Page 87 of Thorne
"Julianna Stratton."
"I know who you are." She releases my hand. "The men have been very thorough about that."
The auburn-haired woman moves from the counter, coffee cup in hand, and takes the chair beside Talia. She has the look of someone who reads things: languages, codes, the architecture underneath words.
"Eliza Wren." Her smile is careful. Curious. "Linguistics and encryption. I'll be the one decoding whatever Phoenix is saying through those relay signals once we find them."
"If we find them."
"When." She sips her coffee. "I'm an optimist."
The third woman hasn't moved from her position near the window. She's been watching me since I sat down, not with hostility, but with the specific attention of someone who builds cases for a living. Her laptop is open, but her fingers haven't touched the keys.
"Cassie Brennan." She doesn't come closer. Doesn't offer her hand. "Whistleblower attorney. I'll be building two files while I'm here: one against every human actor in the Nexus network, and one documenting your cooperation for whatever comes after."
"The prosecution file and the mitigation file."
"You understand the distinction."
"I built financial architectures for ten years. I understand documentation."
Something shifts in her expression. Not softening. Recognition. She returns her attention to her laptop. The file has started.
"You look like you've been running on coffee and spite for days." Talia tilts her chin down, evaluating my appearance.
"Something like that." My shoulders want to cave, to fold me smaller, tuck me out of sight. I catch myself before I disappear completely and drag my spine straight, forcing my chin up. I refuse to let the room swallow me.
"Even worse." She leans back in her chair. "So. The men have given us the tactical briefing. Extraction from Ghostwater. High-value intelligence source. Financial architect for the Nexus network." She ticks each item off on her fingers. "What they haven't told us is how you're being treated."
I pick up the fork. Set it down.
"I'm being treated fairly."
Eliza and Talia exchange a glance.
"Fairly?" Eliza repeats the word like she's testing its weight. "You're a prisoner in a safe house full of men who have every reason to hate you. One of whom has a six-year-old daughter with something in her blood that you helped put there. And you're being treated fairly?"
"Yes."
"No offense." Talia rests her hands on the table, her tone straightforward. "But we've seen how these men operate. Professional, sure. Disciplined, absolutely. But they're not exactly known for their gentle touch with high-value assets who've done what you've done."
Thorne's shadow crosses the doorway again. I wait until he passes.
"I don't deserve gentle. I did what I did. My debt is real. How it gets paid is between the people I owe it to and me."
Cassie's fingers pause on the keys. She's watching me now with that lawyer's attention: cataloging, weighing.
"That's an interesting way to phrase it." Her voice is neutral. "The debt. Like this is an accounting problem."
"It is an accounting problem. I built systems that moved money into projects that hurt people. The ledger doesn't close just because I defected. It doesn't close just because I'm cooperating. It closes when the cost has been paid."
"And Thorne?" Eliza looks over her coffee cup. "He's the one extracting payment?"
I meet her eyes. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
The silence stretches. Martha is scrubbing a pot that doesn't need scrubbing. Talia is studying me with the focus of a woman who reads patterns for a living. Cassie's fingers hover over the keys, waiting.
