Chapter 22 Live Broadcast, Hidden Knife #2
A figure stood just beyond, close enough that Roman could see the glint of a lanyard and the way their jacket hung too neatly for a warehouse. They weren’t aiming a weapon. They didn’t need to. They had a camera feed.
“Commander,” the figure called, voice calm, almost respectful. “You’re late.”
Roman’s gun came up, muzzle steady. “Drop the device.”
The figure tilted their head as if considering him. “You can’t stop what’s already clean.”
Roman didn’t understand until he saw what the figure held. Not a hard drive. Not a phone. A slim broadcast module, sealed with a lock that looked like it had been designed for data permanence. The blue light on it blinked once, then steadied - finalization complete.
Ava’s face flashed on a side monitor in the hallway. Her image was clearer now, too clear, as if they’d moved her closer to a better camera. She looked like she was trying to breathe around the tape. Her eyes were wild with urgency and betrayal.
Roman’s chest tightened so hard it hurt. “Ava,” he said again, voice breaking around the syllable he refused to break.
The figure’s mouth curved. “She’ll be fine. She’ll just… lose the thing that makes her dangerous.”
Roman fired once.
The shot punched the wall near the figure’s shoulder - not a fatal attempt, a tactical one meant to shatter their grip. The bullet struck with a dull thud, plaster dust blooming like grey smoke.
The figure didn’t fall. Instead, they moved in a way that made Roman realize the person had been prepared for his response. They shoved the device into a recessed slot in the wall panel. The panel slid shut with a quiet, mechanical certainty.
Roman lunged forward, yanking the panel open with raw force. The slot was empty.
He spun, eyes scanning. The figure had already backed into the shadows of a side door.
“Stop!” Roman barked.
The side door slid open with a hiss. Cold air poured in, carrying the smell of fuel and damp earth from outside the warehouse. Roman ran toward it, gun still up, and shoved through.
Outside, a maintenance yard stretched under sodium lamps. The night smelled like oil and rain-wet concrete. A vehicle idled at the far edge - dark paint, no headlights, engine purring low like it had been waiting for this exact moment.
The figure was already moving toward the driver’s side.
Roman sprinted, breath harsh in his throat, and fired another shot - but the bullet struck metal, sparking and rattling the car’s frame. The engine revved. The vehicle surged forward, tires spitting thin grit.
Roman slammed his palm against the door of the car as it passed, catching the edge of the window frame. Heat from the exhaust scorched his skin.
The vehicle accelerated out of the yard and disappeared into the dark road beyond.
Roman stood there with his gun still raised, listening to the engine fade until the only sound left was his own breathing and the faint electronic whistle of systems reconnecting inside the building.
He turned back to the warehouse, fury sharpening into something colder. The broadcast control room was behind him. Ava was inside.
And the clean proof was already on the other end of the feed, locked inside that module - untouched, uncorrupted, and now in the traitor’s control.
When he returned to the control room, the monitors were back online, showing Ava from a camera that was too high and too distant. Her restraints looked tighter now, the tape pressed harder against her mouth.
She looked at him like she’d been waiting for an answer from God and hadn’t received it.
Roman crossed the room in three strides.
His hand found the console again, yanking up the feed logs.
Data ran too fast for him to read. He could see corrupted files stamped with “finalization complete” - but beneath that, he could also see a clean export had been transmitted.
An outbound packet. A clean ledger copy with Ava’s seal intact.
Not the one she was holding.
The one the traitor had used as leverage.
Ava’s eyes went to the entry point of the broadcast system, then to Roman’s face. Her expression shifted - hurt, then determination, then something like a question she couldn’t force into words.
Roman understood her question anyway.
What now?
He crouched beside the console, fingers moving over the controls, trying to reach for recovery. His mind raced through contingencies - the layered security that should have protected them, the automated countermeasures that should have blocked an impostor.
Instead, his identity as commander had triggered the system into obedience. That meant the traitor didn’t just have access - they had a blueprint of his authority.
He looked up at Ava. Her breathing was uneven. Her eyes were bright with the kind of anger that didn’t burn out; it consumed.
He reached toward her restraints, cutting through the tape with a blade he kept for emergencies. The tape peeled away with a rough, intimate sound. Ava sucked in air like it hurt.
Roman didn’t let her speak yet. He hauled her chair forward, bracing her against his chest as he worked at the restraints around her wrists. The material resisted, then gave.
Ava’s hands flexed, searching for something to hold onto. Her gaze snapped to the monitor, then to the console. “You - ” she rasped, voice rough with disuse. “The proof - ”
Roman’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t lie to her; not when the truth was already glowing on the screens. He pulled the folder’s companion evidence bag from a drawer and shoved it into her hands. “I can stop what they broadcast now,” he said. “But the clean copy is gone.”
Ava stared at the bag like it might bite. “No.” The word came out too sharp, too fast. “That device - ”
“Finalization completed,” Roman said, and hated how the phrase tasted. “They exported a clean ledger copy into a module and transmitted it before I could kill the feed.”
Ava’s face drained of color. For a heartbeat, she looked like she might collapse - not from weakness, but from the exact kind of betrayal that made logic turn to rage. Then her eyes snapped back to his.
“Did you see it?” she demanded. “Did you see where it went?”
Roman held her gaze. “I saw enough.”
Her hands tightened on the bag until her knuckles whitened. “That means the traitor didn’t just want me gone.” Her voice steadied, turning dangerous. “They wanted you compromised. They wanted your command token to become the weapon.”
Roman felt it like a bruise spreading under his skin. “I can still reclaim the evidence trail,” he said, even as he knew the words were a promise he might not be able to keep. “I can still make sure it doesn’t reach court as theirs.”
Ava leaned close, breath brushing his throat. The heat of her anger carried through her exhaustion. “Court isn’t where they’ll use it.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Then where?”
Ava’s mouth opened, and for a second she looked almost afraid - afraid of telling him because it would make the fear real. But she pushed past it, because Ava never stopped just because the truth was ugly.
“They’ll use it to force the next move,” she whispered. “To force someone else to kill for them. Or to frame someone who can’t defend themselves.”
The monitors behind them flickered again. A new feed appeared - no longer the warehouse. A live broadcast window opened with a red banner: INCOMING ROUTE.
Roman straightened so fast his shoulder cracked.
Ava followed his stare. Her eyes widened, and her voice went flat. “They’re sending the proof somewhere else.”
Roman’s blood went ice-hot. The traitor had escaped with the only uncorrupted copy, yes - but they weren’t done. They were still steering. Still directing. Still using Ava’s existence as a lever.
Roman reached for his comm unit, the one he’d kept silent until he could trust the channel. The system hesitated, then tried to reroute his access again - countermeasures fighting for control.
He glanced at Ava. She looked ready to fight the whole building with her bare hands, and Roman could feel the shape of her choice forming even before she said it.
“Roman,” she said, voice low. “We’re not waiting.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He watched the incoming route on the screen, watched the coordinates populate in cold, clean numbers. His mind mapped the location to the last known safe networks - places the traitor would consider untouchable.
His commander token had been used once already.
If they were sending the proof now, it meant the traitor had already decided what would happen next.
Roman grabbed Ava’s hand, pulling her up against his side, both of them listening to the warehouse hum like it was a heartbeat.
“Say it,” Ava murmured. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Roman stared at the coordinates until they blurred.
Then he spoke the truth that burned him most: “I’m thinking they didn’t escape to get away.” He tightened his grip on her fingers. “They escaped to deliver the evidence to someone who can make it stick.”
Ava’s eyes flashed. “Then we go before it lands.”
The screen changed again - route confirmed, transfer starting - while the door behind Roman clicked, locking with a final, deliberate sound.
He turned toward it, gun coming up.
The warehouse went quiet in a way that didn’t belong to machines.
And from the darkness beyond the locked door, a voice - different from the traitor’s - said Roman’s name like a verdict.