Page 90 of Anchor
Tuck rounded the gurney. “What hit him?”
“Knife—close. Shoulder, flank and lower ribs. Haven’t checked his back yet.” He grabbed another trauma dressing from the tray. “I’m worried about possible poison. His pupils are wrong.”
Tuck didn’t flinch. “Run the tox panel onsite. Get the C-Med scanner in here. I’ll work the cardiac bleed.” He leaned in, eyes steady. “Reid, you with me?”
No answer. He reached out his fingers, pressing against Reid’s neck. Weak, stuttering pulse. Still there.
He looked back at the nurse. “Bag him. Diaz, draw two cultures. If this is a toxin, we won’t get a second chance.”
Foley sliced deeper between the ribs, clearing the path for a chest tube. Blood arced.
Tuck didn’t blink as he reached into the cavity, fingers seeking the edge of the bleeder, pressure steady. “This boy better not die on me,” he muttered. “I will not tell Claire she lost him in our own damn house.”
Foley met his gaze, nodded and fired up the saw. “Rib spreader.”
THIRTY
ABANDONED TRAIN DEPOT – PERIPHERY GRID ZONE – 1417 HOURS
Rain tapped through a broken skylight. The floor was wet. The air smelled like rust and mold. Terry Fields stood near a stack of rotted crates, coat clinging to him, eyes hollow. He saw it happen. He didn’t just hear about it. He watched.
Reid. Brutalized. Beaten like meat. Blood soaking the corridor tiles.
Reid fought like hell. And Terry did nothing.
The door groaned open behind him. Vos entered, calm and sharp. His shoes didn’t echo. They landed like their weight was deeper than the floor could carry. “You saw it.”
Terry didn’t turn. “You told me it was about destabilization. Undermining Ian. Not… that.”
Vos stopped a few feet behind him. “And what did you think destabilization looked like?”
“I thought it was about trust,” Terry said quietly. “Breaking it. Showing Ian’s people he couldn’t protect them. That he’d grown too fast, too powerful without checks.”
“It is,” Vos said. “But symbols matter.”
Terry turned. “You turned Reid into a message.”
Vos stepped closer. “Reid was the spine. Take him out, the body collapses.”
“He’s not dead.”
“No,” Vos said. “Not yet. That was your price. I let him live. But barely.”
Terry’s hands clenched at his sides. “You’re trying to burn down the only functioning system left. And you think you’re saving something?”
“I’m reminding Ian that nothing he builds is beyond reach. Not his city. Not his people. Not his family.”
Silence stretched.
Then Vos smiled, thin and cruel. “You didn’t hesitate when you gave me the access maps. The corridor schedule. The security rotation. You wanted this.”
Terry looked away. “I wanted Ian shaken,” he said. “I didn’t want him destroyed.”
Vos stepped closer again. “But he will be.”
Terry didn’t move. Just stared out into the dark.
ANN ARBOR CENTRAL COMMAND – TACTICAL CORE – 1504 HOURS
