Page 31 of Reckless Consequences

“One week,” Ryker calculates, his mind converting abstract time into tactical windows. “That’s our timeline.”

“That’s the timeframe Mona gave me until Finn needs his next booster.” Cayenne glances at me, her expression revealing concern she tries to mask. “That was two days ago, so five days now.”

I don’t tell her I’ve already calculated the viral reactivation timeline to within hours.

“Not just that,” I add, studying the distribution maps, plotting vectors and dispersal patterns. “These patterns suggest coordinated release across multiple continents simultaneously. Maximum coverage with minimal warning.”

“I say we light the whole fucking place up. Tonight. Nothing says ‘fuck your research’ like a few well-placed explosives.” Jinx grins, that manic edge that makes his chaos both terrifying and reassuring.

“It’s not that simple,” I counter, mapping variables and contingencies. “The facility will be heavily guarded, and destroying just the physical structure won’t eliminate the research.”

“We need to hit multiple targets simultaneously,” Ryker agrees, his tactical approach converging with my analytical one—different methods reaching identical conclusions.

I notice the way their responses synchronize despite their different approaches. Ryker’s tactical assessment aligns with my analysis, while Theo’s intuition and Jinx’s chaotic thinking fill gaps in both. This shouldn’t work, yet the evidence is undeniable.

“And Roman himself,” Cayenne adds, her voice hardening. “As long as he’s free, he’ll just rebuild.”

I study the information before us, multiple solutions presenting themselves with varying probabilities. The weakness in my limbs serves as a constant reminder of what’s at stake. The virus remains inactive but present in my system, a persisting variable in all my calculations.

But the booster has given me back my greatest weapon: my mind.

“We can do this,” I say, the variables aligning into positive probability, a solvable equation emerging from previously chaotic data points. “But we’ll need resources beyond just us five.”

“Aria and Omega Guardians,” Cayenne suggests immediately.

“Quinn’s tactical teams,” Ryker adds.

“And Mona,” I conclude, thinking of our unlikely ally whose brilliance operates on a level I find both fascinating and unnerving. “Her knowledge of the virus and Sterling’s systems is invaluable.”

Each suggestion builds on the previous, our different approaches not competing but complementing. This is what Sterling could never replicate in a lab: genuine integration.

“She’s already working on it,” Cayenne reveals. “According to her last update through Aria, she’s synthesized enough booster for fifty doses. And she’s identified a compound that might permanently neutralize the viral vector.”

Hope rises within me. Not just emotion, but probability shifting in our favor as new factors emerge. I shift into strategic planning mode, my mind mapping efficient approaches despite my body’s energy deficit.

“First, we need comprehensive intel on the Aurora Facility—security protocols, personnel rotations, structural vulnerabilities.” I gesture to Cayenne’s laptop, the movement requiring more effort than normal. “Can you access their systems remotely?”

“Already working on it,” she confirms, that focused determination I admire lighting her expression. “Their security is tough, but I found backdoors in the code that look suspiciously like Mona’s work.”

“We’ll need tactical support,” Ryker adds, already mentally allocating resources with military precision. “Quinn can provide equipment and personnel, but we’ll be the primary strike team.”

“And medical supplies,” Theo interrupts, his artistic hands sketching invisible patterns in the air. “More booster for Finn, yes, but also protection for anyone who helps us. I won’t watch another person suffer through what he did. Not on my watch.”

Jinx’s feral grin widens. “And explosives. Lots of explosives.”

Despite the gravity of our situation, a laugh catches me off guard. Something about it feels important.

We’re discussing the systematic dismantling of a genocidal operation while still tangled in a nest, our bodies bearing each other’s claiming marks, planning global salvation with the casual efficiency of calculating tip percentages.

The incongruity produces an emotion I can’t quantify.

For once, I don’t try.

“What?” Cayenne asks, noticing my expression, her head tilting in curiosity.

“Just appreciating the incongruity,” I explain, gesturing to our collective state of undress and intimacy. “Five damaged individuals planning to take down a pharmaceutical empire between cuddle sessions.”

“Don’t forget the homicidal sister with a candy addiction,” Jinx adds, his levity masking tactical calculation.

---