Page 81 of Brass

His gaze sweeps the cabin, tactical assessment giving way to something I’ve rarely seen in him—uncertainty. This vulnerability is more alarming than any physical threat for a man whose existence is defined by preparation and control.

“What do we do?” I ask, needing to hear him verbalize a plan, to restore the certainty that has guided us since the subway.

He meets my gaze. Resolution replaces doubt. “We go dark. Completely dark. No electronics. No established safe houses. No contact with Cerberus until we can verify secure channels.”

“Just us,” I say, understanding the full implication.

Ryan nods, determination hardening his features into the mask of the operator I first met. “Just us.”

Outside, the forest whispers with a breeze that carries no comfort. Somewhere within its depths, Phoenix operatives take Torque to an unknown destination. Somewhere beyond these hills, the AI continues to learn, adapt, and anticipate our moves with ever-increasing accuracy.

And here we stand—a journalist with explosive evidence and the man who has become her protector, partner, and something far more complicated—alone against an enemy that never sleeps, never falters, and never stops.

“We need to move,” Ryan says. “Twenty minutes to gather whatever supplies we can use. Then we abandon the Chevelle. Find alternative transportation.”

“Start over,” I murmur, already cataloging what we’ll need.

His hand finds mine, grip solid and reassuring despite everything we’ve just discovered. “Not over,” he corrects. “Just a new phase.”

I see the same focused intensity that makes Ryan Ellis who he is—a force of nature disguised as a man.

We prepare to become ghosts—to disappear so completely that even an all-seeing AI cannot find us. To go beyond dark, beyond silent, beyond predictable.

To become the one variable Phoenix cannot calculate.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Ryan

Blood on the wall.Boot prints by the door. Signs of struggle, not execution.

I crouch by a larger stain, touching it with my fingertip. Still tacky. Maybe six hours old.

“They took him alive,” I say, more to myself than to Celeste. That’s something, at least.

Celeste stands in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. “They knew we were coming. They knew exactly where to find Torque.”

“Yeah.” I straighten, wiping my finger on my jeans. “And that’s the real problem. Phoenix didn’t just get lucky. It knew about a safehouse that exists on exactly zero official records.”

“What does that mean for us?”

I don’t answer right away. My brain’s running scenarios, and none of them are good. If Phoenix cracked Cerberus protocols, we’re properly fucked. Our safe houses, our emergency channels, our whole damn network—all compromised.

Well, almost all of it.

“We need to disappear,” I say, moving toward the door. “And I mean really disappear. Off every grid, every system, every map.”

Celeste follows close behind me. In just a few days, she’s gotten good at reading my movements, matching my pace. Not bad for a journalist who has never been shot at before last week.

“Is that even possible anymore?” She glances over her shoulder as we step outside.

“One place.” I lead her back to the Chevelle, staying low near the tree line. “Ghost’s cabin.”

“A cabin?”

“Not officially.” I slide behind the wheel, my brain already mapping out the routes. “No paperwork, no utilities, no digital footprint. Ghost built it after leaving Delta, before he started Cerberus. It’s where he found Willow when her ex was hunting her.”

I fire up the engine, backing away from Torque’s bloodstained sanctuary. “We need to ditch this car. Too flashy. And we’re dumping every piece of tech we’ve got.”