Page 10 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

TEN

False Hope

ALLY

Fourteen hours.

That’s how long I’ve been staring at screens, building simulations, fighting against my own mind.

My fingers twitch over the keys, muscles locking tight from hours of stillness.

The tendons in my shoulders tug like overstretched cables, aching with every breath.

Blinking does nothing—grit scratches across my eyes like ground glass.

Overhead, the lights strobe just enough to twist the inside of my skull, each flicker a nail hammered behind my eyes.

I press my palms to my temples, as if outward pressure can keep my head from splitting open.

The work itself is the real torture. Every line of code I write brings Malfor’s system closer to functionality. Every problem I solve moves the quantum entanglement network toward viability.

I deliberately introduce subtle flaws—mathematical inconsistencies that will cause cascading failures—but can’t risk making them too obvious. Malfor’s other scientists might not understand quantum physics at my level, but they’re still brilliant.

And just as trapped.

Guards change shifts.

Dr. Rafeeq brings me lukewarm tea that tastes faintly of metal.

Dr. Elkin nods at my progress, his collar gleaming under the harsh lights.

No one speaks beyond necessary technical exchanges.

The unspoken hangs between us—we’re all building something that could destroy millions of lives, and none of us have a choice.

When they finally march me back to the cellblock, my body moves on autopilot. The rhythm of boots against concrete, the distant crash of waves against the island’s shore. A curious hollowness has replaced fear, as though my emotions have retreated somewhere beyond the collar’s reach.

The first thing I notice when they unlock my cell door is Rebel’s arm.

It’s been properly set. Professional splint, actual medical gauze, and even the swelling is reduced. Her color has improved from death-gray to merely exhausted. She catches my eye across the cellblock and raises her good hand in a tiny gesture of acknowledgment.

The door locks behind me with that same magnetic thunk. My knees give out, dumping me onto the thin mattress. The cellblock remains silent for several minutes as we all listen for departing footsteps, for any sign the guards remain within earshot.

“You look like shit.” Rebel’s voice drifts across the space between us, rough with pain but alert.

“Better than you.” The words scrape my throat raw.

“Debatable.” Her laughter turns into a wince. “At least I got the good drugs.”

Before I can respond, boot heels tap their deliberate rhythm down the corridor. Not guards—they shuffle and stomp. This measured cadence belongs to only one person.

Malfor appears before my cell, hands clasped behind his back, satisfaction radiating from him like heat.

“Productive day, Miss Collins?” His smile never reaches his eyes.

My silence only broadens his smile.

“I see you’ve noticed your friend’s medical care.

” He gestures toward Rebel. “Quality work results in professional attention for your friend. Even appropriate pain management.” His voice shifts into that same condescending tone.

“See how this works? You perform well, they benefit. Simple positive reinforcement.”

“What do you want?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

“To show you something. A little— motivation for tomorrow’s work.”

He produces a tablet from his jacket pocket, taps the screen, and holds it up so we can all see.

The image resolves into a familiar space—The Guardian Grind café at Guardian HRS headquarters.

The footage is real time, high-definition.

I recognize Mitzy hunched over her laptop in the corner booth, her signature pixie cut and psychedelic hair.

Two Guardian operatives I don’t know well, Brady and Booker from Bravo team, stand at the counter ordering coffee.

“How…” The word dies in my throat.

“How am I watching your friends in real time?” Malfor’s smile widens. “You brought me inside, of course. You, Malia, and her brother. Kazakhstan was not a total loss. The Guardians rescued you, as planned, and you gave me an incredible opportunity.”

What ?

He wants me to ask. He’s waiting to tell me something, but I’m not going to play his game. A chill does run down my spine, just as he intended.

As planned?

Malia makes a choked sound from her cell.

“Kazakhstan was just the beginning.” He swipes to another feed—this one showing Hank and Gabe in what looks like a planning room, surrounded by tactical gear and maps.

“When they rescued you from the reactor, we made sure you left with more than just your research on your USB. Nanobots, Miss Collins. Microscopic machines that have been replicating and spreading throughout Guardian HRS’s systems since the moment you walked through their doors. ”

The ground tilts beneath me. Those headaches after Kazakhstan. The way my laptop kept glitching. The way electronic devices sometimes malfunctioned around me. It wasn’t radiation exposure or PTSD. It was this. I was the carrier. The Trojan horse.

“The espresso machine.” Jenna’s voice comes out strangled. “That’s why it kept shorting out. Poor Mike spent days trying to fix it.”

“Hank’s and Gabe’s phones.” I grip the cell bars. “Their batteries kept draining for no reason.”

“My tablet would restart randomly during meetings.” Mia’s clinical detachment slips, voice rising. “We thought it was buggy software.”

“Very observant.” Malfor swipes again, showing another room at Guardian HRS—the tactical planning center.

“Every system, every computer, every piece of electronics. All are compromised. All are feeding me information.” He leans closer to the bars.

“They’re planning your rescue right now.

Their team compositions. Their backup plans.

Their contingencies for their contingencies. ”

He holds up the tablet so we can see and hear CJ outlining extraction points. The audio is crystal clear.

“Fascinating to watch them scramble.” Malfor’s voice drops to a confidential whisper. “They have no idea I’m already three steps ahead. That I know their plans before they finish making them.”

“You’re lying,” Stitch speaks from her cell, voice flat. “Guardian HRS systems have quantum-level security protocols. No nanobot could bypass them.”

“No ordinary nanobot, certainly.” Malfor turns to her, eyebrows raised.

“But these aren’t ordinary. They’re based on Miss Collins’s quantum entanglement research.

Worked like a charm for fusion stabilization.

It also allows instantaneous communication across any distance, completely undetectable by conventional security. ”

My breath freezes in my lungs. My research. My work. Turned against the very people trying to save us.

“That’s why you need me.” The realization cuts like glass. “The nanobots are deployed, but you need a more robust control system. Something that can’t be disrupted.”

“Exactly.” He tucks the tablet away. “Your friends at Guardian HRS will never find them, because they don’t know what to look for. By the time they realize they’ve been compromised, it will be far too late.”

He steps back, surveying our cells like a collector admiring his specimens. “Rest well. Tomorrow brings much more work. For all of you.”

His footsteps fade down the corridor, leaving us in silence broken only by ragged breathing.

“I did this.” My voice sounds distant, detached. “I brought them inside.”

“We both did.” Malia slumps against her cell wall. “Malikai too.”

“This isn’t on you.” Jenna’s voice hardens. “Malfor planned this. He used you.”

“Doesn’t matter whose fault it is.” Rebel shifts, wincing as her splinted arm moves. “What matters is that Guardian HRS is walking into a trap, and we can’t warn them.”

The reality settles over us like a shroud. We’ve compromised the very people we were counting on to save us.

“What do we do?” There has to be a way to warn them, but I can’t figure out how.

Silence claims the cellblock. Each of us retreats into our own thoughts, the weight of what we’ve learned crushing any remaining optimism. Hours pass. The overhead lights dim slightly—night cycle in our windowless prison.

“You know what this means,” Stitch says.

“No, what?” Mia asks.

“If he’s watching them,” I say, knowing exactly what Stitch is thinking. “He’s watching us. Everything we do, or say, he knows. There’s no way to get a message out. No way that he won’t discover.”

A ripple of awareness passes through the cellblock.

“Every system has vulnerabilities,” Stitch speaks from the darkness, her voice floating between cells. “Even ones built on quantum entanglement.”

For the first time in hours, something stirs in my chest. Not hope—we’re still trapped, still collared, still forced to build weapons of mass destruction.

But a tiny flicker of possibility lights within me. But how to capitalize on it?

“If they’re using my research…” The thought coalesces slowly. “Then maybe I understand their weaknesses better than Malfor does.”

Night deepens around us. Rebel’s breathing evens out as pain medication pulls her under. Malia whispers equations to herself, a self-soothing ritual I recognize from our days working together. Jenna and Mia maintain a silent watch, taking turns sleeping in shifts.

Through it all, my mind races through quantum possibilities, through entanglement protocols and signal degradation patterns. If Malfor is using my work to control the nanobots, then perhaps—just perhaps—I can find a way to use that same work against him. Maybe I can get a message out?

Not rescue. Not escape. But resistance.

It’s all we have left.