After days of adrenaline, bruises, and close calls, the sudden calm was both a relief and an adjustment. Miller and Monroe had taken the drive to be reviewed, giving Scarlett and me a rare couple of days off. I'd recently moved into a new house, a step away from my life at university and closer to my role at the government's center of operations, and the timing couldn't have been better. Scarlett, always practical, offered to help me get things organized. I agreed; she had an eye for detail that I couldn't deny would make the place feel less sterile.
Just as we started unloading boxes, my phone buzzed, flashing with Lucy's name. Her voice came through, warm but tentative, as she asked if she could come by and help. I hesitated briefly, thinking of Scarlett, but I couldn't turn Lucy away. I mentioned that Scarlett was already there, which Lucy didn't seem to mind—or so I thought.
Not long after, Lucy arrived, her familiar presence softening the edges of the room. We moved around each other, arranging shelves, unboxing books, and setting up furniture, but I couldn't ignore the way her eyes flickered toward Scarlett, her face hardening whenever she noticed the ease between us.
As we set up my desk in the corner, Lucy couldn't hold back any longer. "You and Scarlett…you're close, aren't you?" she asked, her voice tight.
I paused, glancing at her carefully. "We work together a lot. That's all it is, Lucy."
But I could see the doubt in her eyes, a flicker of frustration and something else—something deeper, more personal. I took a step closer, lowering my voice. "Lucy, it's not what you think. You're here because I want you to be."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but the tension remained, her gaze locked on mine. There was a moment of silence, the air thick between us, and then, without warning, she leaned forward. I felt her breath against my skin, and before I could think, her lips were on mine.
For a moment, everything else disappeared—the mission, the politics, even Scarlett's presence just down the hall. But as quickly as it started, she pulled back, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
"I…should go," she murmured, already moving toward the door.
"Lucy, wait—" I started, but she was gone before I could finish.
The house felt strangely quiet as I returned to the living room, only to find Scarlett leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a knowing, sarcastic smirk on her face. "Quite the assistant, isn't she?" she remarked, her tone sharp.
"Scarlett," I started, but she cut me off, her voice laced with something that might've been jealousy.
"Please, V. You don't owe me any explanations," she said, though her expression said otherwise. "I'll get going too. I think you have everything you need now." Without another word, she turned and left, leaving me standing in the silence, caught between two worlds and two women who each saw a different side of me.
The quiet of the empty halls at night was something I'd grown to appreciate. It was easy to think, to maneuver without the usual eyes on me. Tonight, though, my thoughts were a tangle of Lucy, Scarlett, and the mounting chaos surrounding Mercier. I made my way to Miller's office, hoping for a few answers that had lingered in my mind for a while now—answers about Scarlett.
As I stepped into his office, Miller looked up from his paperwork, eyebrows raising slightly. "V? Don't you still have another day off?" He leaned back in his chair, studying me.
I gave a slight shrug. "I could use a distraction," I said simply. "Thought I'd catch up on some things."
Miller gave a low chuckle, folding his arms. "I suppose work's one way to do that. What's on your mind?"
"Scarlett," I said without hesitation. "There's more to her than I realized. I want to know a bit more about her background—if that's even possible."
Miller's expression softened slightly, a flicker of understanding in his gaze. "Scarlett…well, let's just say she's been around. She's younger than she might seem, though—only thirty. Before she joined us, she was in the Marines, specialized in recon and close-quarters combat. She had a reputation for getting the job done, no matter how impossible it looked. Quick, calculating, and lethal. But that's just one side of her."
I absorbed each word, the pieces of her past beginning to form a picture in my mind. She wasn't just some ambitious assistant. She had a history of her own, one that explained her resilience—and maybe even her edge.
Miller leaned forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Just…be careful with her, V. People with histories like her have layers, some you might not like."
Before I could respond, Monroe strode into the office, his usual composure tinged with a hint of urgency. "Miller. V. We've got a situation with Mercier."
Miller straightened, his entire demeanor shifting. "What's happened?"
"Mercier's broken free of his containment," Monroe said, voice grim. "We found a breach in his holding cell's surveillance feeds. He had help—someone with access, someone who knew exactly what they were doing."
The news hit like a punch. Mercier was ruthless on his own, but if someone inside our organization was aiding him, it could compromise everything we'd worked for.
Monroe's gaze shifted to me, his expression unreadable. "V, Miller—we'll need all hands on this. If Mercier is loose, he's got a head start. And something tells me he's not finished with us yet."
The room fell silent as the weight of his words settled over us. Mercier was on the move, and every second counted.
Monroe's voice cut through the room with its usual authority, amplified by the tension filling the air. We were gathered in the council chamber—a place typically reserved for high-level discussions, yet now every face in the room wore an expression of apprehension. Directors, councilors, security heads, and, of course, Miller, Scarlett, Anderson Silva, and even Lucy, who looked slightly out of place but determined. Mercier's escape had turned this into a full-scale crisis.
Monroe surveyed the room, his gaze sharp and calculating. "As you all know, Mercier is no longer in our custody. This breach is more than an oversight—it's an infiltration, and it threatens the integrity of our entire operation."
Anderson Silva leaned back in his chair, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "And here I thought your state-of-the-art security system was supposed to be foolproof."
Monroe's eyes flicked to him, irritation clear, but he didn't take the bait. "Mercier didn't act alone. We're dealing with someone who understands our systems from the inside, who had the clearance to access classified areas undetected. We're here to ensure that leak is found."
Lucy shifted slightly, her gaze flicking nervously between Monroe and Anderson. Meanwhile, Scarlett kept her eyes focused forward, a steely calm masking any reaction to Silva's jabs.
Miller cleared his throat, turning to Monroe. "What do we know about Mercier's current location?"
"Little to nothing," Monroe replied, his tone clipped. "His escape was thorough and timed perfectly. He knew exactly where to go, how to avoid our cameras, and how to disable tracking in the cell block."
A silence settled over the room as everyone absorbed the gravity of the situation. Then, Monroe continued, "V, Scarlett, you two have already proven yourselves on the field with Mercier. You're to continue tracking him, now under priority one status. We need any information on who could've coordinated this from the inside. And, Anderson," he added, turning to him, "I want you overseeing the internal security analysis. If there's a rat, it'll be in your purview to find them."
Anderson Silva's smirk faded as he realized Monroe was handing him the unenviable task of rooting out the traitor—something he couldn't easily delegate or manipulate. "Understood," he said, though his tone lacked enthusiasm.
Monroe's gaze shifted to Lucy, who visibly stiffened. "Lucy," he said, surprising everyone by addressing her directly, "you'll be assisting with intel processing. This is high-stakes; every piece of data is critical. I trust you'll handle this with the utmost discretion."
"Yes, sir," Lucy replied, her voice steady but her expression a mix of determination and anxiety.
Monroe's focus moved to the group as a whole. "Everyone, understand this: Mercier is dangerous, but our leak could be more so. If someone on the inside was willing to set him free, we can't rule out the possibility of other compromised individuals."
The room was heavy with unspoken tension. I glanced at Scarlett, who met my gaze with a look of grim resolve. The stakes had escalated, and Monroe had laid the challenge at our feet. Mercier was out there, and whoever had helped him was still among us, hiding in plain sight.
As the meeting adjourned, Monroe motioned for Miller, Scarlett, and me to stay behind. The others filed out, Anderson casting me a wary glance before he exited with Lucy, who looked back one last time, concern written across her face. Once the room was cleared, Monroe shut the door, his expression hardening.
"We need answers, and fast," he said, his voice low and steely. "This leak isn't some outside interference—it's coming from our inner circle, and until we know more, trust no one."
Scarlett crossed her arms, her face unreadable but a spark of determination in her eyes. "So where do we begin? We've got no trail and a dozen suspects who could have pulled this off."
Miller interjected, his tone laced with urgency, "Mercier has left breadcrumbs before, usually because he wants us to follow them. He's manipulative but predictable. If he's working with someone, they'll have a motive of their own that we can trace."
Monroe nodded, his gaze shifting to me. "V, I want you and Scarlett to split your focus. Mercier's escape wasn't haphazard—it was meticulously planned. Find any evidence of communication, digital footprints, anything that might lead us to whoever orchestrated this. Start with the last point of surveillance that caught him."
I gave a curt nod. "We'll need access to the footage archives for the past few weeks. Whoever did this might have been working on it longer than we think."
Monroe raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Agreed. I'll grant you access to everything you need. But make no mistake," he added, his tone dropping to something darker, "if there's someone within this facility actively undermining us, they're dangerous. They'll be expecting us to investigate, which means you need to be discreet. This goes beyond Mercier—this is about the stability of everything we've built."
Scarlett's expression hardened. "And if we find them?"
Monroe's gaze was cold. "Then I expect you to neutralize the threat by any means necessary."
With that, he dismissed us, his attention shifting back to the files on his desk. As we stepped out, Scarlett and I exchanged a glance, the weight of our mission settling between us. We didn't need to say anything to understand the stakes—we both knew that failure wasn't an option.
Once we were alone, Scarlett leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. "So, where do we start? The footage? Or do you want to dig into Mercier's files first?"
"Both," I replied. "If this goes as deep as we think, the sooner we catch a lead, the better." We headed to the surveillance archives, a silent understanding between us. Every step we took felt like we were peeling back the layers of a conspiracy that had been festering under our noses.
Scarlett paused for a moment, scanning the hallway, making sure no one was around. "Do you think it's someone we know?" she asked, her tone betraying a rare hint of vulnerability.
"Could be anyone," I replied, glancing over my shoulder. "And that's what makes this dangerous. Whoever it is, they're already two steps ahead."
We reached the archives, the dim hum of servers and monitors casting eerie shadows across the room. The sense of secrecy and danger permeated everything around us as we logged into the system and began sifting through the last few weeks of footage. Every frame, every second held potential clues—or carefully hidden traps.
Hours passed in tense silence. Then, Scarlett leaned forward, eyes narrowing at something on her monitor. "V… look at this."
I moved closer, watching as she replayed a segment of footage. A figure, half-obscured and draped in shadows, entered the restricted area where Mercier had been held. They moved with purpose, familiarity—someone who knew the facility well.
"Zoom in," I muttered, my pulse quickening.
As Scarlett enhanced the image, the figure's features began to come into focus, but it wasn't enough to fully identify them. However, one thing was clear—this person knew exactly how to avoid the primary cameras, slipping through blind spots that only an insider would be aware of.
Scarlett met my gaze, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and resolve. "This person—whoever they are—knows our layout better than most of the staff. This isn't just an ordinary mole. They're trained."
I nodded, already calculating our next moves. "If they've been hiding in plain sight, then we'll need to shake things up. Force them out of hiding."
A plan began to form in my mind, a subtle yet effective way to rattle the traitor's confidence, to turn the tables. But I kept my thoughts to myself, not yet revealing the full scope. For now, I needed Scarlett's focus on the task at hand.
"We'll plant misinformation," I said. "A rumor that Monroe's implemented new protocols, tighter restrictions around Mercier's intel. If our traitor believes we're closing in, they might make a move—one that we can trace."
Scarlett's lips curved into a smirk. "A trap, then. I like it."
And so, the game began. We were hunting a ghost within the walls of our own institution, a ghost who had eluded us once but wouldn't escape again. As we worked, side by side in the dim glow of the monitors, I could feel the familiar stirrings of anticipation. This was more than a mission. It was the beginning of a reckoning—one that would expose every hidden player, one by one.