Chapter 11 - The Interrogation in the Dark
I dragged the syndicate operative out into the service stairwell, away from Nora’s room, slamming his spine hard against the concrete wall.
“Talk,” I hissed. “Or this stairwell becomes your permanent grave.”
The operative coughed, spitting a drop of blood onto the concrete, but his eyes remained dead and fanatical. “You think freezing bank accounts and leaking files hurts people like us? Arthur Caldwell has already activated the contingency protocol. The federal judges, the police commissioner, the university regents—they’re all moving to declare you an unstable, violent fugitive. By tonight, a nationwide manhunt will brand you as a domestic terrorist.”
A grim realization settled over me. They weren't trying to hide anymore; they were transforming the entire apparatus of the state into a weapon to hunt me down and crush Nora’s voice forever.
“Let them look,” I said quietly, releasing his collar and stepping back.
Before he could react, I struck the side of his neck with a precise, disabling chop, leaving him unconscious on the landing.
I turned and walked back into Room 404. Nora was still sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the war raging around her. I gently stroked her hair, feeling the fierce, unbreakable protective instincts of the Phantom Commander surging through my veins.
My phone buzzed again. Bishop’s voice came through the earpiece, urgent and breathless.
“Commander, we have a major breach. The FBI’s elite tactical unit has just surrounded the hospital. They’ve got a shoot-on-sight warrant for your arrest, signed by a federal judge on the syndicate’s payroll.”
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I looked down at my sleeping daughter, then toward the hallway where the boots of federal agents were beginning to echo up the stairs.
“Let them come,” I whispered. “The war just came to our doorstep.”
