Claire’s death shattered the last illusion that this was still a case. It was a culling. The Circle didn’t rage or rant; it edited. Files. People. Endings. Ramos went from exhausted to relentless. She stopped talking about “building a case” and started talking about “getting you out alive.”
Protection details rotated outside the house. Samuel slept sitting up in a chair, as if he’d done it before. Rachel kept a list of every name in Project Harbor, whispering them like a prayer she refused to forget.
In the middle of that siege, my father’s words became the only steady thing I had left. Love without honesty turns into a trap. He hadn’t just saved me from Andrew; he’d dragged a buried machine into the light, knowing it might cost him everything. We still don’t know where Andrew is, or how far the Circle reaches. But I visit my father’s grave and tell him this: they control stories, not time. One day, someone will outlive their fear long enough to finish what he started.
