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"You'll read this. Precisely as written. Any deviation, any attempt at coded messages, and this becomes an entirely different kind of video."

The threat was clear, emphasized by Richards checking his weapon within her line of sight.

Ivy scanned the script, analyzing its construction while formulating her own plan. The text was carefully crafted to sound authentic—admissions of pressure-induced fabrication, requests for space to reconsider. Nothing that would immediately signal distress to unfamiliar viewers.

But Julia would know. Julia would see through it instantly.

And if Ivy was subtle enough, she could embed signals for Julia alone.

"I'm ready," she said, handing the tablet back.

Knox positioned himself behind thecamera, out of frame. Richards stood to one side, weapon visible as reminder rather than immediate threat.

"Whenever you're ready, Dr. Monroe," Knox directed. "Just like we discussed."

The camera's red light blinked. Ivy looked directly into the lens, calling on every ounce of her analytical calm. Her mind raced with calculations: word choice, body language, eye movements. A performance within a performance.

"This is Dr. Ivy Monroe," she began, voice steady. "I'm recording this message to clarify my situation and recent actions."

She proceeded through the script with apparent cooperation, but with calculated variations invisible to Knox yet unmistakable to Julia. A slight emphasis on certain words that referenced their first meeting at the Oceana Hotel. A pattern of eye movements that traced the number seven—the district designation for the shipyard. A subtle hand gesture when mentioning "reflection" that mimicked the view from the harbor's edge.

"I need time to reconsider my position," she continued, each word carrying dual purpose. "Sometimes when we look too hard forpatterns, we create connections that aren't there."

The apparent admission of fabricated evidence contained the shipyard's dock number embedded in the rhythm of her speech. Reference to "looking across the harbor from the eastern edge" would mean nothing to Knox but would pinpoint her location to Julia.

"I apologize for any resources wasted in searching for me," she concluded. "I'm safe, just needed space to reflect on recent events."

As the camera's light blinked off, Knox reviewed the footage with critical attention. Ivy maintained her composed expression, giving nothing away as he scrutinized her performance for hidden messages.

"Acceptable," he finally concluded. "Richards, prepare for transmission through the usual channels."

The guard nodded, removing the memory card from the camera. Ivy watched as her digital lifeline was processed for distribution, knowing that once it reached the Phoenix Ridge PD, Julia would decipher every embedded clue.

Knox turned back to her, satisfactionevident in his posture if not his expression. "A productive session, Dr. Monroe. You've demonstrated your value as a rational actor."

"Rational self-interest," Ivy replied, maintaining the performance of cooperation. "Survival is a powerful motivator."

"Indeed." Knox checked his watch—a subtle but significant tell that he was operating on a timeline. "You'll be relocated shortly to more suitable accommodations for our continued discussions."

Translation: Now that he had what he wanted, she would be moved to a more secure location. Her window for rescue was closing.

"I do have one question," she said, stalling for precious minutes. "Your infrastructure acquisition strategy, the mathematical precision of it. Did you design that pattern yourself or was it developed by your financial team?"

His need for acknowledgment overrode caution yet again. "The conceptual framework was entirely my creation," he replied. "Though implementation required certain specialized resources."

"The hexagonal distribution pattern isparticularly elegant," Ivy observed. "Most people wouldn't recognize the mathematical significance."

Knox's expression softened fractionally with intellectual appreciation. "Most lack the analytical foundation to recognize structural elegance in financial systems."

Outside the grimy windows, the shipyard remained still in the afternoon light, abandoned cranes standing like sentinels over their conversation. Somewhere beyond those industrial ruins, Ivy had to believe Julia was already decoding her message, already hunting.

All she needed was time.

12

JULIA

Julia crouched in the shadow of a rusting shipping container, the salt-laden air of Phoenix Ridge's abandoned eastern shipyard filling her lungs. Her wristwatch showed 15:47—nearly an hour since she'd left Morgan at the perimeter with strict instructions to maintain radio silence unless emergency protocols became necessary.