Page 84 of Hunted to Be Mine

I waited for the steps to fade before I slid out. Dust clung to my clothes, a place nobody visited.

“I’m heading deeper,” I said, pushing toward the center where the air turned more stale. “Security’s lighter here. Older records.”

“Be careful. If you need to pull out…”

“Not yet.” Something pulled me forward.

Back section now. Darker. Patrols didn’t reach this far; the dust on the floor lay undisturbed.

“Anything?” Selina asked, steadier.

“Still looking. Security drops back here, older files. I’m not in the right section.”

I turned a corner and stopped. This row was different, with clean edges and less dust. Someone had been here.

“Got a hit,” I said, closing in. My fingers brushed a carton labeled CM-PRS-441. Newer cardboard. Sharp corners.

“What is it?”

“Boxes. Newer. Different from the rest.” Dozens of them. “All marked with letter-number codes.”

“What codes?”

“Three parts. First is two letters, then three letters, then numbers.” I read a few. “CM-PRS-441. PT-EVL-332. BM-HND-118.”

“Wait.” She drew in a quick breath. “Say those again. Slower.”

I repeated them, under my breath.

“Clinical Materials, Personnel Records Series, maybe,” she said, thinking it through. “The second one sounds like Patient Evaluation. Hospitals use similar coding.”

I pulled the lid off one container. Inside, there were hundreds of pages in color-coded sections. I took one and read by the dim light.

“Bureaucratic forms,” I said, turning sheets. “Jargon. Medical assessments.”

“No, wait…” Selina cut in. “Tell me exactly what’s on the page. No interpretation. Just what it says.”

I read closer. “Headers: Neural Response. Compliance Rating. Integration Assessment. Medical terms I don’t know. Charts scored out of ten. Names replaced by alphanumeric codes.”

Her voice tightened. “Those aren’t admin forms. They’re evaluation records. Which operatives complied, which resisted. Handlers’ reports.”

I looked again and saw it for what it was. Not noise. Evidence.

“You’re right.” Paper moved faster under my hands. “Subject JD-22344 demonstrated resistance during pain-compliance testing. Recommended for advanced suppression protocol.” Another sheet. “Subject JD-11801 attempted self-termination following memory extraction. Liquidated as unviable asset.”

I stopped on a page. “These aren’t just evaluations. They record who broke programming, and how handlers dealt with them afterward.”

“Keep going. You’re close.”

I moved through stacks, pulling file after file, reading assessments of operatives stripped down to codes and ratings. Same story, over and over: lives reduced to metrics and outcomes.

“This whole section is asset performance reviews,” I said. “They tracked everything—command response, kill efficiency, psychological stability.”

“Look for recurring mentions of Prague or St. Elisabeth’s,” she said.

I grabbed a crate marked CP-FLD-297 and opened it. Field reports by operation date. My hands moved on their own, skimming dates and locations, cross-checking.

“Hold on.” A folder labeled Prague Contingency. I opened it and laid out pages across the top of the box. “Found operation files from Prague.”