Page 98 of Whispers in the Dark
“No, Alex,” she whispered. “You’re the perfect prototype.”
The machine behind him surged to life. A new hiss. A new pulse. Something cold lanced beneath the restraints, feeding into his forearms. Cold fluid raced through him. The chemical taste in his mouth.
Pain—different this time. Not blunt. Not external.
Internal.
His body seized as something stabbed through his nervous system. Neural interference. They weren’t torturing him forinformation anymore. They were trying to erase the man and overwrite what was left.
He screamed. Ragged. Raw.
The techs flinched. One turned away.
“BP spiking!” the other warned. “Heart rate unstable—he’s crashing.”
“Complete the infusion. Push through it!” Monroe barked. “He breaks, or we break him in.”
Alex’s mind began to fragment—memories overlapping. Charlotte’s voice mixing with Monroe’s. Brad’s hand on his shoulder bleeding into the sound of restraints closing. The prison. The task force room. His own name—echoing, splitting, fading.
Monroe stepped back and watched.
This wasn’t interrogation anymore.
It was annihilation.
And he was slipping.
One piece at a time.
Monroe smiled.
Thirty-Three
DAY EIGHT AFTER ALEX’s DISAPPEARANCE
The dining roomwas heavy with tension—warm light above, but the air between them was cold. The long oak table stretched out beneath half-empty cups, files, burner phones, and too many half-said things. It was the kind of silence that hummed with pressure, everyone waiting for someone to light the fuse.
Charlotte sat midway down the table, hands folded, posture taut. On her right, Graham Cullen sat still, unreadable. On her left, Ruth lifted the pitcher, pouring a fresh cup of coffee for Ethan, who sat at the head, jaw clenched, fingers drumming on the table like a warning.
Izzy hovered for a moment, quietly setting down a tray of water glasses. No one thanked her, but not out of rudeness—everyone was locked in. She took a seat next to her fiancé, Brad.
Ethan started without ceremony. “Noah,” his voice sliced through the room. “Any luck on finding the contact Alex was meeting?”
Noah didn’t hesitate. “Based on the tower pings before he went dark, I’m betting it was someone Alex cultivated before,when Sophie needed assistance. It’s connected to black site operations. Off-book personnel. Maybe medical, maybe intel. Alex was spooked but focused. Said he needed a lead on Elias that couldn’t be traced back to us.”
Ethan turned. “What happened at the prison?”
Brad leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice tight. “Good cop-bad cop. The doctor—Fields—finally cracked. Told us Ward trained his son to be smarter, controlled. She didn’t say it outright, but she’s Elias’s mother. She also knew Charlotte visited Ward through the years.”
All eyes slid to Charlotte, who sat rigidly in her chair, her hands clenched in her lap, the low hum of strategy and planning around her fading to static. The war table had gone quiet the moment Ethan called for full transparency.
Graham exhaled slowly. “Honey, we will bring him home.” He looked at the rest of the group. “During our original investigation, Ward was always ten steps ahead. Always testing the room. Always watching who had access to him.”
He sipped from his coffee mug. “But listening to the interrogation tapes, this part’s real: he believed Elias was holding on to the lessons he taught him. And someone—likely the people running this project—was keeping tabs on him. He trained Elias to move in and out of this facility. To be useful to Ward while appearing useful to them.”
“I want you to go through your pretrial notes and the audio and video again. Maybe there is something else hidden there,” Ethan said.
Brad frowned. “Ward was a psychiatrist. I believe he wasn’t a serial killer but a scientist running experiments. Especially after what Dr. Fields said. Look at Henry Byron and Mara Dwyer, plus the survivors from earlier. I don’t think they are the only ones out there.”
