Page 229 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Most telling is Max, who’s abandoned his customary spot by the fireplace to stand sentinel at the door.

But what draws my attention is the activity behind the counter. Mike, the maintenance technician, is dismantling the espresso machine, parts spread across the workspace. Two assistants I’ve never seen before work alongside him, one holding tools, the other taking notes on a clipboard.

Mike glances up as we enter, his eyes lingering on me a beat too long before returning to his work.

“What’s happening?” I ask Jenna, who’s watching the proceedings with thinly veiled suspicion.

“Supposedly, the machine couldn’t be fixed,” she answers, her casual tone belied by the tension in her shoulders. “They showed up this morning with a replacement. Wasn’t on the schedule.”

One of Mike’s assistants—the younger one with close-cropped hair and a too-stiff posture—studies me from the corner of his eye while pretending to examine a valve.

“Forest also implemented Level Two security protocols,” Jenna continues, keeping her voice low. “No explanation, but the rumor mill’s working overtime.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“Sentinel activity in San Diego. Alpha team ran into trouble during an extraction. Three operatives injured.”

While Jenna speaks, Mike removes components from the espresso machine, gutting it. His movements are precise, almost mechanical. The older assistant hands him tools before he asks for them, anticipating his needs with suspicious familiarity.

My phone buzzes again. Harrison:Will be at the condo at 7pm with the documents. Your father says it’s important.

Before I can respond, the door opens, and Charlie team enters. The change in atmosphere is immediate—as if the oxygen content suddenly dropped. Conversations halt mid-sentence. Heads turn. Even Max stands at attention.

Hank spots me immediately, his expression softening for a moment before professional detachment reasserts itself. He crosses to me with Gabe close behind, their movements synchronized in a way that speaks of years working in tandem.

“Is everything okay?” I ask as Hank’s arm slides around my waist. His body heat is a stark contrast to the chill that’s taken residence in my bones.

“We have to work late, probably through the night.” A muscle ticks in his jaw.

Gabe kisses my temple, his stubble rough against my skin. “Security updates tonight,” he murmurs, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “Where will you be? Here or at Jenna’s?”

“Jenna’s, probably.” The intensity behind the casual question isn’t lost on me.

His relief is palpable. “Text when you get there. Stay with the group.”

Mike watches our exchange while pretending to examine a circuit board. His assistant whispers something to him, and Mike nods almost imperceptibly.

“What’s going on?” I press. “For real this time.”

Hank and Gabe exchange one of their silent communications—a conversation in micro-expressions that only they can interpret.

“The less you know, the safer you are,” Hank finally says, the finality in his tone brooking no argument.

“I disagree,” I counter. “Knowledge is safety.”

Gabe guides me to a corner table away fromprying ears. “Sentinel is becoming more active,” he admits once we’re seated. “The San Diego incident was a trap.”

“Someone had inside information,” Hank adds, his voice hardening. “Forest and Sam are investigating the possibility of a mole.”

My gaze drifts to Mike and his assistants, still methodically disassembling the espresso machine. The younger one is now taking photos of each component with a small camera.

“What about my thesis defense? It’s next week.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Hank promises, though uncertainty shadows his words. “Your safety comes first.”

Before I can think more about Harrison’s message, Charlie team’s comms crackle to life. Ethan answers, his posture straightening as he listens.

“We need to go,” he announces. “Now.”

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