Page 194 of Operation: Defiance

Chapter Forty-Eight

Asher

I stand outside the door for an extra beat before my hand is steady enough to punch in the unlock code.

Raine knows we can’t stay here forever. And moving is a hell of a lot better than what GSD will do to us if they find us.

Raine looks up as I step inside, then checks the clock on the laptop. “You’re early.”

“Normally, I linger in produce like it’s a hobby. Today, I just wanted to get back to you.”

Twin spots of color rise on her cheeks. “Oh.”

Her voice is a little off at the edges, but she’s steady. Smiling, even. And next to the laptop, a plate holds half a slice of pound cake—and plenty of crumbs. Good. Her appetite is coming back, and she’s letting herself want something beyond broth and tea.

The fedora and scarf go on the coat rack, aviators in my jacket pocket. “Give me a minute?”

She’s distracted, flipping back a couple of pages in her notebook, and nods.

In the bedroom, I slip her new passport under the medical kit in my go bag. She doesn’t need to know it’s there. Not yet. Raine won’t run unless there’s no other choice. Planning for that eventuality? It’d distract her from burning the bastards who hurt her—along with so many others.

“Perishables?” she asks, pushing up from the table and eyeing the small backpack I brought up from the car.

“No. They’re in a cooler in the Chevy.” I hold out my hand, waiting for her to take it before I say another word. From the way her brows pinch together and her shoulders tense, she already knows what I’m about to tell her.

I keep the details of the ride back here short. No hypotheses, just the facts. “I have a contact who’s trying to get info on the camera install, and while he’s usually reliable, this is more than I usually ask of him.”

I lean against the counter, and Raine steps close enough to rest one hand over my heart. “You think we need to move now.”

“I think sleeping here tonight would be a risk I’m not willing to take. But you’d know better than I would. How fast does GSD move in this type of situation?”

“They’re cautious. Sometimes too cautious.” Her fingers curl against my chest. “Moving is the right call. Do you want to go now?”

“In an hour. Once it’s dark.”

Raine nods. “Okay. I need to walk you through what I found today. But I’ve been in that chair too long.” She nods at the couch. “Can we sit for a few minutes?”

Fuck me. Why does she suddenly sound so uncertain?

I offer her my hand, and while she takes it without hesitation, she doesn’t sit next to me. Instead, she angles herself against the arm so she’s facing me, opening the notebook and flipping through several pages. When she smooths the paper with her palm, it crinkles under her fingers.

Frowning, I scan the text. The notes she made this morning were tight lines of precise, clean script. This…the letters are uneven. Shaky in some places, too small or too large in others. Like her hand refused, briefly but repeatedly, to obey.

Her eyes close, and she draws in a slow, steady breath. I know what that means now. I learned to listen for it over three nights of sleeping in that godawful chair. Four counts in. Hold. Six counts out. Whatever she’s about to tell me, it’s bad.

“I found another file in the logs you stole. Another old one from years ago. An incident report.” Her eyes dart to mine for a beat, then back to the paper. “The detainee was labeled ‘non-compliant.’ The escalation pattern was a lot like mine. After six days, they administered electroshock. Three sessions back to back. It…caused a cardiac event. Death.”

Something cold slides down my spine.

“It wasn’t an execution,” she continues. Clinical now. That voice she uses when she’s handling something radioactive and refuses to flinch. Her fingers tremble over one of the lines of text. “Not an intentional one. But at the end, there was a summary. A new protocol for non-compliance. Three sessions. Each one stronger than the last. Until the detainee’s vitals destabilize enough that they can guarantee death will follow. That the detainee will expire on their own.”

Expire. On their own.

The walls press in on me. The only sounds in the room are the low hum of the music and my pulse in my ears. I can’t even hear Raine’s breathing. I want to put my fist through the wall. The floor. The ceiling. Through every fucking person who read that sentence and didn’t immediately put a stop to this.

Raine swallows. Her shoulders lift, then stall, catching halfway down. Her eyes lose me for a beat, focus drifting just past my left shoulder. The hand holding the notebook tightens until the page bows under her fingers.

I stay still. I don’t say her name. I don’t reach for her. Not yet.