“Disruption code. Network viruses. Maybe complete a system shutdown, like a dead man’s switch.” Dr. Okafor lists the possibilities. “We don’t know what’s possible yet. The quantum entanglement technology is beyond anything we’ve seen. But I see why he took Miss Collins.”
“Why?”
“Her research is specifically about quantum entanglement applications. He needs her expertise to maintain and expand his network,” Dr. Rodriguez adds.
“Which means wherever he’s running his quantum operations from, that’s where we’ll find her,” Gabe concludes.
“Exactly. But we get one shot at inserting our Trojan horse. The moment Malfor detects foreign nanobots in his network, he’ll shut everything down and relocate.”
“Clock starts ticking the moment we deploy,” I state, understanding the reality.
“Maybe less if his security systems are more sophisticated than we think,” Dr. Kim warns.
“We do it,” Collins states with finality. “Whatever it takes.”
I study the faces around the room—scientists driven by curiosity, a father desperate to save his daughter, and specialists willing to risk everything for a chance at justice.
But experience has taught me that hope can be the most dangerous emotion in tactical operations. Hope makes you take risks. Hope makes you see opportunities where only traps exist.
TWENTY-FIVE
The Price of Resistance
ALLY
Jenna’s eyeslock with mine across the courtyard. Her expression holds no accusation. No horror. Only calm acceptance and the slightest nod.
“It’s okay.”She mouths the words, telling me she understands.
Maybe one day, she’ll forgive me.
Guards move instantly, seizing her arms, dragging her toward the metal table. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t struggle. She maintains her dignity even as she’s forced to her knees.
Malfor approaches the table, lifting the cloth to reveal what waits beneath. The brutal simplicity of the tool empties my stomach—bolt cutters, industrial grade, handles wrapped in black rubber, blades gleaming under the tropical sun.
“Secure her hands on the surface.” Malfor’s command mobilizes the guards.
They force Jenna’s arms forward, palms flat against the steel. Zip ties lock her wrists to rings embedded in the table edge. She kneels upright, face composed.
“Dominant hand?” Malfor asks conversationally.
Jenna’s silence hardens her jaw, her teeth clenched against response.
“Irrelevant.” He lifts the cutters, testing their weight. “We’ll improvise.”
He positions the cutters’ jaws around the base of Jenna’s right pinky finger. The metal gleams against her flesh.
“Miss Collins.” Malfor looks up. “Understand why this happens. Your sabotage delays my project. Costs time, resources, and progress. So I take something equally valuable from your friend.”
Malia sobs openly now. Rebel strains against restraining hands, cursing through clenched teeth. Mia’s scientific detachment shatters, horror contorting her features.
“Stop.” The word rips through my vocal cords. “Please. I’ll fix everything. I’ll work without rest. Anything you demand.”
“I know you will.” Malfor’s voice softens. “That’s precisely this exercise’s purpose.”
The bolt cutters close.
The sound—metal cutting through bone and tendon—will haunt every future silence in my life. When Jenna screams, her voice is primal and raw, wounded, shredding the air between us.