Page 246 of Operation: Defiance

“That’s better,” Mark says, his tone as placid as ever.

The position sends a slow wave of fire running down my legs. My muscles are so far past fatigue there’s no buffer between strain and failure. Tremors run through my thighs and into my calves. After a few seconds, they stop pretending to be manageable.

Chad leans against the edge of the table, picks up the tablet, and turns it toward me. “She’s destabilizing, Locke. You know it. We know it.”

Wet pavement and reflected light fill the screen. My mind is too exhausted for the rest of the image to make any sense at first. But then the video starts to play. Post Alley opens up into a wash of neon signs against a dark sky. Then…Raine, phone pressed to her ear, shoulders hiked up against the cold, eyes darting side to side as she scans her surroundings.

My gut twists, the sudden surge of cold adrenaline slicing through the exhaustion. What is she doing out in public? No disguise. Alone. And how did they find her?

She starts to pace, her voice sharp enough that even the tablet’s small speakers can’t hide the urgency in it.

“No. You’re not listening,” she says. “The logs were altered before the request even came in. That doesn’t happen by accident. Someone’s making it look like I did this.”

I force my breathing to slow, painfully aware of how closely Chad and Mark are watching my face.

Raine runs a hand through her hair. “They’ve been surveilling me for years. Every login. Every search. Every time I flagged something and thought no one would care.” Her steps shorten, more frantic now than ever. And I catch the lie.

Raine doesn’t move like that. Not even when she’s spiraling. She stills. She folds inward until the rest of the world disappears. The restless back-and-forth motion in the video isn’t hers.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she snaps. “If I disappear before this gets out, you’ll know why!”

The neon glow from one of the bar signs splashes across her hair every time she turns her head, but the light doesn’t settle the way it should. The ends of her brown locks flicker against the brick, like the image can’t decide where the strands stop and the wall begins. The same glitch repeats two seconds later.

“Recognize anything?” Chad asks.

“Seattle.” The answer earns me a quick punch to my left shoulder. The gash in my side tears open as the impact twists my torso.

Fuck.

Mark turns in his chair to face me. “This came in about an hour ago. She looks a little stressed, wouldn’t you say?”

I try to shrug, though the cuffs make that difficult. Blood wells hot against the bandage.

The video plays through again. “She’s losing it,” Chad says. “That sort of paranoia won’t play well with the Public Integrity Project.”

“She hates neon.” I keep my gaze on the screen, willing the clock in the left corner to come into focus.

Chad frowns. “What?”

“Messes with the shadows. You should probably fix that.” After another slow breath, the tiny numbers resolve. If they didn’t fuck with the time, it’s a little after ten p.m.

The tremor in my legs gets worse, the muscles misfiring in small, violent pulses I can’t hide. I clench my jaw and ride it out, but my thoughts pay the price. Too hard to control both body and mind at once. Chad notices the strain.

“You’re shaking,” he says.

I don’t care. They’re getting desperate if they’re resorting to AI slop.

Mark pulls a granola bar from his pocket, unwraps it, and takes a bite. Right on schedule. Caloric leverage.

My stomach twists, and it takes me longer than it should to control my reaction.

“We can help you, Locke. Food. Medical care. Hell, maybe even a fresh shirt. That one’s seen better days.”

“The bloodstains give it character. I’ll keep it. Thanks.”

“Let’s say the video isn’t perfect.” Mark rustles the wrapper, but I keep my gaze on the screen. “That doesn’t change the fact that Calder’s unstable. She’s broken the law, stolen classified files, and escaped a psychiatric hospital. We release this, no one’s going to believe a word she says for the rest of her life.”

Hospital? I almost chuckle.