Page 46 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)

The concrete floor beneath Zara’s legs had long since leached all warmth from her body, but her mind remained razor-sharp. More than sharp—surprisingly energized. The clarity was almost startling after months of increasing fatigue and pain.

Now she understood why.

Her symptoms hadn’t been worsening naturally; they’d been chemically induced or exacerbated. That explained the unusually severe flares, the medication’s diminishing effectiveness, the cognitive fog that had plagued her strategic thinking.

She glanced across the dimly lit gym at Finn, bound hand and foot to a weight bench. Two of Harrison’s Vanguard operatives flanked him, weapons drawn but attention clearly wavering after hours of the same assignment.

Despite his restraints and the trickle of dried blood at his temple, his eyes remained alert, tracking her movements with subtle precision.

Finn blinked twice, deliberately, then flicked his eyes toward the guards. I’m ready.

Attention on the guards, she nodded the second they looked away.

Her old mentor had been meticulous in his planning— separating the team, creating false intelligence, securing them in this isolated facility.

But his very thoroughness created exploitable patterns.

His confidence that he’d broken her—physically and mentally—might be their greatest advantage.

He’d never expect a direct confrontation.

Not from her. Not now.

“So,” Finn’s voice cut through the silence, casual and almost conversational. “Vanguard recruitment standards have really slipped since I was in the intelligence community.”

The guard nearest him stiffened. “Shut up.”

“I mean, seriously,” Finn continued, ignoring the warning. “You guys used to be elite. Now Reynolds has you playing prison guard in some basement?” He chuckled, the sound deliberately condescending. “Let me guess—you failed the advanced infiltration qualification? No. Wait. The psych assessment.”

“I said shut up,” the guard snapped, taking a half-step toward Finn.

Finn’s smile was calculated insolence. “No worries. Most washouts from top-tier units find meaningful work eventually. Maybe not as prestigious as you hoped, but?—”

The second guard stepped forward, jaw tight. “Shut your face, or I’ll?—”

“Gentlemen.” Harrison appeared in the doorway. “Are we having difficulty maintaining basic discipline?” His tone carried lethal disappointment. “You are aware that psychological manipulation is literally the first skill listed in Novak’s file? The same file I instructed you to memorize?”

The guards straightened, looking properly chastised.

Perfect.

Zara shifted her weight, using their distraction to slide her right leg into a better position. The movement sent a flare of pain through her hip—real pain, not Reynolds’manufactured agony—but she welcomed it. Pain meant she was still fighting.

“Though I must say,” Harrison continued, approaching Finn with something close to admiration, “your technique remains impressive after all these years.” He glanced at Zara. “You both continue to exceed expectations. It’s what made you such valuable assets.”

Zara kept her expression neutral while she scanned the room. The ventilation grate three meters to her left. The electrical panel behind Reynolds. The guard’s holster, secured but with the retention strap unfastened. Each detail catalogued and woven into potential escape scenarios.

She shifted again, the movement bringing her fingers within centimeters of the jagged bit of broken jigsaw blade caught in a crack in the concrete floor—probably construction debris, but in her hands, a potential lock pick. Or a weapon.

“You won’t succeed,” she said, deliberately drawing his attention away from her reaching fingers. “You can’t possibly believe?—”

“Believe what, exactly?” Harrison cut her off. “That your team is slowly suffocating in that mine shaft? That I’ve trapped the great Finn Novak and his little assistant?”

Zara’s fingers closed around the bit of metal, concealing it in her palm as she adjusted her position. Every minute wasted here meant her friends were one minute closer to running out of air.

His overconfidence provided leverage. While his attention remained on Finn, she carefully worked the pin into position, ready to use it against her restraints at the first opportunity.

He gestured toward the door, where a new Vanguard operative appeared, dragging a struggling figure. Kenji, his face bloodied but eyes defiant, stumbled forward as the operative shoved him to his knees beside Zara.

Harrison stepped out of reach. “If you’re willing to let your team die, maybe watching someone killed in front of you will be a better incentive. Dr. Marshall’s loyalty to you is quite touching.”

Kenji’s gaze locked with Zara’s. She read the message in his eyes instantly. Don’t give them anything. Whatever happens.

She tightened her grip on the thin blade.

“Now,” Harrison continued, drawing his sidearm and pressing it against Kenji’s temple, “we’ve reached the portion of our negotiation where choices must be made. Cooperate immediately—both of you—or Dr. Marshall dies.”

Zara’s mind raced through scenarios, calculating variables, searching for options that wouldn’t result in Kenji’s immediate execution.

“Zara,” Kenji said quietly, his voice strained but steady. “Don’t?—”

“Silence,” Harrison ordered, increasing pressure on the gun. “Your decision, Zara. Now.”

She met Finn’s eyes across the room, communicating her intention in that fleeting moment of connection. His almost imperceptible nod confirmed his understanding. They would yield—for now—but the fight was far from over.

“Fine,” she said.

Harrison nodded. “Outstanding. We begin by accessing Sentinel Network’s primary authentication pathways.

And to ensure your enthusiastic cooperation”—he gestured to one of the guards, who grabbed Kenji roughly—“Dr. Marshall will remain our guest of honor, with his continued well-being entirely dependent on your performance.” He checked his expensive watch.

“As does the wellbeing of the others. Time marches on, Mockingbird.” He holstered his weapon.

Zara carefully repositioned her prize, tucking it securely where she could access it when the moment was right.

Harrison might believe he’d won, but he’d made a critical error. He’d given her something to fight for.