Page 142 of Fractured Allegiance
Wraith: It won't. I promise.
Cipher: Sending now. Clock starts when it hits your screen.
A moment later, files appear in the chat.
Screenshots of the procurement order with Marrow's name clearly visible. The termination log—Kellan Marrow, Status: Field death, body unrecovered. A redacted case summary showing his last assignment and the blackout that followed.
Wraith: Got them. Saving now.
I immediately plug in a flash drive and start transferring the files. The progress bar crawls across the screen.
Cipher: Listen—if Marrow's alive and freelance, you're dealing with someone who has Bureau training and no oversight. That's dangerous.
Wraith: I know.
Cipher: Do you? Because whatever you're planning, don't do it alone. Talk to your handler. Show her this. Let her escalate it.
Wraith: That's the plan.
Cipher: Good. Be smart. Be careful. And don't contact me again until this is over.
Wraith: Copy. Thank you.
Cipher: Don't thank me. Just don't get us both fired. Or killed.
Wraith: I won't.
I watch the files finish transferring to the flash drive, then eject it and pocket it, after which the messages start to fade from the screen one by one till the entire conversation is gone.
Then I close the laptop and sit in the silence.
Kellan Marrow.
Supposedly dead.
But alive. Watching Lydia. Leaving notes. Operating with Bureau training and no leash.
The question is: why?
And who's he working for?
I try Naomi's line. Straight to voicemail.
I try again. Nothing.
She's either unreachable, or she's not answering on purpose. Either way, I'm on my own.
I've been sitting here for hours. The light through the windows has shifted from morning to late afternoon. I haven't eaten. Haven't moved except to type and wait.
But now I have a name.
I pack up. Laptop, gun, two burners—one in my pocket, one taped under the lining of my coat.
No Naomi. No backup. No permission.
But this isn't about the operation anymore.
This is about Lydia.
