27. Hannah
Hannah
No.
No no no.
The voice echoes through the tunnel, smooth and calm, and every drop of blood drains from my body so fast I nearly lose my footing.
Because I know it.
Not just recognize it.
Know it.
Like a nightmare I buried somewhere deep inside myself just clawed its way back to the surface.
Clay catches my arm instantly.
“Hannah.”
His voice sounds far away.
Muffled beneath the roaring suddenly filling my ears.
Now the red emergency lights pulse along the tunnel walls.
Flash.
Darkness.
Flash.
Darkness.
And with every pulse—memories hit harder.
Cold metal restraints.
Bright white lights.
Voices behind glass.
Pain.
Always pain.
“How does she still remember after sedation?”
“She adapts faster than the others.”
“She’s remarkable.”
I stagger backward.
Clay grabs both my shoulders before I fall.
“Hannah. Look at me.”
I can’t breathe.
Oh God.
I can’t breathe.
The voice comes again through the tunnel speakers.
“You always were exceptional under stress.”
My knees nearly buckle.
Russ moves closer slowly, weapon still raised toward the darkness ahead.
“Talk to me,” he says carefully.
But I can’t.
Because suddenly pieces are sliding together inside my head so violently it feels like my skull might split open.
The migraines.
The missing memories.
The strange flashes I could never explain.
The panic attacks whenever I heard certain frequencies.
The way I somehow knew how to stabilize trauma victims faster than I should’ve.
Like instinct.
Like conditioning.
No.
No no no—
Clay cups my face hard enough to force my focus onto him.
“Hannah.”
His eyes lock onto mine.
Steady.
Solid.
Real.
“Stay here with me.”
The words drag me back from the edge.
Barely.
I suck in a shaking breath.
“I know him.”
Silence.
Even Gabriel goes still.
Clay’s thumb brushes my cheek once.
“Who?”
My mouth goes dry.
“I don’t remember his name.”
The confession tears through me.
“I should,” I whisper. “I know I should.”
The speaker crackles softly.
Then—
“That’s disappointing.”
The voice almost sounds amused.
“You used to remember everything.”
Something inside my chest caves inward.
Used to.
Clay’s entire body goes rigid beside me.
Russ lifts his weapon higher.
“Show yourself.”
A low chuckle echoes through the tunnel.
“You’re standing in a classified Sentinel transport route beneath a black-site district, Commander. I assure you… I can see all of you perfectly.”
Commander.
Russ’s jaw tightens.
Clay steps slightly in front of me.
Protective.
Always protective.
The voice notices immediately.
“Fascinating.”
Clay’s eyes narrow.
“What is?”
“The attachment.”
Every instinct in me screams.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Like this conversation—
this exact kind of conversation—
has happened before.
The voice lowers.
“Tell me, Clay Vincent… did she smile at you before or after she started imprinting?”
Clay goes deadly still.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Imprinting?
My stomach twists violently.
Gabriel mutters something under his breath.
Something that sounds dangerously close to a curse.
The voice continues calmly.
“Dr. Hannah Bowers was never intended to remain in civilian circulation this long.”
Civilian circulation.
Like I’m a weapon that got misplaced.
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
Clay takes one step forward.
“You’re done talking about her like she’s property.”
“And yet,” the voice replies smoothly, “your behavioral profile confirms exactly why attachment contamination was prohibited during Phase Two trials.”
Phase Two.
The words slam into me.
A sharp burst of pain explodes behind my eyes—
and suddenly—
white hallways.
Children crying.
Needles.
Rows of hospital beds.
A younger version of myself strapped to a chair.
Screaming.
I gasp hard enough to double over.
Clay catches me instantly.
“Hannah!”
Pain rips through my skull.
Too many flashes.
Too fast.
Men in white coats.
A symbol burned onto a black folder.
SENTINEL COGNITIVE ADAPTATION PROGRAM
Oh God.
Oh God.
I wasn’t kidnapped by Sentinel.
I came from Sentinel.
I clutch my head.
“No…”
The voice softens almost kindly.
“There she is.”
Rage detonates beside me.
Clay.
Pure fury rolls off him so violently the tunnel feels smaller.
“What did you do to her?”
The speaker crackles.
“We perfected her.”
Wrong answer.
Clay moves before anyone can stop him.
He storms down the tunnel toward the red lights, weapon raised, murder written all over him.
“Clay!” Russ snaps.
Too late.
Because I’ve never seen this kind of rage before.
Not even in the warehouse.
This is different.
This is personal.
The lights ahead suddenly brighten.
And figures emerge from the darkness.
Black armor.
Motionless.
Waiting.
Sentinel.
At least ten of them.
My pulse spikes instantly.
Clay doesn’t stop walking.
Jesus Christ.
“Clay,” I whisper.
He ignores me.
The lead operative steps forward slowly.
Not masked.
Older.
Silver at his temples.
Sharp blue eyes.
Expensive black coat untouched by the tunnel water around him.
And the second I see his face—
something inside me shatters.
Memories slam into me so hard I physically stumble.
A hand brushing my hair back when I was younger.
A calm voice telling me not to cry.
A syringe sliding into my arm.
“Good girl, Hannah.”
The world tilts.
“No…”
The man smiles softly.
Almost warmly.
“There you are.”
Clay reaches me instantly again, one arm locking around my waist to steady me.
“Do you know him?”
I stare at the man.
Terror crawls up my spine so violently that I can barely force the words out.
“Yes.”
The man folds his hands behind his back.
“My name is Director Wu.”
Every operative in the tunnel goes silent.
Even Gabriel looks shaken now.
And suddenly I understand why.
Not just a commander.
Not just Sentinel.
This man runs it.
Wu’s eyes settle on me with horrifying familiarity.
“You disappeared from us eighteen months ago.”
Eighteen months.
My mind spins.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” he asks gently.
Clay’s grip tightens around me.
“She doesn’t belong to you.”
Wu’s gaze shifts toward him.
Cold now.
Analytical.
“Actually,” he says quietly, “she was designed by us.”
The tunnel goes dead silent.
And then Wu says the one thing that makes my blood freeze solid.
“She volunteered.”