Page 92 of Brass
“It’s gotten us this far.” I pause, needing to know where she stands. “If there were another option—if you could walk away right now, return to your life, your career—would you take it?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us has voiced.
“A week ago, yes,” she answers finally. “Now…I’m not sure.”
The admission costs her something—I see it in the slight tension around her mouth, the vulnerability in her eyes. For someone as fiercely independent as Celeste Hart, acknowledging any attachment is its own form of courage.
Before I can respond, Stitch calls us over. “Got something else,” she says, pointing to a section of code she’s isolated. “Phoenix has a verification protocol for target elimination. It requires multiple confirmation sources—visual, electronic, official channels like police and medical reports.”
“So we need to stage something public,” I conclude. “Something that leaves evidence but no recoverable bodies.”
“Exactly.” Stitch glances up at Celeste. “How do you feel about boat accidents? They’re statistically excellent for presumed deaths with no corpse recovery.”
Celeste raises an eyebrow. “You’ve thought about this before.”
“Professional necessity.” Stitch’s grin is completely unapologetic. “I’ve helped stage a dozen ‘deaths’ for Guardian HRS. The technical side is pretty fascinating—digital footprints, evidence placement, witness manipulation. It’s an art form.”
The next several hours blur into a continuous flow of preparation. Equipment checks, identity documentation, extraction routes, fallback positions, and emergency protocols. The organized chaos of a complex operation coming together under pressure.
Around mid-afternoon, Mitzy pulls me aside. “Vehicle’s prepped. Two miles west, camouflaged in the old logging road turnout. Keys under the front left wheel well.”
I nod, knowing she’s establishing our extraction route separately from the main team. Standard procedure for high-risk operations—compartmentalize knowledge, minimize shared vulnerabilities.
“Ghost wants a word,” she adds, tilting her head toward the ladder leading up to the main cabin.
I find him by the fireplace, studying a map spread across a small table. He looks up as I approach, his expression more open than usual. More human.
“This wasn’t how I expected your week to go when you left for your mother’s,” he says, a hint of dark humor in his voice.
“Thanksgiving with my mother, subway firefight, cross-country chase, AI death squads.” I shrug. “Pretty standard holiday.”
He almost smiles. “You’re good with Hart.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “She’s smart. Capable. Doesn’t panic under pressure.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I meet his gaze evenly. Ghost and I have never needed many words between us. He sees too much, always has.
“Is this going to be a problem?” he asks finally. “The two of you, if this goes long-term.”
“No.” The certainty in my voice surprises even me. “It’s an advantage, not a liability.”
He studies me for a long moment before nodding. “Good. Because the next part is where it gets complicated.”
“More complicated than faking our deaths to escape an autonomous AI assassin program?”
“Potentially.” He taps the map. “The identities we’ve prepared for you—they’re solid, deep cover. Former intelligence personnel with specific skill sets. Compatible back stories. The kind of people who might plausibly meet and partner up.”
I see where this is heading. “You’re crafting a cover that includes our—connection.”
“It’s the most stable option,” he confirms. “Trying to maintain separate covers while staying in proximity creates unnecessary complications. A couple—whether professional, personal, or both—raises fewer questions.”
He’s right, of course. Standard operational practice for long-term deep cover. Create scenarios that can accommodate human nature rather than constantly fighting against it.
“Does she know yet?” I ask.
“Mitzy’s briefing her now.” Ghost rolls up the map. “She’s a civilian, Ellis. No matter how capable, no matter how adaptable. This isn’t her world.”
