Page 45 of Whispers in the Dark
But now, as things with Alex got more serious, she wondered if she was still the same person who could walk away from someone important without hesitation.
She’d loved before. She’d lost before. Chuck had been her world, and in the end, she couldn’t save him. Grief had almost broken her, and when she was forced to resurface for the sake of her daughters, she swore she’d never go through that again. So,she focused on the job, on being the best, on never letting herself get too close to anyone.
And it worked. Until Alex. Until he started making her feel again.
She knew Alex wanted more. Of all days, they discussed it again the morning her home was first broken into. He wasn’t the type of man to settle for halfway. And the truth was, she wanted to give it to him. But the closer they got, the more old fears gnawed at her—what if she lost him too? What if she wasn’t built for real happiness? What if she wasn’t worthy of a second chance?
She had to work this out, or she’d ruin it before real happiness was even a possibility.
Talking to Graham wasn’t just about the case. It was about understanding how she was able to cut him out of her life so easily, why she walked away from a partnership—no, a friendship—that meant something. If she didn’t figure that out, she would end up doing the same thing to Alex.
Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed, the soft hum of the night settling around her. Alex’s words echoed in her mind: "We’re in this together, you know." But how could she truly let him in when her past was so heavy?
She stared down at her hands, the tremor she tried to hide betraying her. The truth about Gideon Ward, the case that had changed her life forever, was still locked away—buried in a vault she couldn’t bring herself to open.
Her hesitation wasn’t just about secrecy; it ran much deeper. It was a deep-rooted fear of vulnerability. She had lived through the aftermath of that case, the terror, the guilt, the haunting memories. To share it with Alex, to let him see the rawness of that trauma, would mean exposing the parts of herself she had carefully shielded for years. She wanted to protect him fromthose scars, to keep him from bearing the burden of her past mistakes.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him—it was that the very thought of dragging him into that abyss made her feel like she might lose him too. The fear that sharing the truth would push him away was enough to keep her silent, even as the silence threatened to pull them further apart.
Her breath caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She had promised herself she’d never let anyone close enough to see that part of her. She had made it this far, and yet the closer Alex got, the harder it became to keep the walls up. She could feel them crumbling, piece by piece, with every touch, every glance. But was she ready to let him see her—really see her?
The answer wasn’t clear. All she knew was that the walls, though strong, wouldn’t last forever. And this time, she wasn’t sure she’d recover from their collapse.
Fifteen
Containment Level Bsmelled of bleach and recycled air—clean, but not sterile. The kind of clean that tried to erase what had happened there but never fully succeeded. Monroe strode past the checkpoint, nodding once at the guard, who didn't dare meet her eyes.
Cell 8. It was supposed to be empty now. Byron had been marked for termination three days ago. No movement. No feeding response—he wouldn’t chew, sip, or swallow on his own or if spoon fed, and even passive feeding through a tube had failed to produce any measurable benefit. No neural activity worth logging. The brain had dissipated past the level of self-preservation.
It was protocol. Routine. But Monroe didn’t like routine. Not when things were shifting.
She stepped inside. The restraints were folded neatly on the chair. The feeding line used to supplement what he’d eaten was disconnected and capped. The monitor powered down. It all looked too clean.
She frowned and opened the internal logs on her tablet. Termination confirmed. Biometric ID matched. Signed off bymedical tech… L. Ramires. The name was real. The signature valid.
She scrolled deeper. Inventory list. Disposal tag. Timestamped. Verified. And yet—something itched beneath her skin. She turned to the two junior techs lingering near the door. “Why wasn’t this flagged in my queue?”
Reed hesitated. “Ma’am, it was. Yesterday. But it was buried in a batch push with the expired test units.”
She looked at him hard. “You’re telling me Henry Byron was quietly terminated, and no one in Command thought to double-check? Our longest subject?”
“It was logged per regulation,” he said. “Standard clearance. Confirmed dead. Protocol complete.”
Vance arrived then, arms folded, reading from her own screen. “Byron. Marked nonresponsive. Cleared for full disposal. Sign-off all matches. Honestly, it looks like sloppy communication.”
Monroe stared at the monitor for a moment longer, then turned to them both. “Maybe it was.” She didn’t sound convinced.
Monroe sat in the dim light of her office, the termination logs for Henry Byron open in front of her. She had read them a dozen times, each word heavy with the finality of his supposed disposal. "Neural dissipation," the report said. "Subject terminated." The words should have been the end of it. But something didn’t sit right.
Byron had been a high-profile asset, a piece of the program too valuable to simply be discarded without oversight. The logs were clean, too clean, as if someone had made sure every step was covered—almost like they were trying to convince her of something she didn’t want to believe. Monroe leaned back in her chair, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. She knew how these operations worked. If Byron had trulybeen terminated, there should’ve been more paperwork, more signatures, more steps. She had seen cover-ups before, but this? This felt too deliberate.
Her fingers hovered over the comms, almost dialing for a deeper investigation, but she stopped herself. There was no concrete evidence—no footage, no discrepancies in the security systems, and no direct chain of command that suggested anything out of the ordinary. All of the right boxes were ticked. It was possible the logs were just what they appeared to be—a reflection of a clean procedure. For now, she had no proof. On paper, Rook was clean.
So, Monroe sighed and closed the file with a quiet snap. It hadn’t happened before. If she raised doubts without cause, she risked losing her position in the chain of command. For now, the logs stood as truth. But something inside her simmered, a quiet whisper that this was only the beginning of a much deeper deception.
She opened a new file. Flagged it quietly. "Subject H. Byron — audit log review pending." Hidden from general access. A private thread. Just for her.
Rook wasn’t a suspect. Yet. But Monroe had just moved him a few squares closer to the center of the board.
