30. Caleb
CALEB
No one speaks.
The emergency relay code sits beneath Walter Graves’s name like a blade aimed at the team.
Rook closes the ledger.
“Who had access?”
“Every current member,” Fathom says. “Sarah. Cutter. Mac had an older version.”
Cobra looks toward Mac.
Mac doesn’t flinch. “If I gave Graves the code, why would he need to torture me?”
“Maybe because it was changed after you disappeared,” Shark says.
“It was,” Fathom confirms.
Rook’s expression remains unreadable.
“We don’t accuse anyone without proof.”
The answer is immediate.
Final.
Shadow Division was built on trust. Graves wants suspicion to destroy what bullets couldn’t.
I examine the handwritten code.
“The ink is fresh.”
“Less than a week old,” Evie says.
I look at her.
She touches the edge of the notation without smearing it.
“The ledger is decades old, but that writing hasn’t oxidized. Someone added it recently.”
“Graves,” Cobra says.
“Maybe,” Evie replies. “Or someone wanted us to find it.”
I study the camera above the aisle.
The Chairman opened this room.
He knew exactly what we would see.
“This is another weapon.”
Rook follows my gaze. “The code.”
“He couldn’t kill the team on the mountain, so he’s giving us a reason to stop trusting one another.”
Mac slowly nods. “That’s how the First Circle operates. It doesn’t attack institutions from outside. It makes them destroy themselves.”
Fathom begins photographing every shelf.
“If this bunker comes down, we take its history with us.”
“You can’t copy all of it,” Rook says.
“I don’t have to. I need enough to prove the archive existed and identify the living members.”
Evie walks along the shelf, stopping where the dust ends abruptly.
“Someone removed files.”
Three spaces are empty.
Fathom checks the shelf labels.
“Current operations. Active financial networks. Domestic assets.”
“The most damaging records,” Rook says.
“Or the information the Chairman still needs,” I answer.
Mac wanders toward an old desk.
His face grows paler with every step.
He touches a series of scratches cut into the wood.
“What is it?” Evie asks.
“I made those.”
Everyone looks at him.
“When they evaluated me, they left me alone at this desk for six hours. No food. No water. A camera watched from the wall.”
His finger follows the marks.
“I counted the minutes.”
Six groups of sixty scratches.
A record of someone trying not to break.
“They weren’t evaluating whether you belonged,” Evie says.
Mac looks at her.
“They were measuring how long it would take to control you.”
A harsh laugh escapes him.
“They’re still measuring.”
Fathom’s tablet sounds.
The archive lights flicker.
“What now?” Cobra asks.
“They’re moving data through the bunker network.”
“Destroying it?”
Fathom’s fingers race.
“No. Transmitting it.”
“Where?”
“I can’t trace the destination.”
Evie looks toward the missing ledgers. “The electronic files are going out while someone carries the physical originals.”
“Graves,” Rook says.
“Or the Chairman,” I answer.
A mechanical announcement fills the room.
“Archive breach confirmed.”
“Containment teams authorized.”
Falcon rises from the chair, his uninjured hand tightening around his weapon.
Shark moves beside him.
Boots sound beyond the doorway.
Not rushing.
Marching.
The remaining Inner Guard is coming.
Rook surveys the shelves.
One exit.
Narrow aisles.
Thousands of irreplaceable records surrounding us.
“No explosives,” he tells Cobra.
Cobra looks genuinely pained. “I know.”
“Fathom, take what you can.”
“I need two minutes.”
“You have one.”
A small object bounces through the doorway.
“Flashbang!” I shout.
White light consumes the archive.
The detonation strikes my ears like a hammer.
I reach for Evie in the blindness.
My hand closes around hers.
Gunfire follows.
Books explode from the shelves. Paper fills the air like snow.
I pull Evie behind the heavy desk as rounds tear through the aisle.
Across the room, a figure moves through the swirling pages.
Silver hair.
Charcoal suit.
Walter Graves.
He raises a pistol.
Not at me.
At Evie.
I move before he fires.