Page 28

Ziva

I approach the Compliance Monitoring Division, my heart pounding like a caged animal against my ribs.

The familiar gray building looms before me, yet something seems different today.

Every step echoes, amplifying the silence.

Even the guards blend into the surroundings, their rigid forms like sentinels of the city’s control.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, forcing my face into a mask of indifference.

The guards’ gaze pierces me as I pass, the visor reflecting nothing but my own anxious face.

I feel their eyes before I see them. The cold lenses scan my every movement, dissecting me, making my skin crawl.

It’s like being naked under glass, exposed for all to see, yet invisible to anyone who might care.

I force myself to keep walking, to appear normal, but every part of me screams to flee.

Regent Colvin wasn’t exaggerating when he warned us of the increased security measures yesterday. I can only hope that he hasn’t begun implementing the new NeuroMods yet.

Joining the line of employees shuffling toward the entrance, I try to quell the tremor in my hands at the security checkpoint. Hushed whispers pass between my co-workers.

“Did you hear about the interviews starting this morning?” a woman in front of me murmurs to her companion. “Regent Colvin himself…”

I swallow the lump forming in the back of my throat and clench my fists at my sides.

Stay calm, Ziva. You’ve prepared for this all night. You can do it.

The line inches forward, each step bringing me closer to the entrance. Closer to him. I flex my fingers, feeling the weight of the encrypted communicator hidden in my sleeve. My lifeline to Myall, now that we can no longer take the risk of sneaking into the supply closet every time we want to talk.

A guard’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Next!”

I step forward, forcing a polite smile as I present my ID. The guard’s eyes narrow, scanning my face, then the card, then back again. My heart rate increases to the point where I can feel it throbbing throughout my entire body.

“You are to report for interviewing prior to commencing your shift. Proceed,” he grunts, waving me through.

I enter the facility, the familiar hum of machinery a stark contrast to the unnatural quiet of my colleagues. As I make my way to the interview waiting area, I catch snippets of conversation.

“…looking for traitors…”

“…increased monitoring…”

“…no one’s safe…”

I take my place in line, sandwiched between anxious faces and trembling hands. Ahead, a door opens and closes with metronomic precision, each soft click marking another fate decided.

My turn is coming. I can feel it, taste it in the recycled air. Regent Colvin waits beyond that door, ready to peel back layers of loyalty and obedience, searching for any hint of defiance.

Straightening my shoulders, I lift my chin slightly. Let him search. Let him try to break through the walls I’ve built. I was convincing enough yesterday. I can be convincing enough today.

The door opens again, and a voice calls out, “Ziva Emerson.”

I step forward, my heart a war drum in my chest.

Time to face the inquisitor.

I enter the small room, my eyes drawn immediately to the imposing figure behind the desk.

Colvin sits motionless, his presence suffocating, as though he’s swallowed the very air in the room.

The chair beneath him is angled just enough that I can’t look away from his unblinking blue eyes—eyes that seem to peel back every layer of my thoughts and expose my most vulnerable fears.

His fingers are steepled, the slow tap of one knuckle against his thumb a steady reminder that he is in control.

“Ms. Emerson,” he says, his voice a glacier. “Please, have a seat.”

Taking my seat, my hands betray me with a barely perceptible tremor as I place them flat on my thighs.

My mind screams for escape, but I force it all down.

His eyes are still on me, cold and calculating, and I wonder if he hears my heart racing.

The silence stretches, suffocating. I fight the urge to swallow, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

“Thank you for your patience,” Colvin continues, his words a formality devoid of warmth. “We’re conducting these interviews to ensure the continued efficiency of our operation.”

I nod, my throat dry. “Of course, Regent. I’m happy to assist in any way I can.”

His eyes narrow slightly, searching for cracks in my facade. I meet his gaze, willing my face to remain neutral and devoid of any emotion.

“Tell me, Ms. Emerson,” he leans forward, hands clasped on the desk, “how do you view your role within our society?”

That’s a loaded question.

I choose my words carefully, aware of the weight they carry. “I see my work as essential to maintaining societal balance,” I say, the lie bitter on my tongue. “The emotional control system protects us all from the chaos of unchecked feelings.”

Every word that leaves my mouth feels like a betrayal. The lie sits heavy in my throat, thick and bitter, but I swallow it down, forced to play my part. I can feel the tension in my jaw, the way my teeth grind together to stop the truth from spilling out.

He’ll know . He’ll see right through me.

Colvin leans forward, and for the briefest moment, I see something in his eyes—an almost imperceptible flicker of satisfaction at my discomfort.

I hold my breath, forcing my face into a perfect mask, though my pulse quickens, and my fingers tighten, the skin raw from how hard I’m gripping the edges of my seat.

Colvin’s lips twitch into something like a smile. “Indeed. And yet, some might argue that true humanity lies in those very emotions we seek to control.”

It’s a trap. He’s fishing for dissent. I force a small laugh, praying it sounds as hollow as it feels. “A romantic notion, perhaps. But we’ve seen the destruction unchecked feelings can cause throughout history.”

Colvin’s gaze sharpens, his cold blue eyes boring into mine. “Have you ever encountered anyone expressing… dissatisfaction with our system, Ms. Emerson?”

My heart stalls, but I keep my voice steady. “Occasionally, there are those who struggle to adapt. But it’s often just a matter of proper calibration and guidance.”

I pause, allowing a hint of carefully crafted doubt to seep into my tone. “Though I sometimes wonder if our methods could be… refined. To better serve those who find it challenging.”

Colvin leans back, his expression unreadable. “I see. And what refinements would you suggest?”

It’s a dangerous line I’m walking. I tilt my head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Perhaps a more individualized approach? Everyone’s emotional landscape is unique, after all.”

“A bold proposition,” Colvin says, his voice carrying a note of warning. “One might think you’re questioning the efficacy of our current protocols.”

Sweat beads on my lower back. “Not at all, Regent. I’m merely considering ways to improve upon our already successful system. For the greater good, of course.”

I silently curse myself the moment the words leave my mouth. Have I pushed too far? Colvin’s piercing stare gives nothing away, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his response.

His eyes narrow once more, as if he’s dissecting every micro-expression on my face. My skin prickles under his scrutiny, but I force myself to maintain eye contact, fighting the urge to look away.

“For the greater good,” he echoes, his voice carrying a glacial edge. “An admirable sentiment, Ms. Emerson. But I wonder, what do you truly believe is for the greater good?”

“Harmony, of course. Stability. The well-being of all citizens.” Even as I speak, I can hear the hollowness in my words. Does he sense it too? My heart pounds so loudly I fear he might hear it.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. My mind spins. Does he believe me, or is he waiting for a slip in my composure? I can’t afford to show him anything but unwavering loyalty, even if my heart feels like it’s about to shatter under the weight of all the lies I have to tell.

Colvin leans forward, his fingers steepled on the desk once more. “And you believe our current system doesn’t achieve that?”

“I believe it does,” I say quickly, then add, “But there’s always room for improvement, isn’t there? In any system?”

The silence that follows is deafening. I can almost feel the weight of his judgment as he assesses me.

Finally, he speaks. “Your interview is concluded, Ms. Emerson. You’re dismissed.”

Standing on shaky legs, relief and fear war within me. “Thank you, Regent Colvin.”

As I turn to leave, his cold voice stops me. “Remember, we’re always watching. For the greater good.”

I nod, unable to trust my voice, and hurry out of the room. Once outside, I lean against the wall, my breath coming in short gasps.

How the hell are we going to keep this up?

I slip down the corridor and into a secluded alcove, hidden from the ever-present cameras. With trembling fingers, I pull out the modified communicator I spent all night perfecting, ensuring that no one would be able to trace our communication. The weight of it is both comforting and terrifying.

I activate the encrypted channel and type out a message, disguising it as a routine work update, praying it works.

There’s a soft beep from my comm device and I quickly read the coded message from Myall. “Ziva? Are you alright?”

Relief floods through and I start tying out a coded reply. “I’m okay, but the interview… Colvin was relentless. I think he suspects something.”

“Did you maintain your cover?” Myall asks, concern evident even in encrypted form.

Closing my eyes, I replay the conversation in my mind. “I tried, but… I’m not sure. He has a way of seeing right through you.”

“We knew this was a risk,” Myall messages, his words steadying me. “But we can’t back down now. We need to regroup, strategize our next move.”

Nodding, I forget he can’t see me from my hiding spot. “Agreed. But where? The usual spots might be compromised.”

There’s a brief pause before Myall’s next response, “The tech lab. It’s our only safe option right now.”

I’m concerned that the tech lab may not be secure enough, but we have no other location that is off-the-grid to meet. Hopefully Arden has managed to put together some sort of security system which might help us.

“Okay,” I type, glancing around to ensure I’m still alone and that no cameras have moved to spot me. “When?”

“After shifts end. We’ll take separate routes for now on, throw off any potential tails.”

A flutter stirs in my chest—fear, anticipation, or something else entirely?

“I’ll be there,” I promise.