Chapter 27 · Handler's Cut

Ryan kicked in Natasha's clinic door at four in the morning.

She was sitting at her workbench. Not running. Not packing. Just sitting there with a half-empty bottle of something clear and a tablet lit up in front of her face. She didn't even flinch when the door slammed into the wall.

"Took you long enough," she said.

Ryan leveled the gun. His left hand was still shaking from the fight, neurons misfiring every few seconds, but the barrel stayed steady. "Handler."

Natasha set the tablet down. Slow. Her hands stayed visible. "You talked to the copy."

"It called you that. Said you've been running me since day one." Ryan's jaw was tight enough to crack teeth. "Said the cooling protocol wasn't cooling shit. Said you've been harvesting combat data every time I step in the cage."

"All true," Natasha said.

No denial. No spin. Just flat confirmation, like she was reading a parts manifest.

Ryan's finger twitched on the trigger. "Then why the hell are you still sitting there?"

"Because shooting me doesn't get you what you need." She reached for the bottle. Ryan's aim snapped to her hand. She froze. "Easy. I'm thirsty, not suicidal."

"Don't move."

"Ryan."