Page 127 of Hunted to Be Mine
“Dr. Crawford. You will… will… accompany me. The other asset will be terminated.”
That glitch. Not Oblivion standard.
I shifted, placing myself fully in front of Selina. My left hand slid back, fingers spread: stay put.
“You’re not taking her.” My aim locked between his eyes. One shot would do it.
A fractional weight shift. “Operational parameters are clear. The Director requires… requires… Dr. Crawford’s presence.”
Another slip. His mind fraying.
Selina’s fingers bunched my jacket, but she kept behind me. Good. She knew not to present a clean target.
He reached into a pocket with his off-hand. I readied to fire, but he produced a phone. One tap. Mattie’s voice filled the space, warped by acoustics and the rush.
“Selina! Please, help me! They’re going to…”
Silence.
“Basic synthesis. Effective lure.” His face was blank. His cadence wasn’t. It stuttered like a damaged file.
Relief hit, but I kept my face still. Mattie wasn’t here. I’d suspected. Confirmation loosened something iron in my chest.
“Selina,” I said, just for her. “On my signal, ease back toward the door we used.”
Her slight nod pressed into my shoulder blade.
Blackout’s gaze narrowed, tracking the tiny exchange. “Dr. Prieto was never… never… never here. Dresner’s instructions were clear.”
He adjusted his stance with a microsecond lag. Left eye ticked. Another crack.
“The Director’s final command: retrieve Crawford, eliminate you, and… and…” His jaw seized, muscles jumping. Through teeth: “and use the words. The words that hurt.”
Trigger words. The ones that turned a person inside out.
Selina drew a tight breath behind me. She understood.
His face shifted. The struggle surfaced—sweat gathering along his hairline, jaw working, tendons peaking in his neck.
I held steady, reading the misfires: stutter, spasms, delays. Something inside the machine was failing.
“Xavier,” Selina called, clear and careful. “Xavier Hale. That’s your real name.”
A violent twitch in his left eye. “That… that designation is not recognized.”
“You had a sister,” she said, voice carrying over the roar. “Maeve. She’s still looking for you.”
“Stop talking!” First real emotion—rage tangled with confusion. His grip tightened until the bones in his hand stood out.
“You were in the army,” she pushed.
A shot cracked, sparking off the railing inches from my head. Shards glittered in the haze.
“Final warning,” he said, human bleeding through the flat delivery. “The next one won’t miss.”
I fired back. My round tore his shoulder, shredding tactical fabric. He barely reacted, reset his stance like a drill, and fired again.
I dropped behind a concrete column while rounds sang off steel, punching lines into pipes. Hot vapor screamed into the haze, visibility collapsing to a few yards.
