Chapter 8 · The Woman Behind the Trigger

The voice came through the speakers like broken glass dragged over concrete. Cole's hand went to his sidearm before his brain caught up. Ivy was already moving, flashlight snapping toward the console, her other hand on the scalpel she'd pocketed from the med kit.

"You finally brought her here."

The call sign wasn't one Cole had heard in eighty-three loops. It was older. It belonged to a man who'd bled out in his arms four years ago in a desert that didn't have a name on any map.

Ivy's breath was shallow next to him. The chapel basement was too small for this. Fifteen feet across, stone walls slick with condensation, one way in and the Watcher's voice filling every inch of air between them.

"Cole." Ivy's voice was steady but her knuckles were white around the flashlight. "Who is that."

Not a question. A demand.

Cole opened his mouth. The answer should've been easy. The Watcher. The handler. The thing that reset him every time he failed. But the words tangled and his head felt like someone had taken a drill to the back of his skull.

"The guy running the contract," he managed. His tongue was thick.