21. Hannah
Hannah
Istare at him through the smoke.
My heart pounds hard enough to hurt.
Because I know that face.
Somehow—
I know it.
Not well.
Not clearly.
But enough to make cold dread slide slowly down my spine.
The black-clad operator watches me carefully while gunfire continues exploding outside the warehouse.
“You don’t remember me,” he repeats quietly.
Clay steps in front of me instantly.
Protective.
Dangerous.
Every weapon in his hands suddenly feels very, very personal.
“Start talking,” Clay says coldly.
The operator’s gaze shifts toward him briefly.
Assessment again.
Then back to me.
His expression doesn’t change.
“Six months,” he says. “Colorado training facility.”
My stomach drops instantly.
No.
Impossible.
The survival course.
The classified resistance program.
Fragments flash through my head suddenly—
Snow.
Concrete buildings.
Combat drills.
Black uniforms.
A man teaching restraint techniques during hand-to-hand exercises.
A voice telling me:
“Your compassion will always be exploited first.”
Oh my God.
“You were an instructor,” I whisper.
The operator nods once.
“Yes.”
Clay goes still beside me.
The militia commander outside suddenly laughs again.
“This is becoming very entertaining.”
Nobody pays attention to him now.
Because my brain is spinning too fast.
The training facility was supposed to be government-funded.
Secure.
Carefully vetted.
So why is one of the instructors standing in the middle of a war zone with a private strike team?
The answer hits me a second later.
The program was compromised.
The operator studies me carefully.
“You adapted faster than expected.”
I almost laugh at that.
“What the hell is going on?”
His expression hardens slightly.
“You were flagged during training.”
Every instinct inside me recoils.
“Flagged for what?”
The operator’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.
“Psychological resilience. Medical specialization. Resistance tolerance. Leadership under stress.”
The words sound clinical.
Cold.
Like I’m reading a damn report instead of talking about my life.
Clay’s voice drops lower beside me.
“Who flagged her?”
The operator finally looks directly at him.
“People who invest in assets.”
Asset.
Not person.
Asset.
Rage flashes hot through me.
“You kidnapped civilians for a human acquisition program?”
The militia commander calls out from outside before the operator can answer.
“She was never supposed to stay with us this long.”
Operator.
Militia.
Separate groups.
Working together.
But not allies.
The realization crashes into place hard and ugly.
The operator’s team wasn’t sent to rescue me.
They were sent to recover me.
Like property.
Clay realizes it at the exact same moment I do.
And suddenly the air around him changes completely.
Not anger anymore.
Something colder.
Lethal.
“You’re not taking her anywhere,” he says quietly.
The operator doesn’t react.
“We’re not your enemy.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
The operator’s eyes flick briefly toward Hannah again.
“You believe Clay Vincent can protect you from what’s coming?”
The question sends a chill through me.
“What’s coming?” Russ asks sharply.
The operator ignores him.
His focus stays entirely on me now.
“The people behind this operation won’t stop,” he says calmly. “You know too much already.”
“I don’t know anything!”
“You survived long enough to become a liability.”
The words hit hard.
Because I hear the truth underneath them.
People are dying over this.
Fighting over this.
And somehow—
I’m in the center of it.
Outside, more gunfire erupts near the river.
The militia commander shouts more orders while vehicles reposition through smoke and flames.
The entire district is collapsing into open warfare.
And we’re standing in the middle of it arguing over who gets custody of me.
Unbelievable.
Clay takes one slow step forward.
The operator’s team immediately raises weapons.
So does Russ.
Miles.
Lucas.
Everything becomes razor tight again.
One wrong move—
Massacre.
The operator watches Clay calmly.
“You care about her too much already.”
That lands exactly where intended.
Clay’s jaw tightens hard.
“And you don’t care about her at all.”
“No,” the operator agrees. “I care about keeping her alive.”
The honesty in that answer somehow makes him scarier.
Because I believe him.
I think he really would keep me alive.
And I think he’d destroy anyone standing in his way to do it.
Including Clay.
Absolutely not.
My pulse spikes instantly.
Because suddenly I understand something terrifying.
Clay and this man?
They’re about three seconds away from killing each other.
And if that happens—
Everybody in this warehouse dies with them.