Page 113 of The Beast's Broken Angel
Noah moved then, crossing the space between us despite the unspoken boundaries we'd maintained since the warehouse. His hand settled on my shoulder, warm and grounding. “Adrian?—”
“Don't.” I shrugged him off, needing distance to process this revelation. “I need to think.”
But thinking was the problem. Every memory of my childhood after the fire suddenly needed re-examination. Grandfather's harsh training methods. The isolation during recovery. The specific ways I'd been taught to channel grief into violence. All of it following Müller's blueprints for creating a weaponised human.
“Your grandfather knew,” Sophia's voice came from the doorway. My grandmother stood there looking every one of her seventy-nine years, the weight of long-held secrets finally showing. “I suspected, but... Adrian, I'm so sorry.”
“You knew?” The question came out as a growl.
“Not everything. Not at first.” She entered slowly, as if approaching a wounded predator. Which, I supposed, I was. “After your parents died, your grandfather changed. Became colder, more focused on building your strength through... particular methods. I thought it was grief. Now I see it was programming.”
“Programming.” I laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “Like I'm some kind of fucking computer. Input trauma, output violence. Is that all I am? Harrison's experiment?”
“No.” Noah's voice cut through my spiral, firm and certain. “You're more than what they tried to make you. You always have been.”
I turned on him, ready to snarl, but stopped at the look in his eyes. Not pity, which would have sent me over the edge. Understanding. Recognition of one damaged soul to another.
“How would you know?” I asked, genuinely curious despite the rage simmering under my skin.
“Because I've seen you choose.” He held my gaze steadily. “Every time you could have been the monster they programmed, you chose something different. Chosen to spare people when killing would have been easier. Found ways to solve problems without violence when you could have just burned everything down. Trusted me enough to be vulnerable.” His voice dropped on the last part. “That's not programming, Adrian. That's who you are underneath it all.”
Every deviation from Harrison's careful psychological architecture, every moment of unexpected humanity, had been a small rebellion against my conditioning. And the biggest rebellion of all stood right in front of me, hazel eyes full of fierce conviction.
“We have Harrison's location,” Viktor announced, breaking the moment. “Government facility outside London. Security details, rotation schedules, everything we need.”
I turned back to the tactical displays, shoving emotion aside for cold planning. “How?”
“Our friend in Parliament finally came through,” Dominic explained, grinning despite his injuries. “Amazing what people will share when you've got photos of them in compromising positions with someone definitely not their wife.”
“Security?”
“Significant but not impossible,” Viktor pulled up satellite imagery. “Military-trained, but small contingent. Government's assessment is that Harrison's intelligence value has diminished since the warehouse incident. They're maintaining protection more from obligation than conviction.”
I studied the compound layout, mind already calculating angles of approach. This would be different from the warehouse. No massive assault, no army of contractors. Just surgical elimination of the man who'd shaped my entire existence through calculated trauma.
“I'm going in personally,” I announced, surprising no one. “Small team. Viktor, Dominic if he's mobile enough?—”
“Try and stop me,” Dominic interrupted.
“And me,” Noah added quietly.
That did surprise me. “This isn't medical support. This is assassination.”
“I know.” He met my gaze without flinching. “But you're not facing him alone. Not after what we just learned.”
“I don't need protection,” I bristled.
“Not protection. Witness.” Noah's jaw set stubbornly. “Someone who sees you, not his creation. In case... in case you need reminding who you really are.”
Having him there for Harrison's death felt both necessary and dangerous, another crossing of boundaries we kept pretending still existed.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But you follow orders. No heroics, no moral objections, no fucking sedatives.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Understood, Mr. Calloway.”
“Adrian,” I corrected automatically, then caught myself. That easy intimacy we'd found in the conservatory felt simultaneously too close and not close enough. “Get equipped. We move at midnight.”
The compound perimeterlooked different through night vision, green-tinted and surreal like something from a videogame. Except the guards carried real weapons, and the man inside had engineered real trauma that had shaped my entire life.