Page 38 of Forsaken

"You've become quite the thorn in my side, haven't you?" Cordell murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of hismouth. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, studying her face with a mix of admiration and calculation.

The room felt oppressively silent, save for the low hum of surveillance equipment. Cordell's mind raced, weighing options, considering moves and countermoves like a master chess player.

"I underestimated you once, Morgan," he said to the frozen image. "I won't make that mistake again."

Without turning, Cordell raised a hand, his gesture precise and commanding. "James," he called softly.

The man stationed by the door stepped forward, his movements fluid and controlled. The dim light caught the crisp lines of his tailored suit as he approached, his face a mask of impassivity.

Cordell finally tore his gaze from the screen, regarding his enforcer. "Our Agent Cross has proven... resilient. More so than anticipated."

James remained silent, waiting for instructions.

"She's like a dog with a bone," Cordell continued, his tone a mixture of frustration and grudging respect. "Relentless. Driven. But every creature has its breaking point."

He paused, considering his next words carefully. "We need to apply more... pressure. Remind her of the consequences of pursuing this path."

James nodded once, his posture radiating readiness. "What are your orders, sir?"

Cordell's eyes flickered back to the frozen image of Morgan. "She's built walls around herself, James. Fortress-like. But even the strongest fortresses have weak points. We just need to find hers."

He drummed his fingers on the desk, his mind working through possibilities. "Her old connections. The people she's reached out to since her... release. I want them monitored.Closely. If she so much as buys a cup of coffee, I want to know about it."

James inclined his head slightly. "Understood, sir. Anything else?"

Cordell's expression hardened. "Yes. It's time we reminded Agent Cross of the stakes involved. Prepare a message. Something... unmistakable."

Cordell's gaze remained fixed on the screen, his weathered face bathed in the cold blue light. The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of electronics. He could feel the weight of his years pressing down on him, decades of secrets and power struggles coalescing into this moment.

"It's time," he said, his voice low but firm. Each word fell from his lips with deliberate precision. "Move to Phase Two."

James nodded once, a barely perceptible movement in the dim light. Cordell could sense the man's readiness, his unwavering loyalty. It was why he kept James close, why he trusted him with the most delicate operations.

Slowly, Cordell rose from his chair, clasping his hands behind his back. He turned to face James, the shadows accentuating the hard lines of his face. In that moment, he felt every bit the stone-cold manipulator he had become.

"She won't go quietly," Cordell said, his tone as sharp as a blade. "We've known that from the start." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "But everyone has a breaking point. Even her."

The thought of Morgan Cross, that tenacious, unyielding woman, sent a mixture of admiration and frustration coursing through him. She was so much like her father – brilliant, relentless, infuriatingly principled. It was almost a shame to crush her.

Cordell took a measured step towards James, lowering his voice further. "Mueller," he said, the name slicing through thestillness of the room. "Take him out. Make it clean, but make it loud enough that she knows it's us."

As he spoke, Cordell felt a familiar coldness settle in his chest. This was the price of power, the cost of maintaining control. He had made peace with it long ago.

A ruthless smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "She needs to understand what happens when she refuses to play by my rules."

James inclined his head, his expression unchanged. No questions. No hesitation. It was this unwavering obedience that made him invaluable to Cordell. In a world of shifting loyalties and constant threats, James was a fixed point, a blade that never dulled.

Cordell watched as his enforcer melted into the shadows, disappearing to set the plan in motion. A flicker of satisfaction sparked in his chest. James embodied everything he valued: efficiency, obedience, ruthlessness. In another life, perhaps Cordell might have seen him as a son. But sentiment was a luxury he couldn't afford, not in this game.

Turning back to the monitor, Cordell found himself drawn once again to the frozen image of Morgan Cross. Her face was a study in determination, her eyes blazing with a fire that reminded him uncomfortably of her father. John Christopher – or Christopher Cross, as he'd known him then – had worn that same look of defiance. It hadn't saved him in the end.

"You're more like him than you know, Morgan," Cordell murmured, his fingers tracing the outline of her face on the screen. "Brilliant, driven... and utterly blind to the bigger picture."

He leaned in closer, studying her as one might examine a particularly complex chess piece. The tattoos that marked her skin told a story of survival, of years stolen and hardshipsendured. Yet beneath it all, he could still see traces of the young agent he'd once known – before prison, before the fall.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" he asked the silent image. "Did you think you could hunt me without consequences?"

Cordell straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. The weight of decades of secrets and carefully orchestrated plans pressed down on him. He'd sacrificed too much, come too far to let one woman – no matter how formidable – unravel everything.

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