Page 9 of Operation: Defiance

“That was the right instinct.” She sighs, the sound weary. “You’re not wrong. And you’re not the first to notice it.”

Something inside me steadies at that.

“You?” I ask. “How did you handle it?”

“I didn’t have to. I was reassigned to budget forecasting and didn’t have access to personnel files anymore. That wasn’t the right fit for me, so I retired a few weeks later.”

I run my left hand over the steering wheel, taking a small bit of comfort from the texture of the vinyl against my skin. “If I wanted to understand this better without drawing attention⁠—”

“Don’t intervene,” Ellen says quickly.

She’s always careful. Predictable in the way that makes her almost unshakable under pressure. It’s why we worked well together when she was still in the field.

“Watch the pattern,” she continues. “See who moves. Notice what should be there and isn’t. But don’t take risks. You’re useful where you are, Raine. Stay that way.”

It’s a reminder of the rule she taught me years ago.

Watch. Listen. Act only when you’re certain.

“I should have known you’d say that,” I murmur.

Ellen chuckles softly. “Yes. You should have.”

We hang up a minute later. No plan or next steps, just a shared understanding that some things are better observed than confronted.

I sit there for time, forearms resting on the steering wheel, engine humming softly beneath me. I don’t move until my breathing evens out and my thoughts settle back into something orderly.

When I get home, I open my private note again, stripping out anything that sounds like a conclusion or assumes motive. All I have left are dates, codes, and phrases that mean nothing. For now.

I encrypt the file, save it locally, then shut the laptop and make myself a cup of tea. Maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe tomorrow, it’ll all make sense.

Chapter Four

Traffic was heavier than usual this morning, and I’m already off my rhythm as I rush through the rows of cubicles on the way to my office. My travel mug wobbles in my hand when I see Tessa’s empty desk.

She’s always early. Not eager, exactly. Steady. Pours coffee before her computer boots up. Sets her chair to the same height no matter what shoes she’s wearing. Wears her badge on a pink lanyard, not the standard-issue blue like everyone else.

By 9:20, her absence starts to worry me.

At ten, I close my office door and send her a text message.

Everything okay?

At 10:30, with the message still unread, I check the internal calendar.

No leave planned. No training. No off-site meetings.

At 10:43, Claire, our Assistant Director, emerges from her office, followed by two security officers I don’t recognize. Their uniforms are…off. A dark blue rather than GSD’s usual gray. But their badges are in full view, as they turn toward the row of cubicles where Tessa sits.

That’s when I finally move. My thoughts misfire as I reach the end of the aisle, refusing to line up the way they should.

Tessa looks from one officer to the other, her brows pinched together, eyes shimmering. She’s still wearing her coat, but her bag lies half-open on the floor.

One of the men leans closer, his voice too quiet for me to hear. I recognize the posture. Polite and non-threatening, but firm. Authority that expects to be obeyed.

“I’m fine,” Tessa says. Her voice carries more than she probably intends. “I don’t need⁠—”

The officer lifts a hand. “This is just a formality, Ms. Hale.”