Chapter 15 Scout
Scout
The cost comes quietly.
No alarms. No guards rushing in.
Just the lights dimming another fraction—and the temperature dropping enough that my breath fogs when I exhale.
Sentinel is tightening the environment.
I sit on the concrete floor this time, back against the wall, palms flat beside me. Grounded. Present. Listening.
Then the door opens.
Not Sentinel.
A woman this time.
Mid-thirties. Medical fatigues. Her hands are shaking despite the calm face she’s trying to wear.
“Don’t,” I say softly before she can speak. “Don’t apologize.”
She swallows. “I—I was told to administer—”
“I know,” I interrupt gently. “Listen to me instead.”
She hesitates. That hesitation tells me everything.
They’re still testing loyalty.
She injects the IV line into my arm—not sedative. Not painkiller.
Neuromuscular disruptor.
Low dose.
Just enough.
My muscles seize—not violently, but with cruel precision. My jaw locks. Breath shortens. Pain flares bright and contained.
I ride it.
Don’t scream.
Don’t beg.
Sentinel wants sound.
Instead, I count.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
The woman’s pulse races in her neck.
“You don’t have to watch,” I manage through clenched teeth.
She looks away.
Good.
That’s the price.
Sentinel didn’t break me.
He spent me.
And I let him.
Because the moment the disruptor hits my bloodstream, the biometric readouts spike—clean, sharp, unmistakable.
Logan will see it.
And he’ll know exactly what it means.
Now, I think.
Now you move.