43. Hannah
Hannah
The church appears through the rain like a ghost.
Dark steeple.
Broken stained glass.
Half-swallowed by fog rolling in from the waterfront.
And the second I see it—
my stomach drops.
Because I remember this place.
Not clearly.
Not completely.
But enough.
“Oh God…”
Clay’s hand tightens around mine instantly as the SUV slows near the curb.
“You sure this is it?”
Am I?
The answer should be yes.
Instead…another sharp pulse hits behind my eyes.
Concrete floors.
Children crying.
A priest whispering:
Don’t look at the walls.
I gasp softly.
“Hannah?”
“I’m okay.”
Lie.
Complete lie.
Gabriel watches me carefully from the opposite seat.
He knows it too.
The overlap episodes are getting worse.
Faster now.
Like something inside my brain is forcing doors open all at once.
Rain streaks down the church windows as Mason kills the engine.
Nobody moves immediately.
The entire block feels wrong.
Too quiet.
Russ scans the street through the windshield.
“No movement.”
Lucas mutters,
“That doesn’t mean empty.”
No.
It doesn’t.
Because Wu trained us all to hide in silence.
Clay reaches over and brushes his thumb against my wrist.
Grounding.
Always grounding.
“You don’t have to go inside,” he says quietly.
I look at him.
Really look at him.
The exhaustion in his face.
The fury he’s barely containing.
The fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
And somehow that almost destroys me more than the memories do.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I do.”
Because forty-three children are still underground somewhere.
Because Avery died begging for help.
Because Emma drew suns on concrete walls.
Because somebody has to stop this.
Clay studies me for one long second.
Then nods once.
Not agreeing.
Accepting.
Big difference.
Weapons check around me echoes softly inside the SUV.
Russ chambers a round.
Lucas adjusts his vest.
Gabriel slides a knife into the back of his waistband.
Mason checks the alley behind us.
Professionals preparing for violence.
And somehow—
that feels more honest than pretending we’re walking into anything else.
The church doors groan when we push inside.
Dust.
Mold.
Rotting wood.
The scent hits instantly.
My pulse spikes hard enough to hurt.
Flash—
A little girl hiding beneath pews.
A guard dragging her out by the ankle.
I physically stumble.
Clay catches me immediately.
“Easy.”
His voice stays low.
Steady.
But his arm tightens around my waist like he’s ready to carry me back out if I crack apart.
I force myself to breathe.
“You’re okay,” I whisper.
Not sure if I’m talking to myself or him anymore.
Lightning flashes through shattered stained glass overhead.
The church interior blooms blue-white for half a second—
and I see it.
The wall.
Near the old altar.
My heart slams violently.
“There.”
Everyone turns instantly.
Gabriel moves first, sweeping toward the altar while Russ and Lucas spread out to clear the side halls.
Mason stays near the entrance with two survivors from his team.
Clay never leaves my side.
Not even for a second.
We reach the wall.
Peeling paint.
Water damage.
Nothing unusual.
Except—
my breathing starts accelerating again.
Because I remember kneeling here.
Hands shaking.
Bleeding fingers.
Writing names.
So many names.
“Hannah?”
Gabriel’s voice sounds far away suddenly.
Overlap pressure crashes into me hard—
and the church disappears.
Suddenly I’m fourteen again.
Cold.
Terrified.
Wu standing behind me while I carve numbers into wood.
“You forget because I allow it.”
I gasp violently and jerk backward.
Clay grabs my shoulders immediately.
“Hannah!”
The vision fractures.
Church.
Rain.
Now.
I’m here.
I’m here.
But tears are suddenly burning down my face before I even realize I’m crying.
“He made me hide it…”
My voice breaks.
Gabriel steps closer carefully.
“Hide what?”
I stare at the wall.
Then slowly point downward.
“The names are under the floor.”
Silence.
Russ kneels instantly beside the warped wooden boards near the altar.
One sharp pull—
and the rotten plank cracks upward.
Dust explodes into the air.
Then everybody freezes.
Because beneath the floorboards—
there are notebooks.
Stacks of them.
Dozens.
Names.
Dates.
Transfers.
Children.
And right on top—
a black file stamped with a symbol every operative in the room recognizes instantly.
SENTINEL.
Lucas stares down at it slowly.
“Jesus Christ…”
But Clay isn’t looking at the files.
He’s looking at me.
Because I’m shaking again.
Harder now.
And somewhere outside—
tires screech violently in the rain.
Mason’s head snaps toward the church doors.
“Contact.”