The light hit before my eyes fully opened.
White. Violent. Burning straight through my skull.
I blinked once.
Twice.
By the third ti, the room finally stopped looking like a washed-out nightmare and started taking shape around .
Concrete walls.
tal table.
A cara mounted on a tripod directly in front of .
And soldiers.
My wrists were zip-tied behind the chair hard enough to make my fingers numb. My ankles had been bound too. Every tiny movent scraped plastic deeper into my skin.
"Na."
The voice ca sharp.
Official.
Cold.
I didn’t answer.
The cara lens stared directly at like it was waiting for to beco sothing ugly.
"NA."
I finally looked up.
The soldier questioning sat across the table with papers in his lap and a pen tapping against his knee. Young guy. Buzzcut. Probably trying way too hard to seem intimidating.
Behind him stood two more soldiers near the door.
And in the corner—
Jennifer.
Watching.
Not speaking.
Just watching .
"...Adrian Carter."
The soldier glanced down at the paper.
"Doesn’t say that on your intake."
"Yeah?" I muttered. "Then looks like sobody made a mistake."
His jaw tightened.
I could already tell this was gonna be one of those conversations where a man with authority desperately wanted to sound afraid of him.
"Age."
"Nineteen."
"Location prior to arrival in the Canadian sector?"
I stared at him.
"Respectfully, what the fuck does that have to do with anything?"
One of the soldiers by the door shifted.
The interrogator leaned back slightly in his chair, looking at the way people looked at stray dogs right before deciding whether or not to kick them.
"A lot, actually."
I said nothing.
He scratched his eyebrow with the pen.
"Tell what happened earlier today."
I laughed quietly through my nose.
"You’re asking ?"
"Yes."
I tilted my head.
"Well. There I was. Sitting in my quarters. Minding my business."
"What kind of business?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"The kind I asked."
I swallowed irritation before it spilled out too early.
"Normal...fucking business?" I said like he had just asked the dumbest question. "Talking. Existing. Breathing. Pick one."
He wrote sothing down.
Then looked back up.
"And then?"
"Then a bunch of ard psychos started screaming outside my room saying they wanted to kill ."
"So you acted in self-defense."
"Yes."
More writing.
The scratching of his pen started getting on my nerves.
"Are you aware there’s additional punishnt for providing false testimony to military personnel?"
I stared at him for a long mont.
Then smiled slightly.
"Good thing I’m telling the truth."
Silence.
Then—
"That’s interesting."
Sothing in my stomach tightened imdiately.
He flipped a page.
"Because sobody already testified otherwise."
My expression didn’t move.
Inside, though, sothing cold slid down my spine.
"...Who?"
"Cherie Laurent."
Everything in stalled.
No.
No fucking way.
Cherie???
The room suddenly felt too small.
"She claims you had prior conflict with the individuals involved. Claims you were the aggressor."
I genuinely felt sick.
Aggressor.
My brain flashed backward instantly.
Trees.
Rain.
Harry’s father aiming first.
The sound of gunfire.
The sll of dirt and blood.
"She doesn’t know what happened," I snapped. "She wasn’t even there for half of it."
"So she’s lying?"
"Yes."
"Why would she lie?"
"Maybe because she’s fucking scared!"
My voice bounced harder than I intended.
The interrogator opened his mouth again, probably ready to corner further—
"Jas."
Jennifer’s voice cut clean through the room.
The soldier looked back at her imdiately.
"I’ll handle the rest."
He blinked.
"We’re almost finished with the sec—"
"You’ve been working all day," she said smoothly. "Go get coffee."
The guy hesitated for a second before standing.
I watched the shift happen instantly. The authority he had around disappeared the second she spoke.
"Yes ma’am."
He gathered the papers and left.
The other soldiers stayed by the door.
Jennifer looked at them next.
"You too."
One frowned slightly.
"Jennifer—"
"That wasn’t a suggestion."
A beat passed.
Then they filed out one by one.
The door shut.
And suddenly the room felt worse.
Not safer.
Not calr.
Worse.
Jennifer dragged the empty chair across the floor and sat directly in front of .
Not across the table.
Close.
Too close.
I kept my eyes lowered.
"Adam Carter," she said softly.
I stayed quiet.
"Twenty-two years old. Hunts deer. Sister nad Leah."
"I never lied about that part."
She smiled faintly.
"You really think that matters?"
I finally looked at her.
"You and your ’sister’ don’t even share the sa eyes," she said. "You barely even share facial structure."
I exhaled slowly.
"Well. Guess the cat’s outta the bag."
"You lied to , Adrian."
There wasn’t even anger in her voice.
That sohow made it worse.
I rubbed my tongue against the inside of my cheek.
"Look," I started, "you have no idea what it’s been like out there. People lie to survive all the ti. I didn’t know who you were, didn’t know what this place was, and for all I knew, giving my real na could’ve gotten shot in the head."
She listened quietly.
So I kept going.
"I had people hunting across states. I had infected trying to rip apart every other day. Everybody wants sothing from you out there. Food. Weapons. Information. You stop being honest because honesty gets people killed."
Still listening.
"You helped once. I appreciated that. But you can’t seriously expect to walk into so giant military sector and imdiately trust strangers with my real identity."
I leaned forward slightly.
"I did what anyone would’ve done."
Jennifer stared at for a few seconds.
Then smiled.
Not warmly.
Not kindly.
It looked almost disappointed.
"That manipulation won’t work on ."
My stomach twisted.
She leaned back in her chair.
"You know what your problem is, Adrian?"
I said nothing.
"You think sounding reasonable changes what you are."
The room went quiet.
Then she stood.
Slowly.
Calmly.
And started circling my chair.
"You currently have a few possible outcos ahead of you."
My pulse steadied automatically.
Information mode.
Listen.
Process.
"Option one," she said behind . "We classify you as an ard civilian involved in organized violence against residents within the sector."
I stared ahead.
"That gets you detained indefinitely while military court determines whether your actions qualify as manslaughter, terrorism, or hostile infiltration."
A pause.
"Option two..."
I heard her fingertips brush against the back of my chair.
"We turn you over to intelligence."
Sothing about the way she said intelligence made my skin crawl.
"There are soldiers outside this room trying very hard to connect you to a series of bodies discovered near the southern checkpoints. Bodies missing fingers. Bodies split open. Bodies killed with an efficiency that doesn’t exactly scream frightened teenager."
My heartbeat kicked once.
Hard.
Then slowed again.
Give them nothing.
Give them absolutely nothing.
"And option three..."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"We acknowledge what you actually are."
I turned my head slightly.
Jennifer was smiling.
Not like a soldier.
Not like an interrogator.
Like sobody watching an experint succeed.
"...What the fuck does that an?"
Instead of answering, she walked back around in front of .
Then crouched.
Eye-level.
"Can I be honest with you, Adrian?"
I didn’t answer imdiately.
But eventually—
"...Yeah."
Her eyes searched mine carefully.
"I know exactly who you are."
Cold spread through my chest.
"I know where you ca from. I know why your behavioral patterns are inconsistent. I know why your survival rate statistically makes no sense."
My breathing slowed.
No.
No no no.
"I know why your pupils dilate before violence," she continued softly. "I know why your emotional processing fractures under stress while your cognition sharpens."
The room suddenly didn’t feel real anymore.
"I know why your body adapts faster than it should."
I stared at her.
And then it clicked.
Not fully.
But enough.
The symbol on the computer.
The way she looked at .
The way she spoke sotis.
Not curious.
Familiar.
"...you’re—.." I began quietly.
I thought I wiped all of them out that night.
I thought they were done for.
Her smile deepened.
There it is.
I felt sick instantly.
Not fear.
Recognition.
The kind that makes your stomach fold in on itself.
Jennifer stepped behind again.
Then—
Her arms slid around my shoulders.
I stiffened imdiately.
Her hands moved slowly down my chest.
Possessive.
Careful.
Like she was touching sothing valuable.
My entire body locked up.
"I know the thing they put inside your brain," she whispered into my ear.
My breath hitched before I could stop it.
"And do you know the funniest part?"
Her fingertips pressed lightly against my sternum.
"I was the one who suggested it."
Sothing genuinely horrible crawled down my spine.
No.
No no no.
"You were never supposed to survive this long," she murmured. "The lattice was unfinished. Unstable. Aggressive. Most subjects degraded."
Subjects.
My jaw tightened hard enough to hurt.
"But you..." she whispered.
Her fingers traced lower.
"You adapted beautifully."
I felt trapped in my own skin.
Like I needed to rip myself out of the chair.
"You fail to disappoint every single ti."
My breathing had gone shallow now.
Jennifer rested her chin lightly near my shoulder.
Almost affectionate.
"That intelligence outside?" she said softly. "They think you’re dangerous because of what you’ve done."
A pause.
"I think you’re dangerous because of what you could beco."
I swallowed hard.
Then she finally stepped around in front of again.
Smiling.
Calm.
Obsessed.
"Which leads to your final option."
She leaned forward slightly.
And my stomach dropped before she even spoke.
"Let complete the lattice."
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