Page 105 of Operation: Defiance

If I’d shown up a few hours later, Raine’s file would have ended with a generic line about “expired during monitoring.”

Whatever Coherent Path is selling, it isn’t correction. It’s erasure with paperwork.

And the key to how they’re doing it lives inside their procedure index.

Or inside someone who lived through it.

Raine shifts on the bed. Her fingers flex. Her mouth tightens once, then eases.

I close the laptop before I start imagining what M-43 and CX-7 feel like in a body that small.

My phone screen lights up, and I grit my teeth hard enough to hurt.

Where is the package?

Fuck. I’m surprised the client waited this long. I was supposed to deliver his man more than twelve hours ago.

I stand, roll my shoulders to shake off the worst of the tension, and slip into the hallway. Raine doesn’t need to hear this conversation.

The client picks up on the second ring.

“Status report,” he demands.

“Your package was destroyed at a local sorting facility,” I say. “It was transferred outside of the carrier’s control. Two days later, it was gone.”

Silence stretches over the line. If he’s the vindictive type, he could put out a new contract and see how I like a one-way trip to Northbridge.

“You’re certain?” he asks.

“I have internal timestamps and system logs showing the transfer and disposal.”

“Send them, and I’ll decide if you’ve earned out your deposit.”

My jaw aches. If I’m not careful, I’m going to give my dentist something new to complain about.

“My deposit is non-refundable. If you attempt to collect, there will be consequences.”

After another long pause, the client clears his throat. “Delivery failures also have consequences.”

I expected that. And I don’t give a fuck about the money. Not anymore.

“You can have the entire sum back if you answer one question.”

“Ask. I’ll decide whether to answer.”

“How did you find out the package was at that facility?”

A soft exhale carries over the line. Years of experience tell me he’s deciding just how honest he wants to be.

“We were told,” he says after a long pause.

“By who?”

“A contact who monitors Northbridge Containment for us. We’ve used their services before.” There’s a faint edge of offended pride in his tone. I doubt he’s used to being questioned. “When certain information shows up in their routing system, my people get an alert. The data pointed to the location you were sent to.”

“So you had an address,” I say. “Nothing more specific than that.”

“Correct. I wasn’t briefed on…variants.” The pause around variants is intentional. “We pay Northbridge. If they use other partners, that’s their business. Or was, until they lost my package.”