Chapter 4: The Trap Springs Shut
The stench hit them before the door even opened.
Rot and rust and something else—something sweet and cloying, like flowers left too long in stagnant water. Mandy pressed her sleeve to her nose and pushed forward anyway, her boots squelching against the flooded floorboards. The warehouse stretched ahead of them, a cavernous maw of shadow and decay, its rusted skeleton barely visible in the stuttering light of Bruce's portable lantern.
"Stay close," she whispered.
Behind her, the team fanned out. Ben took point, his pistol drawn, his jaw set. Jess moved like a ghost at his shoulder, her Wand training evident in every silent step. Mai was practically vibrating with barely contained energy, her dark eyes scanning the shadows like she was hunting something. Calista walked at the center, her hands already wreathed in faint golden light, ready to ignite at a moment's notice. Marty and Beth brought up the rear, their fingers intertwined, their breathing synchronized.
Jeeves floated above them all, his mechanical arms extended, his sensors sweeping the darkness.
"Mistress Mandy," the automaton intoned, its voice a soft hum. "I am detecting significant arcane interference. The readings are... unusual."
"Define unusual."
"Hostile. Seductive. Designed to confuse and disarm."
Mandy's stomach clenched. She'd heard that description before—in the old Consortium files she'd spent months decrypting. The sirens. Biological weapons engineered to weaponize desire, to turn lust into a trap.
"Everyone stay sharp," she said. "We're not alone."
The corridor opened into a wider space—what had once been a processing floor, now a graveyard of empty crates and rusted machinery. The neon sign overhead flickered, casting everything in a sickly green glow. CONSORTIUM: NO MERCY, it read, the letters half-eaten by corrosion.
"Charming," Mai murmured.
"Shh."
Mandy's eyes swept the room. There—a door at the far end, slightly ajar. Light spilled from within, warm and yellow. She motioned for the others to follow.
They found the cell.
It was small, barely six feet by eight. A cot against one wall, a bucket in the corner, a single bare bulb swinging from the ceiling. The cot was empty, but the blanket was rumpled, still holding the shape of a body.
Mandy pressed her palm against the mattress.
"Still warm."
"They moved her recently," Jess said. "Within the last hour."
"Or they want us to think that."
Beth stepped forward, her camera hanging forgotten at her side. Her face was pale, her eyes wet.
"She was here. Shiv was here."
"She's not here now." Mandy straightened up. "Which means—"
She stopped.
The wall.
Someone had scrawled across it in fresh, dripping paint. Letters three feet tall, jagged and mocking.
GOTCHA.
The word seemed to pulse in the flickering light, a challenge and a taunt and a promise all at once.
"They knew," Marty whispered. "They knew we were coming."
"Of course they did." Mandy's voice was flat. "We walked right into it."
The lights flared.
Not the sickly green of the neon sign—this was white, blinding, searing. Mandy threw her arm over her eyes, stumbling backward. She heard Ben curse, heard Jess's sharp intake of breath, heard Bruce fumble for his wrench.
And then she heard the singing.
It started as a hum, low and resonant, vibrating in her chest like a second heartbeat. Then it grew—layered, harmonic, impossibly beautiful. Three voices weaving together in a melody that bypassed her ears entirely and burrowed straight into her spine.
She felt it in her cunt first. A warm pulse, insistent and hungry. Then her nipples, tightening against her shirt. Then her lips, parting slightly, her breath coming faster.
The song promised things. Soft things. Wet things. The press of bodies and the slide of skin and the taste of sweat and the sound of someone moaning her name.
Stop, she told herself. This isn't real.
But her body wasn't listening.
Three figures emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room, stepping into the harsh white light like dancers taking a stage.
They were naked.
Not naked in the way of the void-spawned monsters Mandy had faced before—not grotesque or wrong. These women were beautiful. Perfect. Their skin gleamed like polished marble, their hair flowed like liquid silk, their bodies curved in ways that seemed mathematically impossible.
And on their hips, pulsing with the same sickly green light as the neon sign, were brands. A symbol Mandy recognized from her research—the new Consortium's modified logo. The sharper, angular pi.
The sirens.
Their song intensified.
Ben's gun clattered to the floor.
Mandy heard it—the metal hitting the wet floorboards, the sudden absence of his steady presence at her shoulder. She turned, her movements slow and syrupy, and saw him standing with his arms limp at his sides, his eyes glassy, his lips slightly parted.
"Ben." Her voice came out wrong. Too soft. Too breathy. "Ben, snap out of it."
He didn't respond. Just stood there, swaying slightly, his cock straining against his jeans—visible, obvious, obscene in the harsh light.
The sirens sang on.
Jess was fighting it. Mandy could see the tension in her jaw, the way her hand trembled as she raised her gun. The Wand agent's eyes were squeezed shut, her breathing ragged, her finger hovering over the trigger.
"Don't," Mandy managed. "Don't shoot. You might hit—"
"I know." Jess's voice was a snarl. "I know."
Marty stumbled forward, his hand reaching out, his lips moving.
"Shiv," he whispered. "Shiv, I'm coming—"
Beth caught him. Wrapped her arms around his waist and physically hauled him back, her heels skidding on the wet floor.
"It's not her," she hissed. "Marty, it's not her. Look at me. Look at me!"
But Marty's blue eyes were fixed on the sirens, on their swaying hips and their perfect breasts and the promises their song was pouring into his skull.
Mai laughed.
It was a sharp sound—wild, uncontrolled, utterly inappropriate. It cut through the sirens' melody like a blade through silk.
"These cunts," she said, "think they can out-hedonist me?"
She started peeling off her clothes.
Mandy watched, frozen, as Mai stripped—her tank top hitting the floor, her shorts following, her underwear abandoned without a second thought. Her body gleamed in the harsh light, lean and muscular and utterly unselfconscious.
The sirens faltered. Just slightly. Just enough.
Mai advanced on the nearest one, her hips swaying, her smile sharp and predatory.
"You want to fuck?" she asked. "Let's fucking fuck."
The siren reached for her—pale arms extended, lips parted, song rising in a desperate crescendo. Mai grabbed her wrist and twisted.
The crack of bone was obscenely loud.
The siren shrieked—a sound that was half pain, half fury—and Mai slammed her against the nearest crate. The metal buckled under the impact. The siren's song dissolved into a wet gurgle as Mai drove her knee into her stomach, again and again, each blow punctuated by a grunt of effort.
"You think you can sing me into submission?" Mai grabbed a fistful of the siren's silver hair and yanked her head back. "I've been fucked by things you can't imagine. I've ridden dragons. I've had my cunt stretched by tentacles in dimensions you don't have names for."
She drove her fist into the siren's face.
"You're nothing."
The other two sirens had stopped singing. They stood frozen, their perfect faces twisted with something that might have been fear.
Calista seized the moment.
Her hands ignited—not the warm gold Mandy had seen before, but something brighter, hotter. White-hot fire that crackled and spat and turned the air itself to shimmering heat.
"For my sister," she said, and hurled a bolt of flame at the second siren.
The creature shrieked. The fire engulfed her, consuming her perfect skin, her flowing hair, her impossible beauty. She dissolved into ash, her final scream echoing off the rusted walls.
The third siren turned to run.
Jeeves extended a mechanical arm—faster than Mandy could track—and pressed a glowing tip against the creature's spine.
The siren convulsed. Then collapsed.
The song died.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Mandy's knees buckled. She caught herself on the edge of the cot, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body still trembling with unwanted arousal. Her nipples ached. Her cunt throbbed. The ghost of the sirens' promise lingered in her veins, a warm and filthy echo.
"You okay?" Jess was at her side, her gun still drawn, her eyes scanning the shadows for more threats.
"I'll live." Mandy forced herself to stand. "Ben?"
He was blinking, shaking his head like a man waking from a dream. His face was flushed, his pupils still dilated, but the glassy look was gone.
"I—" He swallowed hard. "What the fuck was that?"
"Sirens. Old Consortium weapon. They use desire as a trap." Mandy's voice was steadier than she felt. "You were about two seconds from trying to fuck one of them."
"I wouldn't have—"
"You would have. That's the point." She turned away from him, toward the wall where GOTCHA was still dripping. "They knew we were coming. They wanted us here."
Marty was on his knees, Beth's arms still wrapped around him. His face was wet with tears.
"I heard her voice," he said. "I heard Shiv. She was calling for me."
"That wasn't Shiv." Beth's voice was gentle but firm. "That was the sirens. They used what you wanted to hear against you."
"I know. I know that. But it felt so real."
Mandy understood. She'd felt it too—the pull, the promise, the sudden overwhelming certainty that if she just gave in, everything would be okay. The sirens didn't just sing. They rewrote reality, made you believe that pleasure was the only truth.
She found the hidden camera behind a loose panel. It was small, sleek, unmistakably modern—nothing like the rusted antiques scattered around the warehouse. It had been installed recently. Deliberately.
They'd been watching.
She smashed it with her boot.
"They knew we were coming," she said again. "They wanted us here. This whole thing—the cell, the warm cot, the message—it was a trap."
"A distraction," Jess said slowly. "While they..."
"While they what?" Bruce asked. He'd gone pale, his wrench clutched in both hands like a talisman. "What are they doing?"
Mandy looked at the empty cell. At the rumpled blanket. At the mocking word on the wall.
"Somewhere else," she said. "They've taken her somewhere else. And we just walked into their distraction."
"So where the fuck is Shiv?" Jess's voice was sharp, frustrated.
"I don't know." Mandy pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen. "But I'm going to find out."
Jeeves floated closer, his sensors humming.
"Master Mandy, I have detected a faint energy signature. It appears to be a portal residue. Very recent. Within the last thirty minutes."
"A portal? To where?"
"Unknown. But the signature contains traces of temporal magic. It is similar to the readings we recorded during the void incident."
Mandy's blood ran cold.
"Time magic. They're using time magic."
"Shiv's family has enemies who know about the Orders. Know about time travel." Bruce's voice was grim. "If they've taken her through a portal—"
"She could be anywhere. Anywhen." Marty stood up, his face suddenly hard. "But that doesn't matter. We're going to find her."
"How?" Beth asked. "We don't have a time machine. We don't have a portal."
"We have something better." Mandy was already moving toward the door. "We have family."
She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she'd memorized months ago.
It rang twice.
"Williamson residence," a woman's voice answered. Warm. Familiar. "This is Casey."
"Mom. We need you. And Aunt Jan. And anyone else who can get to Miami in the next six hours."
A pause.
"What's happened?"
"Shiv's not here. She's been taken through a time portal. We don't know where or when." Mandy's voice cracked, just once. "But we're going to get her back."
Another pause.
"On our way."
The line went dead.
Mandy looked at her team—her friends, her family. They were battered, exhausted, still shaking off the effects of the sirens' song. But they were standing. They were ready.
"Let's go home," she said. "We've got a grandmother to rescue."
They filed out of the warehouse, leaving the empty cell and the mocking message and the pile of siren ash behind. The night swallowed them whole.
And somewhere, in a time and place no one could name, Shiv O'Connor was starting to count the minutes until her family found her.
She'd been through worse.
She'd survived Dublin.
She'd survived Chicago.
She'd survive this.
The van roared to life. The headlights cut through the darkness. And Mandy Williamson drove like hell was on her heels, because maybe it was.
Behind them, the warehouse crumbled into the swamp.
Ahead, the future was waiting.
And in between, a family was coming together.
The van tore through the Everglades like a bullet, its tires chewing up the gravel road, its headlights carving tunnels through the cypress shadows.
Mandy drove with both hands locked on the wheel, her knuckles white, her jaw set so tight her teeth ached. Beside her, Felicity monitored the tablet, her fingers dancing across the screen as she pulled up every scrap of data Bruce's sensors had captured.
"The portal signature is degrading," Felicity said. "But I've got a direction. Northeast. It's faint, but it's there."
"Northeast." Mandy's mind raced. "That could be anywhere. New York. Boston. Fucking Canada."
"Or it could be nowhere." Bruce leaned forward from the back seat, his Scottish accent thick with tension. "Time portals don't work like regular portals. They don't just move you through space. They move you through—"
"Time. I know." Mandy's voice was sharp. "I was there for the void incident, remember?"
The van hit a pothole and everyone jolted. In the back, Marty had his arm around Beth, his face buried in her hair. He hadn't spoken since they'd left the warehouse. Neither had Ben, who sat rigid in the corner, his hands clasped between his knees, his eyes fixed on nothing.
Jess sat beside him, her gun holstered but her hand never far from it. She kept glancing at Ben, her expression unreadable.
"You okay?" she asked quietly.
"No." Ben's voice was hoarse. "I almost—I would have—"
"You didn't."
"I wanted to." He finally looked at her, and his eyes were wet. "I wanted to fuck that thing. I wanted it so bad I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't remember your name or Mandy's name or anything except—"
"Stop." Jess's voice was firm. "That's what they do. That's what sirens are for. They don't just make you want them. They make you forget everything else."
"I forgot you." Ben's voice cracked. "For three seconds, I forgot you existed."
Jess reached over and took his hand. Her grip was strong, steady.
"I've been a Wand for eight years," she said. "I've seen things that would break most people. I've been tortured. I've been mind-fucked. I've had my memories rewritten so many times I'm not always sure which ones are real."
Ben stared at her.
"But I've never forgotten you," she continued. "Not once. Not even when I wanted to. So you get a pass on three seconds."
"That's not—"
"It's not a pass. It's a fact." Jess squeezed his fingers. "You're human. You're vulnerable. That's not weakness. That's what makes you worth fighting for."
Ben didn't respond. But he didn't pull away either.
In the front seat, Mandy pretended not to hear. Her eyes stayed on the road, but her chest ached with something she couldn't name. Jealousy? No. It wasn't that. It was something softer. Something that felt like gratitude.
Jess was good for him. Good for both of them.
She'd have to remember that. When this was over.
---
The beach house was a blaze of light when they pulled into the driveway.
Katrina was standing on the porch, her grey eyes scanning the night, her body tense. Behind her, Aunt Judy's blonde hair caught the glow from the windows, a beacon in the darkness.
Mandy killed the engine and jumped out.
"What's the situation?" Katrina asked.
"We lost her." Mandy's voice was flat. "They took her through a time portal. We don't know where or when."
Katrina's expression didn't change. She'd spent thirty years in a timeless void. She understood better than anyone what it meant to be lost in time.
"Come inside. We've been making calls."
The living room had transformed into a war room. Maps covered the coffee table, laptops hummed on every surface, and Jeeves floated in the corner, his mechanical arms extended as he monitored a dozen data streams at once.
Judy was on the phone, her voice low and urgent. When she saw Mandy, she covered the receiver.
"It's Aunt Calli. She's putting the Wands on alert."
"What about the Green Moons?"
"Jan's already been contacted. She's mobilizing her people in Chicago."
Mandy nodded. She pulled out her phone and dialed her mother again.
It rang once.
"We're already packed," Casey said. "Your father's packing a bad. I'm making calls. We'll be on our way in twenty minutes."
"Mom—"
"I know, Bug. I know." Casey's voice was steady, but there was something underneath it. Something hard. "Shiv is family. We don't leave family behind."
"I love you."
"I love you too. Now stop wasting time on the phone and figure out where they took her."
The line went dead.
Mandy turned to the room. Her team. Her family. They were battered, exhausted, still shaking off the effects of the sirens' song. But they were standing. They were ready.
"Felicity, keep working on the portal signature. I need a location."
"On it."
"Bruce, I need you to contact your mother. The Wands might have resources we don't."
"Already done. She's sending backup."
"Mai—" Mandy paused. Mai was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, her face still streaked with siren blood. "Mai, are you okay?"
Mai looked up. Her eyes were bright, almost feverish.
"I killed one of them with my bare hands," she said. "I've never done that before."
"Are you okay?"
"I don't know." Mai's voice was honest. "But I'm not going to stop. Not until Shiv is safe."
Mandy nodded. She understood.
"Marty. Beth." She turned to them. "I need you to stay here. Coordinate with any of the Chicago people when they arrive. Keep the comms open."
"I want to come with you." Marty's voice was hard. "She's my grandmother."
"And you'll help her more by being here. Trust me."
Marty looked like he wanted to argue. But Beth put a hand on his arm, and he subsided.
"Fine. But the moment you find her—"
"You'll be the first to know."
Mandy grabbed her gear. Checked her weapons. Looked at her team one last time.
"Let's move."
---
The drive to the airport was a blur of streetlights and siren-song echoes and the taste of bile in the back of her throat.
Mandy sat in the passenger seat while Jess drove, her mind racing through everything they knew. The Consortium had Shiv. They'd used a time portal. They'd set a trap at the warehouse—a distraction to buy themselves time.
But time for what?
Interrogation. That was the obvious answer. They wanted information about the Orders, about Mandy's research, about the Dark Market. They wanted to know what the family knew and who they'd told.
Which meant Shiv was still alive. For now.
The thought should have been comforting. It wasn't.
"They're not going to break her," Jess said, as if reading her mind. "Shiv's been through worse. She survived Dublin. She survived Martin's death. She raised three kids who turned out to be some of the most powerful magic-users on the planet."
"I know."
"So why do you look like someone just pissed in your cereal?"
Mandy snorted. It was an ugly sound, half-laugh, half-sob.
"Because I'm scared," she admitted. "Because I don't know where she is, and I don't know how to find her, and I keep thinking about all the things I should have said when I had the chance."
"Like what?"
"Like thank you. For letting Beth stay in her house. For teaching me how to make proper tea. For not judging me when I accidentally set her kitchen on fire that one time."
Jess glanced at her. "You set her kitchen on fire?"
"It was an experiment. It went wrong."
"Of course it did."
They drove in silence for a moment. The airport loomed ahead, its lights blazing against the dark sky.
"She's going to be okay," Jess said. "We're going to find her. And when we do, you can tell her all the things you should have said."
"You think so?"
"I know so." Jess pulled into the short-term parking lot. "Now let's go pick up your parents."
---
The private jet was waiting on the tarmac when they arrived.
It belonged to the Order of the Perpetual Sunrise—a sleek, silver machine that looked like it had been designed by someone who'd watched too many sci-fi movies. The pilot, a woman with short grey hair and eyes that never seemed to blink, greeted them with a nod.
"Miss Williamson. We've been expecting you."
"Thanks." Mandy climbed the stairs, her legs trembling with exhaustion. "How long to Chicago?"
"Three hours. We've been cleared for priority landing."
"Good."
She found a seat near the window and collapsed into it. Jess sat across from her, her gun holstered but her hand still close. Old habits.
The plane taxied to the runway. The engines roared. And then they were airborne, climbing through the clouds, leaving Miami behind.
Mandy closed her eyes.
She thought about Shiv. About the way she'd smiled when Mandy had first arrived in Miami, nervous and awkward and desperate to prove herself. About the way she'd said, "You're family now, Mandy Williamson. And family takes care of each other."
She thought about the sirens. About the way their song had wrapped around her brain, promising pleasure and oblivion and the kind of release that made you forget everything else.
She thought about Ben's face when he'd come back to himself. The shame. The fear. The desperate need for forgiveness.
She thought about Jess, who had fought the compulsion with nothing but willpower and spite. Who had stood her ground when everyone else was falling.
She thought about Marty, who had heard his grandmother's voice in the sirens' song and almost walked into their arms.
She thought about Beth, who had held him back.
She thought about Calista, whose fire had saved them.
She thought about Mai, who had killed a siren with her bare hands and laughed while doing it.
She thought about the warehouse. The empty cell. The mocking message painted on the wall.
GOTCHA.
They'd been played. Outmaneuvered. Humiliated.
But they were still alive. They were still fighting.
And they were going to get Shiv back.
Whatever it took.
---
In Chicago, Casey hung up the phone and turned to the bed.
Mike was propped against the headboard, his grey-streaked hair tousled, his reading glasses perched on his nose. He'd been pretending to read a book for the last twenty minutes, but she knew he hadn't turned a single page.
Jan was sprawled beside him, her red hair fanned across the pillow, her green eyes sparkling with something that might have been amusement. Her body had changed over the years—softer now, curvier, the weight she'd carried for decades finally starting to redistribute itself under Stacy's relentless fitness regimen—but she was still unmistakably herself.
"The Consortium still has Shiv," Casey said.
Jan laughed.
It wasn't a nervous laugh. It wasn't a frightened laugh. It was the laugh of someone who had just heard the punchline to a very good joke.
"I feel bad for them," she said, sitting up and stretching. "They have no idea what they've gotten themselves into."
Mike set his book aside. "You're not worried?"
"About my mother?" Jan swung her legs off the bed and stood, her naked body catching the lamplight. "Mike, my mother once killed a man with a knitting needle. She survived the Troubles. She raised three children who turned out to be some of the most powerful magic-users on the planet."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're going to get." Jan whistled sharply. "Godfrey!"
The Maltese appeared instantly, his tiny body vibrating with excitement, his eyes fixed on Jan with adoration.
"Come on, boy. Mama needs a shower." Jan padded toward the bathroom, her hips swaying. "I'm going to call Cameron. See if he's back from his business trip."
"You're not worried about Shiv?" Casey asked.
"I'm not worried about Mam." Jan paused at the bathroom door. "I'm worried about the people who took her. They're about to have a very bad day."
She disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, the sound of running water filled the bedroom.
"Anyone want to join me?" Jan called. "We won't be able to catch a flight for a few hours. Might as well make good use of the time."
Mike and Casey exchanged a look.
"I'm tempted," Casey admitted. "But someone should call Brigid."
Mike winced. "Not it."
"She adores her mother."
"That's exactly why I'm not it. She terrifies me."
"She's five foot two."
"She's five foot two of pure Irish fury, and she once made a man cry because he used the wrong pronoun for her wife." Mike shook his head. "I'm not calling her. You call her."
Casey sighed. "Fine. But you owe me."
"I always owe you."
Jan's voice drifted from the bathroom. "Are you two coming or not? The water's getting cold!"
Casey picked up her phone. "I'll call Brigid. You go keep Jan company."
"You're a saint."
"I know."
Mike stood up, stretched, and headed for the bathroom. Jan's laughter echoed off the tiles.
Casey dialed the number.
It rang three times.
"Hello?"
"Brigid? It's Casey."
A pause. "What's wrong?"
"Why do you assume something's wrong?"
"Because you never call me. And it's midnight. And you sound like someone who's about to tell me something I don't want to hear."
Casey took a breath.
"It's your mother. She's been taken."
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.
"Taken by who?"
"The Consortium. The new one."
Another silence. Then:
"I'll be on the next flight to Miami."
"Brigid—"
"I'm a cardiologist, Casey. I've spent my entire career keeping hearts beating. If someone thinks they can stop my mother's heart and get away with it, they're about to learn a very painful lesson."
The line went dead.
Casey stared at her phone for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
The O'Connor women were something else.
---
The Consortium base was buried beneath a mountain, its corridors carved from living rock, its walls lined with anti-magic sigils that hummed with a frequency that made Shiv's teeth ache.
She'd been moved twice since the first interrogation. The second cell had been smaller, colder, the cot replaced with a thin mattress on bare stone. The third was little more than a closet, barely wide enough for her to lie down.
She'd counted the footsteps. The guards. The subtle shifts in air pressure that told her when doors were opening and closing.
She'd catalogued everything.
The new interrogator arrived four hours after the sirens had been deployed.
He—or she; the robes made it impossible to tell—was shorter than the first one, with a different way of moving. Less confident. More hesitant. The mask was the same, white and featureless, but the hands that folded on the table were trembling.
"Siobhan O'Connor," the figure said. The voice modulator stripped it of gender, of age, of anything human. "You've been a guest of the Consortium for three days."
Shiv said nothing.
"We have questions."
"I'm sure you do."
"The people you're protecting. The Orders. The Green Moons. The Golden Wands. They're not your friends. They're users. They'll drain you dry and leave you for dead."
Shiv examined her nails. They were getting long. She'd need to trim them soon.
"You don't believe me," the figure said. "But I've seen it happen. I've seen what they do to people like you. People who aren't fully human."
"I'm perfectly human, thank you."
"Are you?" The figure leaned forward. "Your daughter Jan. She's not human. Not entirely. The void changed her. The magic changed her. She's something else now. Something that will never be allowed to live in peace."
Shiv's eyes flickered. Just for a moment.
The figure saw it.
"You know I'm right. You've seen it. The way she struggles. The way she hides. The way she pretends to be normal when she's anything but."
"My daughter," Shiv said slowly, "is the most human person I've ever known. She loves deeply. She laughs loudly. She makes terrible jokes and eats too much and gives the best hugs in the world."
"That's not—"
"She also could be the most powerful magic-user in a generation if she tried harder. But that's not what makes her human." Shiv leaned forward, matching the figure's posture. "What makes her human is that she chooses to be kind. Every day. Even when it's hard. Even when it hurts."
The figure was silent.
"Now." Shiv's voice softened. "Let's talk about you."
"Me?"
"You're not like the other one. The first interrogator. They enjoyed the theatrics. The intimidation. The masks and the threats and the slamming of tables." Shiv tilted her head. "But you. You're uncomfortable. You don't want to be here."
"I—"
"You're far from home. You have a family. A grandmother, maybe. Someone who taught you how to cook. Someone who told you stories about the old country."
The figure's hands trembled harder.
"You're Ukrainian," Shiv said. "Aren't you?"
Silence.
"I can hear it. The accent underneath the modulator. The way you pronounce certain words. You're not American. You're not even Western European. You're Ukrainian."
The figure went rigid.
"And you hate this. You hate what you're doing. You hate the mask and the robes and the threats. You hate the way the Consortium treats people like tools."
"How—"
"I'm a mother. And a grandmother. And I've spent seventy years learning how to read people." Shiv smiled. "What's your name?"
"I can't—"
"You can. I'm not asking for your full name. Just a name. Something to call you."
The figure's hands clenched into fists.
"Nikita," she whispered.
"Nikita." Shiv nodded. "That's a beautiful name."
The figure stood up abruptly. Her chair scraped against the stone floor.
"I have to go."
"I know. But before you do—"
Shiv reached out. Not to grab. Not to threaten. Just to touch the back of the figure's gloved hand.
"Nikita. You don't have to do this. You don't have to be part of something that hurts people. You can choose differently."
The figure yanked her hand away. Stumbled toward the door.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry for all of it."
The door slammed shut.
Shiv sat alone in the darkness, her hand still extended, the ghost of the figure's warmth lingering on her fingers.
She smiled.
Not a triumphant smile. Not a gloating smile. Something softer.
She might be getting out of this mess on her own at that rate.
The hours passed. The guards changed. The flickering light bulb swayed and buzzed and cast its sickly glow over the stone walls.
Shiv waited.
She counted the seconds.
She thought about her children. About Jan, laughing in Chicago, not worried because she knew her mother could take care of herself. About Johnny, somewhere in the void, unaware that his mother was a prisoner. About Brigid, fierce and protective and probably already on her way.
She thought about Marty. About his blue eyes and his red hair and the way he asked questions about everything. About the life he was building in Miami, with Beth and the others.
She thought about the future.
It was going to be a good one. She could feel it.
But first, she had to get out of this place.
And she would.
Nikita would come back. They always did.
And when she did, Shiv would be ready.