"""Too slow, he muttered deliberately sliding his forearm thick as a log to crush my sister's windpipe. Smack, smack, smack. The sound of her hand frantically tapping out on the mat echoed in sheer desperation.

## THE TRAP INSIDE THE TRAINING FACILITY

Detective Ruiz did not let me go to the old facility.

I expected the restriction.

I also understood it.

She had a missing woman to locate, a possible criminal conspiracy to investigate, and a civilian witness who had admitted to helping conceal evidence.

I was not an investigator assigned to the case.

I was an emotionally involved sister with military training and a dangerous amount of anger.

Those facts did not make me infallible.

They made me someone who needed to think carefully.

Ruiz coordinated with the appropriate units to verify the address Thomas had provided. Officers established surveillance around the property while investigators worked to obtain the necessary authorization to search it.

Chloe stayed at my apartment under instructions to contact emergency services if anyone approached or threatened her.

She hated being left behind.

“I can help identify the footage,” she said.

“You will.”

“Then why am I sitting here?”

“Because we don't know who is watching.”

She folded her arms.

“You keep saying you won't treat me like a child, and then you make every decision for me.”

I took a breath.

“You're right. I should have asked what you needed.”

She looked surprised.

“I need to know what's happening. I need to be useful. And I need you to stop thinking that protecting me means keeping me out of the truth.”

I sat across from her.

“Then here's what I can tell you. Investigators are checking the facility. They're looking for Lena and evidence related to the assault. I won't ask you to go anywhere dangerous, and I won't hide information that affects your safety.”

She considered that.

“Okay.”

It wasn't a perfect agreement.

It was a beginning.

An hour later, Ruiz called.

Investigators had located the facility, an industrial building that Northstar had leased several years earlier. The property appeared abandoned, but there were signs of recent activity.

A vehicle had been seen leaving shortly before the police arrived.

Its registration led to a company associated with Richard Voss.

The building itself contained old training equipment, storage rooms, and a small office with several recently removed hard drives.

There was no sign of Lena.

But a technician found traces of a recently used computer in a locked room at the back of the property.

Someone had been there within the previous twenty-four hours.

Ruiz sent us a photograph of a whiteboard recovered from the room.

The heading read PROJECT SENTINEL.

Below it were lists of names, dates, and evaluation scores.

Some names were unfamiliar.

Others belonged to people who had reported injuries at Pacific Combat Academy.

One name had been circled in red.

Evan Cole.

Beside it were the words:

WITNESS CONTAINMENT — INCOMPLETE.

Another name appeared below his.

AMY CARTER — RESPONSE PREDICTION: AGGRESSIVE INTERVENTION.

I stared at the photograph.

They hadn't merely anticipated my arrival.

They had written a prediction about how I would react.

I remembered the way Derrick had smirked at me. The way Victor had pushed me toward confrontation. The carefully placed cameras.

They wanted a performance.

They wanted anger without context.

They wanted to turn the truth into something that looked like violence committed by the wrong person.

My phone rang again.

This time, it was Evan.

“Don't trust the documents at the facility,” he said without greeting.

“Why?”

“Because Voss knew they might be found.”

“Are you telling me the evidence is fake?”

“Some of it. The rest is incomplete.”

“Then what evidence is real?”

“The original recording. The one that shows Victor ordering the footage altered.”

“Where is it?”

“I don't know.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

“Evan, if you're withholding something, now is the time to stop.”

“I am trying to help.”

“Then tell Detective Ruiz everything you know.”

“I will. But there's something you need to understand. Victor isn't the person who created Project Sentinel.”

“Who did?”

“Someone with access to the original procurement records.”

I waited.

He lowered his voice.

“Someone who knew your unit's training schedule three years ago.”

My stomach tightened.

“Who?”

“I don't have a name. I have a signature.”

He sent a photograph through a secure channel approved by investigators.

The signature was partially obscured, but the initials were clear.

R.B.

I knew those initials.

Not from the military.

From my childhood.

Our father, Robert Bennett, had used them on the rare documents he'd signed before abandoning us.

For several seconds, I couldn't speak.

Our father had left when Chloe was fourteen and I was seventeen. He'd promised to return after finding work in another state.

He never did.

Our mother had followed him less than a year later, leaving us with relatives and a series of explanations that grew thinner each time we asked for the truth.

I had spent most of my adult life believing he was simply a selfish man who had chosen an easier life over his daughters.

I had never imagined that his name might be connected to a defense contractor.

“That's impossible,” I said.

Evan was quiet.

“Then prove it.”

The call ended.

I took the photograph to Detective Ruiz.

She examined it carefully and told me not to assume the initials established identity. They could belong to anyone.

She was right.

Still, the possibility lodged inside me like a splinter.

That evening, Chloe sat at my kitchen table, reviewing the names from the recovered whiteboard with an investigator over a secure video call.

She stopped at one entry.