Chapter 39
JOLIE
The room smells like polished metal and controlled narratives.
It’s too clean, too deliberate, the air filtered until it loses any trace of the world outside, and the lighting is bright in a way that exposes everything without warmth.
The chamber stretches wide in front of me, tiered seating filled with IHC leadership, uniforms crisp, expressions tighter than they want to admit, and every set of eyes in the room locks onto me like I’m the problem they’re here to solve.
“Lieutenant Jolie Racine,” one of them says, his voice amplified just enough to carry authority without raising it. “You’ve made quite an entrance.”
“Yeah,” I reply, stepping forward into the center of the floor. “I’ve been told I do that.”
Hrask stands off to the side, not behind me, not in front, just there, close enough that I can feel the weight of him in the room without needing to look. The presence steadies something in me that I don’t acknowledge out loud.
“You were declared deceased,” another voice cuts in, sharper, colder. “Your reappearance raises significant concerns.”
“Good,” I say. “It should.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber, quickly suppressed.
“You’ve submitted evidence,” the first voice continues. “Highly irregular evidence.”
“I’d call it accurate,” I reply.
“Accuracy is not the issue,” he says. “Verification is.”
I let out a short breath, something close to a humorless laugh.
“You’ve had the data for six minutes,” I say. “If you haven’t verified it yet, that’s not my problem.”
His expression tightens slightly.
“Watch your tone,” he says.
“Or what?” I ask, tilting my head. “You’ll reassign me? Discredit me? Try to disappear me again?”
That lands.
Not loudly.
But enough.
“We are not your enemy,” another council member says, her voice measured.
“No,” I reply. “You’re worse if you ignore this.”
I reach into my jacket and pull the device free, holding it up just enough for them to see.
“You want verification?” I say. “Play it again.”
The recording projects into the center of the room, Driscoll’s voice cutting clean through the silence, controlled, precise, and then—
The shot.
Dadams dropping.
The confession embedded in the context around it.
The room doesn’t move.
But it changes.
Subtly.
Irreversibly.
“That’s not fabricated,” I say, lowering the device. “That’s not misinterpreted. That’s exactly what it looks like.”
One of the council members leans forward slightly, his fingers steepled.
“The implications of this,” he says carefully, “are… extensive.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That’s one way to put it.”
“We’ve already initiated internal review protocols,” the first voice adds.
“Too slow,” I cut in.
“It’s already in motion,” he replies.
“So was his operation,” I snap back. “And that was a lot faster.”
The tension spikes, sharper now, less contained.
“You’re suggesting imminent action?” the woman asks.
“I’m not suggesting,” I say. “I’m telling you.”
I pull up the data overlay, projecting the timeline we built, the patterns aligning in stark clarity.
“Look at the escalation curve,” I say, pointing to the sequence. “This isn’t random. This is staged. Controlled breaches leading into larger engagements, each one justifiable on its own until they stack.”
“They were building toward something,” Hrask adds from the side, his voice steady but cutting through the room clean.
Every eye shifts to him for a second.
“And you are?” one of them asks.
“Someone who got far enough inside it to see how it works,” he replies.
I don’t look at him.
I don’t need to.
“They were going to trigger a full-scale escalation,” I continue, pulling the next layer of data into view. “Something big enough that neither side could walk it back once it started.”
The room tightens again.
“And you’re certain of this?” the first voice asks.
I meet his gaze.
“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
Silence settles.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Then—
“Commander Driscoll has already been detained,” the woman says.
The words land hard enough to shift the air.
“Good,” I breathe.
“Your evidence accelerated the timeline,” she continues. “Without it, this may not have been uncovered in time.”
“In time for what?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she gestures toward the display.
The data shifts.
New information overlays ours.
Confirmed.
Cross-referenced.
Expanded.
“His operation was scheduled to initiate within the next forty-eight hours,” she says.
My stomach drops.
Not from surprise.
From confirmation.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That tracks.”
“Your intervention prevented that escalation,” the first voice adds.
“Don’t make it sound like a favor,” I reply. “It was damage control.”
“Regardless of intent,” he says, “the outcome is significant.”
I let out a slow breath, the tension in my shoulders easing just a fraction.
“Then fix it,” I say. “Don’t just stop him. Fix the system that let him do it.”
The room stills again.
“That is not a simple request,” the woman says.
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
“Structural reform at that level—”
“Is exactly what this requires,” I cut in.
Her gaze sharpens.
“You’re asking us to dismantle operational frameworks that have been in place for decades,” she says.
“I’m asking you to stop pretending they work,” I reply.
Silence stretches again, longer this time.
More uncomfortable.
“We will conduct a full investigation,” the first voice says.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That’s what you always say.”
“This time—”
“This time you got caught,” I cut in.
That lands harder.
“You’re out of line,” he says.
“Am I?” I ask. “Or am I just saying the part you don’t want to admit out loud?”
No one answers.
Because they don’t have a clean answer.
“Lieutenant Jolie Racine,” the woman says, her tone shifting slightly. “Your actions, while unauthorized, have produced… undeniable results.”
“That’s a generous way to put it,” I reply.
“You exposed a critical failure within our command structure,” she continues.
“I exposed a system that made it possible,” I counter.
She studies me for a second, something calculating moving behind her eyes.
“Which is why,” she says, “we are prepared to offer you reinstatement.”
I go still.
Not surprised.
Just—
Done.
“Reinstatement,” I repeat.
“Full clearance,” she says. “With immediate promotion. You would be placed in a position to help oversee the reforms you’re advocating for.”
I let out a breath, something sharp slipping through it.
“That’s your solution?” I ask.
“It’s an opportunity,” she replies.
“To fix it from the inside,” another voice adds.
I shake my head slowly.
“You think this is something you fix by moving pieces around?” I say.
“You would have authority,” she presses.
“I’d have a seat in the same system that let this happen,” I counter.
“You would be changing that system,” she says.
“No,” I reply, my voice steady now. “I’d be participating in it.”
The silence that follows is different.
Not uncertain.
Resolved.
“You’re refusing,” the first voice says.
“Yeah,” I nod. “I am.”
“You understand what you’re walking away from,” he says.
I glance at Hrask.
Then back at them.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
“And what exactly are you choosing instead?” the woman asks.
I consider that for half a second.
Then answer honestly.
“Something real,” I say.
The room doesn’t know what to do with that.
And for once—
Neither do they.
But I do.
And that’s enough.