Page 211 of Operation: Defiance

I see the exact moment his words register. Is this when we lose her? She could walk away. Duck out onto First Avenue and flag down a police officer. Pull out her tablet and message the Security service with our location.

With a slow nod, Claire sets her bag down in front of Asher. “My tablet is in the side pocket.” She unbuckles her watch and passes it to me.

Asher withdraws the tablet, her phone, and a set of wireless earbuds. “This everything?”

“Y-yes.”

With brutal efficiency, Asher disables the devices one by one, then places everything into Claire’s purse before pushing to his feet. “Arms out.”

Claire flushes. “Is that really⁠—”

“I’m afraid it is.” He’s quick, but thorough. His hands never linger, never grope, and in under a minute, he steps back. “All right. Claire, you first. We’re going through Post Alley to Pike, right on First, then left on Seneca.”

The hat feels like it’s suffocating me. The sunglasses mute the loudest of the colors, but within minutes, I’m barely holding onto a shred of rational thought.

I used to enjoy running out for a coffee, or even joining Claire for lunch on a cloudy day—one where the tourists weren’t out in droves. But now, it’s all too much.

By the time we pass Second, my legs are shaking. My ribs protest every deep breath. The last two blocks stretch skyward, the hill so much steeper than I remember. I keep my steps even through sheer force of will, but my strength is fading faster than it should.

Asher glances over at me, then lets his gaze sweep from one side of the street to the other. “Still with me?”

I don’t have enough in me for more than a nod.

When we cross Third, he lowers his voice. “Raine, can I…?”

My eyes burn behind the sunglasses. “Yes.”

His arm settles around my waist, taking enough of my weight that after a few minutes, I don’t have to negotiate with my ribs for permission to breathe. His presence alone makes the hill feel shorter. My body understands what my brain is only starting to catch up to. This is safe. Asher is safe. Always.

The library’s glass and steel walls rise up like some sort of futuristic monolith to science and technology. Claire stops short two steps from the door. “If you’re wrong⁠—”

When she turns to me, whatever else she was going to say dies in her throat. “God, Raine. You should be in Belize or Iceland or Costa Rica with”—she waves her hand at Asher—“whoever Mr. Give-Me-All-Your-Devices is.”

“I escaped. But the next woman? She won’t have a Mr. Give-Me-All-Your-Devices. They’ll strip her down until she’s nothing. And if that doesn’t work, they’ll hollow her out and let her die, all while calling it care.”

I don’t have the strength to argue any more, so I push through the door and hope Claire decides to follow.

The library is warm. Quiet. The traffic noise fades to a low industrial hum too similar to the ventilation from the black site. My body braces all at once, and I almost stumble when my next step isn’t hobbled by the restraints and the heavy chain.

Claire stays close while Asher stops by the circulation desk to ask where the quietest computer terminals are.

“Second floor.” He gestures to the mezzanine where a glass wall surrounds the stacks, the chairs arranged in small groups, and several long tables filled with computers stretching half the length of the building. “The elevators are in the back.”

I don’t like the small, dimly lit space, but my legs are too wrecked for the stairs.

We find an open computer at the end of a long table. Asher sits at an angle that lets him see the entirety of the first floor—including the entrance—while I reach for the mouse. “Library card?” I ask Claire.

She pulls the small plastic rectangle from her wallet and drags it through the reader. “GSD won’t let me log in without my phone.”

I nudge her purse closer. “Power it on and hook it up to WiFi. No cellular service. Set it on the table where we can both see it.”

She doesn’t argue. Whatever fight she had is gone.

The employee login is nothing more than a hidden set of pixels on the public GSD website. Claire enters her credentials, and a moment later, her phone buzzes on the table.

I pick it up, angle it at Claire’s face, and type in the six-digit code it shows me.

The screen refreshes, and the dashboard I used for eleven months and six days comes up like I never left.