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"Noah Blake is dead." I say it flat. Like saying it out loud will make the screen lie.
Iris doesn't move. Her shoulder's still pressed to mine, both of us crouched behind the server rack on floor twelve. The mask is off. Noah's face fills the monitor, sharp jaw, scar through his left eyebrow, same cold grin he wore the day I left Kandahar.
"You know him," she says.
Not a question.
"I knew him."
"Past tense doesn't work when he's holding a rifle at us through a camera."
I don't answer. My wrist burns. Twenty-seven. Still twenty-seven. The counter hasn't moved since the last reset, but my chest feels like it's caving in.
Noah leans closer to whatever camera he's using. His voice comes through the PA system, low and smooth. "Cade. You're wondering how, right? How I'm still breathing when you watched me bleed out in a cargo plane over the Hindu Kush."
"I didn't watch," I mutter.
Iris's hand closes around my forearm. Her nails dig in. "What does he mean, you watched?"
"I said I didn't."
"Then what did you do?"
I pull my arm free. Stand. The monitor flickers. Noah's still smiling.
"I left," I say. To the screen. Not to her.
Noah laughs. It's the same laugh. Hasn't changed in six years. "There it is. Cade Mercer's three-word eulogy. 'I left.' No 'sorry.' No 'I tried.' Just 'I left.'"
Iris stands beside me. Her voice drops. "Left who?"
"Him."
"Why?"
"Because I had orders."
"Bullshit," Noah says through the speaker. "You had a choice. Save me or save the mission. You picked the mission."
I grip the edge of the server rack. Metal bites into my palm. "The mission was getting twelve hostages out alive. You were already gone."
"I wasn't gone. I was bleeding. There's a difference."
Iris steps between me and the monitor. Her eyes are locked on mine, not the screen. "How many times have you died here, Cade?"
"What?"
"In this building. How many?"
I blink. "Why does that—"
"Answer me."
Her hand's on my chest now. I can feel her pulse through her fingertips. Fast. Too fast.
"Three," I say. "Counting the elevator."
"And every time you come back, you remember?"
"Yeah."
"Then you know what it's like. Waking up and the wound's gone but the dying isn't." She pushes me back a step. "That's what you did to him. You left him to wake up alone."
Noah's voice cuts in. "She's smart, Cade. I like her. But she's wrong about one thing. I didn't wake up alone. I woke up strapped to a table in a black site with a man in a coat asking me what Cade Mercer knew about Protocol Ophiuchus."
Iris goes still.
I watch her face. The color drains.
"You know that name," I say.
She doesn't answer.
"Iris."
"I don't."
"You flinched."
"I didn't."
I step closer. She steps back. Her spine hits the server rack. I plant a hand beside her head. The monitor's behind me now. I don't care. "What is Ophiuchus?"
"I told you, I don't—"
"You're lying."
Her jaw tightens. "And you're crowding me."
"You're running out of room."
"So are you." Her eyes flick to my wrist. "Twenty-seven. You die again, that goes down. You run out, what happens? You stay dead?"
"I don't know."
"Then maybe you should stop wasting time interrogating me and start listening to him."
Noah claps. Slow. Three beats. "She's good. You always did like the ones who bite back."
I turn. Noah's leaning back in his chair now, wherever he is. Behind him is concrete. Exposed rebar. Looks like a basement. Could be anywhere in the building.
"You want revenge," I say. "Fine. Shoot me. Loop resets. You get to do it again."
"I don't want revenge, Cade. I want you to understand."
"Understand what?"
"That leaving someone behind doesn't end when you walk away. It keeps going. Every second they're still breathing, they're wondering why you didn't come back." He leans forward. The camera lens catches the overhead light, flares white. "So I built you a gift. A scenario where you can't leave. Where every time you try to finish the job and walk away, you reset. You start over. You watch her die. And you keep choosing."
Iris's hand finds my shoulder. Her grip is tight. "Choosing what?"
Noah's smile widens. "Her or the mission. Every loop, Cade picks. And every time, he picks wrong."
The PA goes silent. Then a hum. A new voice, automated, flat: "Protocol shift authorized. Loop twenty-six initiating in ten seconds."
My wrist flares. The counter drops. Twenty-six.
"Wait," I say. "Noah, wait—"
"Next round's special," Noah says. "You don't die this time. She does. But here's the fun part." He tilts his head. "She's the one holding the gun. And she's going to put two in your chest before she even knows why."
Iris's hand drops from my shoulder. "What?"
"See you soon, Cade."
The monitor cuts to black. The lights overhead flicker. My wrist burns, the number glowing brighter. Twenty-six. The countdown's still going.
Iris backs away from me. Both hands up. "I wouldn't. Whatever he's saying, I wouldn't—"
"I know."
"You don't." Her voice cracks. "You don't know me. You don't know what I've done."
The floor shakes. Not an explosion. Something else. A mechanical grind, deep in the building's bones. The lights cut out. Emergency reds kick in.
I reach for her. "Iris—"
"Don't." She's moving toward the stairwell door. "If he resets this and I'm holding a gun, you stay away from me. You hear me? You stay the hell away."
"That's not how this works."
"Then tell me how it works. Tell me how you're going to stop me from killing you when I don't even know I'm doing it."
I don't have an answer.
She knows it. She turns, hits the stairwell door with her shoulder. It swings open. The red light spills in. She looks back once. Her face is half shadow. "You left him because you had orders. What's your excuse going to be when you leave me?"
Then she's gone. The door slams shut. The counter on my wrist ticks. Still twenty-six. But the burn is spreading, crawling up my forearm like a brand.
I hear Noah's voice again. Not through the PA. Through the air. Like he's standing right behind me.
"Ten seconds, Cade."
I turn. Nothing there. Just the red-lit server room and the hum of the reset building in my ears.
"Nine."
I run for the door.
"Eight."
My hand hits the bar.
"Seven."
The stairwell is empty. No footsteps. No echo.
"Six."
I take the stairs three at a time.
"Five."
Floor eleven. Door's locked.
"Four."
Floor ten. Same.
"Three."
I kick the door. It doesn't give.
"Two."
My wrist flares white. The number burns into my retina. Twenty-six.
"One."
The world snaps. No fade. No static. Just a cut. I'm back in the elevator. Doors closed. The counter's still glowing. Twenty-six.
And Iris is standing beside me, hand inside her jacket. She pulls out a gun. Looks at it. Then at me. Her face is blank.
"I don't know why I'm holding this," she says.
The doors start to open.