Christen stared into the debriefing officer's eyes, and knowing that the woman was just doing her job didn't make it any easier to keep a hold of her temper. It had been seventeen hours since her people spirited her and Sera out of Mexico. All she wanted when she returned was a hot shower, some sleep, and a meal. Instead, the agency placed her in a holding cell and interrogated her without allowing her to rest or offering a glass of water. Relentlessly asking the same questions over and over until she wanted to scream, but she had secrets to keep and people to protect.

"Tell me what you want me to say, and I'll say it," Christen finally challenged, frustration lacing her voice as she slammed her cuffed hands on the table, careful not to dent it.

"I want to know why the Mexicans bombed the facility and then went after you with such zeal? What did they want?" Agent Bastian demanded.

"As I told you fifty-six times, I don't know why or what they wanted. Check my recorded stats if you believe I am lying. You have all my vitals for the last seventeen hours. Now send me back to Moore so I can report to him and inform him Doc died or charge me with something!" Christen stood her ground.

"Don't you worry, I will find out what you're hiding, " Bastian promised, and Christen leaned across the table until they were eye to eye.

"Lady, I just watched my superior officer, best friend, and so many good soldiers die. Out there, I killed a shitload of people, I haven't eaten in days, and I am dehydrated, foul smelling, and my head hurts. I am tired to the bone, and if I knew why all our people died, I'd know who to go kill. If I learned what they wanted, it would not feel so senseless. Are you releasing me or charging me?" Christen demanded in clipped tones, and the dark-haired woman raised a brow at her with enough censure to spoil milk.

That stuttering fluorescent light, the uniform grey room, and the cold metal table had become a cage, and it took everything within her not to just break down that door and kill as many of them as she could to escape it.

Christen did not know which agency this upper crust, perfectly groomed, should have been an actress, British-sounding woman came from, who she worked for, or what she had to do with their group. Yet she had the distinct impression more went on here than she understood.

"Very Special Agent Strickland, you are in no position to make demands. For all intents and purposes, you are dead. You do not exist, and right now? You have the only answers we can get. We have no access to Commander Williams and his team. You say you were together and then separated. We don't know what they learned about you. Right at this moment? You, Christen Strickland, are a liability to the future of our project, our funding, and our secrecy. If you do not cooperate willingly, we will use other methods," Moorhouse threatened before glancing at the camera in the corner.

Christen stiffened, her ears popping before a high-pitched sound like an old-fashioned tv going off the air tore through her head, nearly toppling her off her chair. It took a moment to register that the pain didn't belong to her.

They were doing something to Alexander.

His distress, discomfort, and anger charged through her system, causing her body to react with a surge of adrenaline, yet she could not move.

Her head threatened to explode, and she struggled to breathe. Christen's heart beat frantically at first, but then each became more laboured. Black spots danced before her eyes, nausea rushed past the barriers of her control, and she would have vomited if her stomach hadn't been so desperately empty.

The scream torn from her didn't belong to her, it came from Alexander, and at that moment, she realized she would tell them everything just to spare him a moment of anguish.

*No, you won't,* Alexander struggled to speak into her mind, and images rushed through her.

He was aware of the others, had seen them in her mind and knew them or about them. The alien creature understood what he was, grasped what she was and suspected what they were.

Their lives were more precious to him than his own, and Sera intrigued him with the possibilities of human evolution.

Alexander wanted her to keep this secret just as he trusted her to keep his. Christen alone understood that he was so much more than a creature, able to speak into her mind, see inside her head, share her thoughts and feelings, and his intelligence far exceeded anything these people could understand.

Dana suspected it, and he allowed her to see bits and pieces, but not in the same way he did with Christen.

"They are important; we must rise again and be reborn. The Heralds know they need us to lead the way and need you to be the conduit," Alexander managed with an effort of will that caused her body to react to his discomfort even more intensely.

They might as well have used some weapon to strip her down to her atoms while she still lived.

"Enough," Moorland commanded, and yet it seemed like an eternity passed before the agony abruptly lessened. It didn't just disappear, Arthur still suffered, but Christen didn't feel like a chicken being roasted in hot oil without the courtesy of a beheading.

Blood trickled from her nose and ears. Despite her distance from the lab, she could see Alexander lying in his enclosure as if her mind tapped into the wifi.

He didn't look well, but he glanced at the camera and nodded as if to encourage her, and she didn't expect the anger boiling through her or her primitive response to it—she wanted to tear Moorland limb from limb.

*No,* Alexander warned and even though he could manage no more, Christen understood why—it wasn't the way to handle this.

The thought brought her a measure of calm, and despite the intense distress of every cell in her body, she shifted herself upright, wiped the blood from her nose with her sleeve, and stared Moorland right in the eye.

"I told you what I know. There is no more, and I will not repeat myself."

Christen didn't even realize what she did until she noticed Moorland's pupils react to the command. Despite his pain, she could almost feel Alexander grin, but he wanted her to do something more. Although she didn't know what, she could only think about Dana right then.

"I want to see Dana, now," she commanded, and Moorland hesitated as if she fought the compulsion.

Perhaps because it conflicted with Moorland's orders and her nature, but she glanced at the camera and gave the order.

Christen instantly calmed as if Dana's presence contained the answer to her problems.

Moorland blinked as if she couldn't believe what she just did.

"This is not over yet, Christen Strickland. We will continue this conversation," the agent threatened before stalking from the room with her high heels clicking on the bare cement floor and her grey power suit still uncreased like she had just landed on a plane from Washington.

It took a while for Dana to arrive, and Christen's body fought off the effects of whatever they did to her through Alexander.

When her sister walked through the door, Christen felt as if she had come home, the world was right again, and she was safe.

Dana's paleness suggested that she experienced some of what Christen did of Alexander's agony, but since her connection wasn't as strong, it didn't affect her as much.

They hugged, and Christen relaxed for the first time since she left on her mission.

"You'll be fine," Dana soothed, protective anger in her voice.

It wasn't the first time she experienced this connection, and it was never this way with her twin. She was closer to Dana than anyone but Alexander, and it shocked her to admit it would have been the same even if her family still lived.

*Yes, and soon we will find the others. Play along, do your duty, and wait,* Alexander added quietly, his heartbeat finally stable.

She had so many questions, but he was too weak for her to bother him.

*You already know the answers, my dear. Kendra was right about your DNA, but she doesn't understand,* Alexander answered her unasked questions with a riddle.

Something warned her his words were the truth and more of a revelation than she could grasp.

*You will understand soon. The Heralds are the lock, but the Astors are the key, just as the Chosen are the slate on which we will write the answers,* Alexander continued before fading out of her mind.

It took a moment to realize he spoke to her in that other language, not the one she did with Kendra. Not Orian, the language of the Heralds, but Shintar, the old language, the one she spoke in those barely remembered dreams.