56. Hannah
Hannah
Oh God.
No.
The fog curls around the vineyard below like smoke while the three Sentinel operatives stand perfectly still beneath the balcony.
Waiting.
Watching.
Like they already know exactly how this is supposed to go.
Clay steps fully in front of me instantly.
Protective.
Deadly.
His rifle comes up without hesitation.
“You’ve got five seconds to disappear.”
The man below barely reacts.
Which somehow makes him scarier.
“Director Wu anticipated your response.”
Of course he did.
Because Wu studies people like puzzles.
Weaknesses.
Patterns.
Emotional attachments.
And Clay—
Clay became mine.
The realization hits hard enough to hurt.
The operative’s gaze shifts past Clay directly onto me.
“Subject Thirteen.”
His tone turns almost polite.
“You know Vincent cannot survive prolonged Sentinel interrogation.”
Ice floods my veins.
No.
Absolutely not.
Because suddenly I understand exactly what Wu plans to do.
Not kill Clay.
Break him.
Use him.
And worst of all?
Use him against me.
Gunfire erupts downstairs again.
Closer now.
The estate’s under full assault.
Mason shouts somewhere below:
“MULTIPLE ENTRY TEAMS!”
The operative beneath the balcony keeps his eyes locked on me.
“You know what Director Wu wants.”
A faint smile.
“He’s offering mercy.”
Mercy.
That word nearly makes me laugh hysterically.
Sentinel doesn’t even understand what mercy means.
Clay’s body stays rigid in front of me.
But I can feel his anger building now.
Cold.
Controlled.
Lethal.
“You done talking?” he asks quietly.
The operative ignores him completely.
Wrong move.
Very wrong move.
“Subject Thirteen,” the man says calmly,
“Vincent is already marked for retrieval.”
My pulse spikes hard.
Retrieval.
Not elimination.
Wu really does want Clay alive.
The operative continues:
“He will be taken eventually.”
A beat.
“The only question is how much pain happens first.”
Something inside me snaps instantly.
Not fear.
Fury.
Because they keep talking about Clay like he’s already theirs.
Like they can touch him.
Like they can break him.
Absolutely not.
I step out from behind Clay before he can stop me.
“Hannah—”
“No.”
My voice cuts sharply through the rain.
The operative’s attention locks onto me immediately.
Good.
“Tell Wu something for me.”
The man smiles slightly.
“Yes?”
The overlap pressure starts building hard in my skull again.
Memories flashing.
Wu standing behind glass.
Doctors taking notes.
A little girl taught never to raise her voice.
Too bad for them.
Because I’m not that little girl anymore.
“You tell Director Wu,” I say slowly,
“if he touches Clay…”
My voice turns deadly calm.
“I’ll burn Sentinel to the ground myself.”
Silence.
Even the operative looks slightly surprised by that.
Clay goes still beside me.
Not because he doubts me.
Because he believes me completely.
The operative studies me carefully.
Then:
“There she is.”
Ice slides down my spine.
Because suddenly I realize something horrifying.
He’s not surprised I threatened them.
He expected it.
Like this version of me is familiar to Sentinel somehow.
Like they’ve seen it before.
Clay notices my reaction instantly.
His hand slides carefully against my lower back.
Grounding.
Always grounding.
The operative smiles faintly.
“Director Wu said your protective instincts would fully emerge once emotional attachment formed.”
My stomach drops violently.
No.
No no no.
They studied us.
Predicted this.
Manipulated this.
The man’s voice softens almost sympathetically.
“You think Vincent chose you.”
A pause.
“But you were designed to bond to protect operational assets.”
Every word feels like poison.
Clay’s body turns absolutely still beside me.
Dangerously still.
Because the operative just crossed a very bad line.
He spoke for me.
About me.
Like I’m not standing here.
The man looks directly at Clay now.
“She’ll eventually choose Sentinel over you.”
A faint smile.
“She was built to.”
Clay finally speaks.
Quiet.
Cold.
Terrifying.
“You know what your problem is?”
The operative’s smile fades slightly.
“You think programming matters more than choice.”
Then Clay fires.
One clean shot.
Straight through the man’s chest.
The operative drops backward into the fog instantly.
The other two operatives scatter for cover as Mason’s people open fire from the lower windows.
Chaos detonates across the vineyard again.
Clay grabs my hand hard and pulls me toward the balcony doors.
But before we disappear inside—
I look back toward the fallen operative in the fog.
And for one horrifying second—
I think I remember him.
Not his name.
Older now.
Harder.
But familiar.