah. We are.”
Because whatever game Malcolm is playing now, we’re done watching from the sidelines.