Page 75 of Whisper

My shoulder throbs with each heartbeat—steady, manageable, but a reminder that I’m compromised. The fresh bandages Eliza applied earlier are holding, but blood has seeped through the gauze. Not arterial—I’d be dead already—but enough to keep me weak, slow my reflexes. In a firefight, weakness kills. Right now, sitting in this concrete box with limited escape routes, weakness could kill us both.

The maintenance shed’s single bulb casts harsh shadows across Eliza’s face as she stares at the laptop screen, processing the implications of what we’ve discovered. Phoenix isn’t hiding anymore—it’s integrating and becoming too big to kill without destroying the entire system it now inhabits.

My mental map of the area updates automatically. We’re three blocks from the homeless camp where Eliza got supplies.Phoenix teams swept through here six hours ago—systematic, professional, but they moved on when initial searches turned up nothing. They’ll return with expanded parameters, better equipment, and more personnel.

Standard hunter-killer protocol: expand the search radius, increase the team size, and systematically eliminate hiding spots. I’ve run these operations.

Fast. Efficient. Inevitable.

The shed offers decent concealment but zero tactical advantage. One entrance, no secondary exits, concrete walls that amplify sound. If Phoenix finds us here, we’re trapped. My shoulder won’t handle sustained combat, and Eliza, for all her newfound competence, isn’t a trained operator.

We need better ground. Somewhere with multiple exits, civilians for cover, and infrastructure that complicates their approach. But moving means exposure, and I’m not sure my legs will hold steady under stress.

“Find anything else in the communications?” I ask, shifting against the concrete wall. The movement sends fresh pain through my shoulder, but staying in one position too long creates stiffness that’s worse than the discomfort.

“More Phoenix communications. References to something called ‘corporate integration Phase Three.’ Timeline acceleration due to ‘Wren compromise.’” Her fingers pause on the keyboard. “They’re moving faster because of what I decoded.”

The guilt in her voice cuts through my tactical assessment. She thinks this is her fault. That discovering Phoenix’s financial network somehow created the danger instead of revealing it.

“Not your fault,” I say. “You uncovered an existing threat. Didn’t create it.”

She finally looks at me, green eyes searching my face for something—reassurance, maybe, or confirmation that I’m not just saying what she needsto hear.

“Cooper, I need to ask you something, and I need an honest answer.”

The serious tone makes my chest tighten. Whatever she’s about to ask, it matters to her in ways that go beyond our tactical situation.

“Ask.”

“Are you going to die from these wounds?”

Direct. No academic dancing around the subject. She wants a tactical assessment, not comfort.

“No.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Blood loss is manageable. The wounds are clean. I’ve been hurt worse and remained operational.”

“When?”

The question catches me off guard. Most people accept medical assessments without demanding case studies. However, Eliza processes information by connecting data points and building understanding through examples.

“Afghanistan. Took shrapnel in three places, walked eight miles through Taliban territory.”

“And you survived.”

“Obviously.”

“Syria?”

She remembers my earlier reference. Her academic brain files away details and cross-references information to build complete pictures.

“Bullet through the thigh. Still completed the mission.”

“So these wounds?—”

“Are manageable,” I finish. “I’m not dying on you.”