Page 55 of Rogue Hope
Deke: Elderly crime-fighters gets my vote. Victoria would absolutely have a cape with shoulder pads and sensible boots. Lawrence would be the “I’m too old for this” partner with unexpected ninja skills.
Axel: I caught Ronan and Maya whispering behind the equipment shed yesterday. He actually BLUSHED. RONAN QUINN BLUSHED. Either they’re planning to overthrow Cipher together or they’re secretly dating and think none of us with actual trained observational skills have noticed.
Kenji: Yo, Khoury. Thoughts? Wild guesses? Juicy conspiracy theories?
Despite everything, Zara laughed. She was so thankful she’d taken the time to triple-encrypt their private cell link. Their normalcy was an anchor in chaos.
“How’s the team?” Finn asked. “Anything I need to know?”
She was in the middle of formulating a coherent response when her phone dinged again.
Izzy: Might just stay on the coast permanently if you guys keep acting like weirdos. Also, bringing you all back sourdough from that bakery you like. Not that you deserve it.
The medication began dulling pain’s sharp edges. Clarity returned. She smiled again, waggling her phone. “Just the team checking in.”
Finn shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Nice. I’m glad you’ve got them, Z.”
“Breakfast, then we do some digging on Harrison,” she conceded. “Basic verification only. Just to eliminate variables.”
Finn nodded, asking nothing more. “That’s all I need.”
As they prowled the kitchen, Zara caught his expression—not triumph, not judgment, but understanding. He recognized the cost of investigating someone you trusted.
Or at least he pretended to.
Artifice was, after all, one of his superpowers.
But was it Harrison’s, too?
The bitter truth of intelligence work: Information without trust was just data. And right now, she was drowning in data while starving for truth.
28
Three hours into the investigation,Finn pushed away from the terminal, stretching muscles cramped from enforced stillness. The cabin’s walls had become a makeshift incident board—printed financials and communication logs taped in precise chronological order, red yarn connecting seemingly disparate events. His photographic memory allowed him to spot patterns others might miss, each document imprinted permanently in his mind the moment he scanned it.
He paced the length of the evidence wall, coffee mug forgotten in his hand. Something wasn’t right. He could feel it—that indefinable wrongness that had saved his life countless times in the field. His gaze locked on a financial report, then darted to a travel itinerary three feet away.
“Wait,” he muttered, setting down his mug and pulling both documents from the wall. The timestamps. The locations. The seemingly random numbers that weren’t random at all.
The revelation hit like physical impact. Not speculation now, but evidence.
Harrison Reynolds’ digital fingerprints matched Cipher’s signature patterns perfectly.
“That can’t be right,” he muttered, rapidly cross-referencing the data against known Cipher methodologies.
But there it was—unmistakable once you knew what to look for. A pattern of encrypted communications using protocols that matched Cipher’s signature. Financial transactions through shell companies previously linked to Vanguard operations. Travel records placing Harrison in three different cities within hours of confirmed Cipher activities.
If these records were accurate, Harrison Reynolds wasn’t just connected to Cipher—he was deeply embedded within the operation, possibly for years.
He could evenbeCipher.
The cabin felt too quiet, the distant chirping of birds outside an incongruous backdrop to the devastating implications on his screen. Finn ran a verification algorithm against the data, hoping for inconsistencies that might suggest fabrication or manipulation. The system hummed softly as it processed, each passing second increasing the weight of dread settling in his chest.
The program completed with a soft ping. Verification successful. No evidence of digital tampering.
And now he had to tell Zara.
The thought sent a chill through him that had nothing to do with the cabin’s temperature. She barely trusted him as it was.
