JAKE

The interview room wasn't one of the sterile boxes we used for suspects.

Luke had chosen the softer one, the kind reserved for victims and witnesses. The walls were off white, and it had a couple of scuffed armchairs instead of steel, and a pot of fake lilies on the corner table. It was meant to look safe.

It still smelled of sweat and held breaths.

She was already inside when I pushed the door open. Late thirties, maybe forty at most. Her hair was pulled into a bun that had given up hours ago, strands escaping in tired curls. Her eyes were red-rimmed with the kind of rawness that came from crying until the body just stopped trying to hide it. I wondered what kind of weight she carried like that.

Beside her sat a boy, ten, maybe eleven. He was too clean-cut for this building; too young for the air that lived here. His knees swung under the chair, not quite reaching the floor, and a blue backpack rested against him. He kept glancing around the room like he couldn't decide whether to be afraid or just confused.

When her gaze lifted to mine, her eyes were glassy. Her fingers tightened under the table as though she were bracing for impact.

Luke gave a small nod toward her. "Yvonne Carter," he murmured, low enough for only me to hear. "Her son's name's Theo. She couldn't find anyone to take him last minute, so..." He gestured vaguely toward the boy. "She wouldn't come without him."

I nodded once and stepped into the doorway.

"Hi," I said, keeping my voice as even as I could. "I'm Agent Parker."

The boy looked up, wary. "You're a cop?"

I crouched down to his level and let a small smile show. "Something like that. Mostly we help people figure things out." I paused, glancing at his mom and then back at him. "You like helping people, Theo?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes."

"Good answer." I smiled, then I caught the Yankees logo stitched into the strap of his backpack. "Baseball fan?"

He bit his lip and nodded.

Luke huffed behind me. "Tough season."

Theo cracked the tiniest grin, and for the first time today, something close to normal broke through the tension.

I glanced back at Luke. "Why don't you show Theo the vending machine? Pretty sure we've still got the one that steals your money."

Theo's eyes flicked to his mother. She reached out, hand trembling as she brushed his shoulder. "Go ahead, baby," she whispered. "Get something to eat."

When they left, the door clicked shut. The silence settled back in like dust. Yvonne wiped at her eyes, her breathing still uneven.

I sat across from her and set the folder aside. "Yvonne Carter, right?"

She nodded. "Everyone calls me Eve."

"Eve," I repeated, testing the name gently. "Thank you for agreeing to come down to New York. I know it's been a long night."

She twisted a piece of tissue between her fingers. "I—I just want to help."

"You are," I said quietly, then opened the folder. "So, you've been with Danbury what, five years now?"

"Six next March." Her voice was hoarse from crying. "I started in county before I moved to federal. I liked Danbury. Better pay, fewer fights... usually."

I didn't add anything, just gave her the space to talk. She looked rattled enough, and as Luke told me, she had a lot to say.

"Prison healthcare is... different," she said after a moment, eyes unfocused, voice drifting somewhere far away. "You don't see people at their best. You see them sick, angry, detoxing. You see what the system did to them, and what they did to themselves."

The tissue tore between her fingers. She froze, then forced her hands still before meeting my eyes again. "But you learn things. How to tell who's dangerous and who's just broken. How to see the difference between the ones who are gone, nothing left but hate, and the ones still trying. Trying to build something inside all that concrete."

I leaned forward slightly. "And which was Miss Lawrence?"

She blinked. The question landed like a small jolt, or maybe it was just hearing the name out loud. Then something fragile pulled at her mouth. Almost a smile, but sad.

"She was one of the good ones." Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Kind. Always polite. Said thank you when I drew her blood, like it mattered." She swallowed, throat working against the words. "Most don't even look at you. But Emma... she'd ask how my day was. Can you imagine? An inmate asking me that."

Her eyes went glassy again. "She didn't deserve what happened to her."

A sob slipped out before she could stop it. She mumbled an apology and reached for another tissue from the box on the table.

I gave her a moment to pull herself together, though the knot in my stomach had returned in full force.

She didn't deserve what happened to her.

What the hell did she mean?

When she finally looked a little steadier, I rested my elbows on the table and leaned forward. "Eve, my partner told me you said you wanted to make things right."

She swallowed hard and nodded. "I do."

"Then tell me how."

Her lower lip quivered. "I—I helped them," she whispered. "Because of me, she's gone, and... Officer Collins is dead. He was a good man. Father of two." Her voice cracked, the rest collapsing in her throat. She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth as tears spilled again.

The room went cold. My hands curled into fists on the table. I drew a slow breath through my nose and held it, reminding myself to stay in control—for her.

"Eve." I waited until her eyes found mine. "I know this is hard. But I need you to start at the beginning. Tell me exactly what happened."

"I thought I could live with it." The words came faster now. "That I didn't have a choice. But I can't. I lied to the agents last night—I lied—and I thought that was it, but I keep seeing her face. Hearing her ask what was happening, and I—"

She shook her head hard, like she could shake the memory loose. "I can't do it."

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. When she looked up again, something had shifted, like a decision made.

"It started in the afternoon. Officer Harlan came to the infirmary while I was doing paperwork. He said one of the inmates wasn't feeling well—nauseous, complaining of pain on her right side. He told me to expect her later for a checkup."

She gave a small, tired shrug. "That wasn't unusual. People fake pain all the time to get out of the unit, so I didn't think much of it. But before the shift change, Harlan came back. He wasn't alone this time. Officer Rodriguez was with him. They looked like they wanted to... intimidate me."

Her face twisted at the memory. "Harlan was the one taking the lead. Always is. He's one of those men who should never have been allowed to wear a uniform."

She drew a breath, and something heavy settled in it. "He told me I'd be filling out a transfer form for an emergency appendectomy. I said we needed labs first, an ultrasound, something to confirm it. He said everything was handled. But it sounded wrong, so I told him no."

Her voice cracked. "That's when he smiled. And he told me about Theo."

I felt heat crawl up my spine. Those officers who had miraculously walked away from the ambush without a scratch.

The same men whose report had read clean, whose statements were lined up perfectly... were the rot at the center of it all.

"They threatened your son?"

Eve nodded. "Harlan said he knew what bus Theo took to school. Told me if I wanted my boy to make it there safely tomorrow, I'd better do as I was told."

My jaw tightened. I kept my voice level. "So you filled the order."

"I couldn't tell anyone," she said quickly. "I knew I should've called the warden, reported it, but all I could think about was the way he said my son's name." She drew a shaky breath. "At seven, he came back and handed me a syringe. Told me to use it when the inmate came in. That she had to be 'prepared for transport.'"

My heart kicked hard against my ribs, and I inhaled slowly, bracing for what I already knew was coming.

"When Emma came in, she looked confused at first. Then she realized what was happening. I told her I was sorry. I said it because I was. I still am." She swallowed hard. "They held her down, strapped her to the gurney, and I... I injected her."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she didn't even try to wipe it away. "She tried to fight. God, she fought so hard. But the drug worked fast."

I felt like someone had lodged an icepick into my heart. Everything in me went cold, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe.

The image wouldn't leave my head. Emma's hands clawing against restraints, the nurse's trembling apology, those bastards holding her down.

She had been surrounded by uniforms, by people who were supposed to protect her, and they had turned on her instead.

My jaw locked until it hurt. I wanted to put my fist through the table, to tear through every rotten layer of this system I was supposed to believe in. But fury wouldn't bring her back.

I swallowed against the tightness in my chest. "And then what happened?"

"I signed the form, wrote the vitals they dictated." She shook her head, remorse etched deep into every line of her face. "I hoped someone would notice. Nothing moves fast in prison. But the last thing the BOP wants is a preventable death on the compound. The form made it look like her appendix was about to rupture. So they got the warden's approval."

She was quiet for a moment, then her eyes went wide, like something had just hit her. "Before she went under, Harlan leaned close to her ear. I heard him." She met my gaze. "He said, 'Adam Blake is waiting for you.'"

My pulse sharpened. "Do you know who that is?"

"I don't." The words came fast, desperate. "I swear I don't. But it was the last thing she heard... and she looked afraid." Her hands knotted in her lap. "After that, they wheeled her out. I wanted to run after them, but I couldn't move. I just—"

She covered her face with both hands. "I just stood there."

For a long moment, I couldn't speak.

She had told me everything I needed, and somehow it still wasn't enough. I didn't know where Emma was. I din't know if she was safe. If she was even—

I cut the thought off before it could finish. I exhaled slowly and forced my voice steady.

"Eve." I waited until she lowered her hands. "You did the right thing coming here. What they made you do—what they did—that's on them. Not you." I held her gaze. "I'll make sure you and your son are safe. Witness protection, relocation, whatever it takes until we have everyone behind this locked up."

Her nod was small, but something flickered in her eyes. Relief, maybe. Or just the hope of it.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."

I stood, gave her a brief nod, and then turned toward the door.

Outside, Luke leaned against the wall. Theo sat beside him in a chair, coloring on a federal form, with a half-eaten bag of chips balanced on his knee.

When he saw the door had finally opened, he sprang up and ran to his mother. Eve folded him into her arms.

I waited until they had settled into each other before closing the door and walking toward Luke.

He looked at me, waiting.

My throat felt like sandpaper, but I pushed the words out. "She didn't escape. She was taken... by someone named Adam Blake."

I briefed him quickly. The threats. The syringe. Harlan's whisper in Emma's ear.

Luke's eyes widened. He dragged a hand through his short hair, muttering something sharp under his breath. Then he straightened. "I'll have those sons of bitches brought in. They'll answer for this."

I nodded once and couldn't manage more than that.

His voice softened. "Hey." He stepped closer. "We'll find her, Jake. You know we will."

I forced air through my lungs, but it didn't do much to ease the burn behind my ribs. "She was supposed to be safe there," I said. "She had finally begun trusting the system. I trusted the system. And look where it got her."

Luke let out a sigh, then his hand landed on my shoulder, solid, grounding. "Go talk to Eric. He might know something about this Blake guy." His grip tightened briefly. "And I'll get everything I can on him. Our system, Interpol, the goddamn Vatican archives if I have to. I'll find him."

I nodded and pushed off the wall. My pulse had steadied a little, not calm, but focused. There was work to do.

As I walked down the corridor toward the interview rooms, the glass panes reflected fragments of me as I passed—the suit, the badge, the man barely holding the seams together. Each reflection looked a little less convincing than the last.

At the end of the hall, the guard posted outside the room where I had left Eric nodded and unlocked the door.

I took a breath and stepped inside. The room felt colder than before. Or maybe it was just me.

Eric sat at the table, hands pressed to his temples. When the door clicked shut, his head came up. His eyes, the same blue as Emma's, only duller now, clouded with fear, locked on mine.

He must have read my face before I said a word, because his jaw tightened. "Something happened."

I pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. "I spoke to Nurse Carter."

He frowned. "The one from the infirmary?"

"She confessed," I said quietly. "She was forced, threatened, to fake Emma's medical clearance. Emma didn't escape."

A storm passed through his expression—confusion, anger, fear, all at once. Then his spine straightened. "Threatened by who?"

"The same two correctional officers who 'survived' the attack," I said. "They staged the whole thing. But apparently, they were working for someone else."

He blinked. "Someone else?"

"A man named Adam Blake." I held his gaze, watching for every flicker, a tell, anything that would give me a read.

The color drained from Eric's face. His eyes went wide, and he drew a sharp breath that came out uneven. "What—what did you just say?"

"Adam Blake." I let the name sit between us. "You know him." It wasn't a question.

He leaned back in the chair. His gaze drifted past me, through the wall, like the name had blown open a door he had spent years sealing shut.

"Eric." I leaned forward. "I need you to tell me everything. Who he is. What he means to Emma."

Eric pressed both hands against his mouth, elbows braced on the table. For a second, I thought he wouldn't speak at all. But then, he said, "He's the reason she stopped trusting anything good... or anyone who looked like they might give a damn."

The words hit harder than they should have, because I wasn't entirely sure if he was talking about Blake only. But I didn't interrupt. I needed him to keep going.

Eric spoke like a man crossing a minefield. Half his sentences came out sideways, careful not to trip any wires. I understood why. He was protecting Emma, protecting himself, making sure nothing he said could be twisted into anything incriminating.

Still, I got the story.

Emma met Blake years ago in Monaco. She fell for him... or maybe he just made her think she had. Eric said the man could sell a dream to anyone. He played his part like it was written for him. The gentleman thief with a code, the tragic past, and the kind of charm that made you forget how to breathe.

But the cracks showed sooner than she expected. And then came Berlin. That was when she finally saw him for what he was. Just a monster with a good smile.

Eric said she could've just walked away, should've. But she didn't. She made a call, an anonymous tip that brought the police straight to him. She was the reason he got locked up.

I didn't say anything while he talked. Just listened. Because underneath the story, I could still see her, reckless, stubborn, brave in all the wrong ways. And somehow, still trying to do the right thing.

Eric looked at me, something desperate creeping into his eyes. "Jake, if he's out... if he's the one who took her—"

"He is," I said. "At least, that's what it looks like."

Eric's eyes went glassy, finally letting his mask slip, and for a second, the silence between us throbbed with the same fear, the same awful certainty.

He swallowed. "He'll hurt her. We have to find her before—"

"We will."

He nodded once, then looked down at his hands like he could will them steady.

When I stood to leave, he didn't stop me. He didn't say another word.

Luke was waiting outside, a manila folder in his hand. His eyes looked tired, and his shirt was wrinkled. "I've got him." He didn't wait for me to ask. "Adam Blake. Interpol file's a mess, but he's in there."

He flipped the folder open to a mugshot. The man staring back was lean, sharp-featured, with hazel eyes that had an unsettling amber streak through them. He looked too sure of himself, even in custody.

"Thirty aliases. Tied to at least a dozen European heists, armed smuggling, murder, stolen antiquities." Luke's finger traced down the page. "Nothing stuck until Berlin, five years ago. Two guards dead. One anonymous tip that handed them everything. They arrested Blake and half his crew."

I met his eyes. "The tip came from Emma."

Luke's expression shifted, softened for a moment, then sharpened again with alarm. He saw it now. The vendetta.

"He escaped eighteen months ago." Luke turned a page. "Interpol issued a Red Notice. They figured he was hiding somewhere in Eastern Europe, or Cape Verde, maybe Dubai. No one thought he'd made it here."

I took the file and flipped through. The latest photo was from his latest prison ID. A fresh scar ran along the left side of his face, puckered and pale, and his eyes looked even more dead.

He had cut a deal after his arrest, turned in most of his crew, and traded a life sentence for fifteen years. Then he waited. Bided his time. When a prison riot broke out, he slipped through the chaos and vanished.

"So he's here. And he's already killed one CO." Luke exhaled. "Ashford's coordinating with Interpol now, and I'll be issuing a BOLO, pushing Blake's photo and aliases through NCIC and every watchlist we've got. We'll flag him in every facial recognition system from here to California."

"Yeah, let's do it," I said, voice flat.

Luke hesitated. "Jake—"

"I know," I cut in. "Just do it."

He gave a curt nod and walked off, his phone already pressed to his ear.

I stayed where I was, eyes on the photo.

For a moment, the noise of the Bureau—the chatter, the ringing phones, the echo of leather heels down the hall—all of it faded. The world shrank to the single thought that refused to leave me.

Adam Blake came back for her.

But why?

Obsession? Revenge? Some twisted combination of both?

I felt my stomach twist, bile rising like acid in the back of my throat. If he had hurt her—

I cut the thought off, closed my eyes, and drew one slow breath, letting the fury settle somewhere I could use it.

"Hang on, Emma," I whispered. "I will find you."