Dreams flickered like fragmented memories in Vanessa's mind, disjointed images slipping from one scene to another. Her father's face, the explosion of the train, the training exercises—they all blurred together, merging into an indistinct collage of her past. As she drifted towards consciousness, the last thing lingering in her thoughts was Madicorp.

Her eyelids felt heavy and crusted shut as she stretched, expecting to feel the sterile environment of a hospital bed. Instead of the sound of machines, there was only silence—a nearly unsettling peace. The pillow was soft, the blanket weighed down over her like a comforting shield, and the temperature in the room was perfectly regulated. A sense of unease curled at the edges of her mind, intensified by how wrong yet somehow right it all felt.

This was not hospital room, and there was no medical equipment. The walls were painted black and framed with walnut-coloured panels. The bedding also matched the colour scheme, being entirely black. On the right side of the room, a single black door almost blended into the wall; however, the small blinking red light near the handle revealed that it was locked.

Confused, Vanessa rolled over, sinking deeper into the plush mattress. Everything felt too serene, too perfectly arranged. She stretched her arm, testing the soreness where her new elemental plate was embedded, then froze, listening.

Silence.

The absence of sound in a place like this wasn't natural. It was orchestrated. .

On the left side, there was a floor-to-ceiling glass door that opened up to a small atrium featuring a manicured garden. In the centre stood a single tree, surrounded by white stones. The sunlight streaming into the garden felt real yet artificial, just another layer to this carefully constructed cage.

It took her a moment to ground herself, to piece together where she was. Her memories rushed back—Madicorp. The mission. The traitor. She glanced at her arm. The stitches were barely visible. There was no bandage now, just smooth skin and the telltale glint of a new elemental plate beneath.

Rolling onto her back, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts racing to catch up. She had been too close to the edge, her body barely holding on. Yet now, she felt... different. Better than she had in years. The numbers, the calculations that had always guided her mind, began to tick back into place. A familiar, analytical clarity sharpened her thoughts.

She sat up, her muscles loose, her breathing easy. The haze of illness had lifted, leaving her feeling unnervingly... whole. Whatever Madicorp had done had healed her fully, perhaps even improved her. But the sense of unease gnawed at her. She needed to leave

Vanessa reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and quickly drank it. She then noticed the neatly folded clothes across the room. Pulling on the simple black outfit laid out for her, she moved toward the door.

In the hallway, staff members looked at her with surprise as she stormed past, her brisk pace signalling that she was not interested in pleasantries. She made her way to Sebastian's office and, without knocking she entered.

Sebastian looked up, mildly startled, then quickly composed himself. He ended a call on his desk console, rising to greet her with a practised smile. "It's good to see you've recovered well, Ms Leeton."

"I need to leave," she said, her voice firm.

He tilted his head as if amused by her impatience. "A bit premature, don't you think? You've only just woken up. You're still under medical supervision."

The words tightened a coil of anxiety in her chest. "You and I both know I don't have the luxury of waiting around."

"A runaway doesn't have time to wait?" Sebastian circled his desk, crossing his arms as he scrutinised her. "We'd prefer you stay a little longer. Someone important is coming tomorrow to meet you."

There was no one here she wanted to meet—no executive, no shadowy player in the grand machinery of Madicorp, and certainly no ally.

"I've already lost too much time," she snapped. "Someone went to great lengths to make sure I wouldn't return. Every minute I spend here increases the risk that I'm being watched. I won't wait around to find out what happens next."

He regarded her, his face unreadable. "And how exactly do you propose to fix this? The Agency is already aware that you're back in the city."

"Am I a prisoner?"

Sebastian's expression flickered briefly, then he dropped his arms, returning to his desk. "Of course not," he said smoothly, though there was an edge to his tone. "But we have much to discuss, and I fear your departure is premature."

"Then let's make this simple. I walk out of here now, with or without your help."

Sebastian's fingers moved briskly over the console, his expression calm, though the tension in his hands betrayed him. "Very well," he said evenly. "I'll arrange for what you need. But... what about your associate?" He glanced up. "Ah, you weren't expecting him to stay, were you? An interesting choice of acquaintance for someone in your position."

The fact that Miller had stayed surprised her, and the fact that Madicorp had allowed was peculiar.

"How long has it been?" she asked, brushing past his observation.

"Several days," Sebastian replied, his focus sliding back to the screen. "Once your chemical levels stabilised, the healing process accelerated. The virus is dormant—for now."

"Isn't there a cure?"

"It's... in development," he said without meeting her eyes, a non-answer that made her stomach drop. The virus was yet another chain, something they could use to pull her back.

"I'd prefer not to disclose my plans."

His mouth twisted in a thin smile. "Of course. You've always been... independent. We could offer surveillance and security—but if you're confident in taking your own risks, by all means."

She met his gaze, defiance in her eyes. "I think I'll take my own risks."

"Very well. I'll arrange transport and whatever supplies you need. You're free to go. But before you leave... I want you to consider returning, Vanessa."

"Why would I come back?"

"Continuing your investigation as a runaway will be no easy task. Here, you'll have resources, allies, and a safe space. We can offer protection, support... and more importantly, answers. A high-ranking official from Madicorp is arriving tomorrow. Someone who's been following your case closely. If you stay, you'll have a chance to meet him."

Vanessa's jaw tightened, resisting the temptation to ask who this official was. "Why would I want to meet one of your superiors?"

Sebastian didn't react. "Because he may have information you need. This traitor you're chasing, the rebel faction infiltrating the Agency... they're not just your problem. They're ours, too. And we're willing to work with you if it means eliminating the threat."

She gave him a small, empty smile. "I appreciate your support."

Sebastian's gaze sharpened, catching the sarcasm. "You're alive because of our help. I'd expect a little gratitude. Offers like this are rare, but perhaps that's lost on someone raised to expect compliance."

His comment felt like a subtle attempt to get under her skin, make her doubt herself and she wasn't falling for it. "Duly noted."

****

Vanessa knocked on the door to Miller's room, which was right next to hers, a detail that felt deliberate. A moment later, the door opened, and Miller's face appeared, his expression shifting almost instantly from surprise to visible relief.

"You're awake," he said, his voice warmer than she'd expected. "I... I wasn't sure you were going to make it."

She was caught off guard by the genuine concern in his eyes. It was strange to have someone look at her like that. People didn't care about her wellness—she was just a tool, a weapon.

She cleared her throat. "I'm fine," she said, brushing past the sentiment. "What are you wearing?" she laughed as she noticed he sported the Madicorp-provided black shorts and t-shirt, but also white slippers.

He looked embarrassed. "I didn't have anything else."

"Listen, we don't have time to waste. We need to see Robert Tick."

Miller's expression shifted, his brow furrowing. "That's too dangerous. The Agency's on high alert after everything that happened. If anyone recognises you—"

"You could ask your wife to deliver the documents."

His mouth tensed, the corners pulling downward in a frown. "Robert and I decided against telling her. Besides, Robert believes those documents are his insurance policy. I don't think he'll let them go that easily."

"Sounds like she's still a bit of a wildcard. Sarah is there, and your presence won't raise suspicion. I need to see what's in the evidence. There might be something concrete that can help us."

"Us?" His voice was dry. "Are we partners now?"

She pressed her fingers to her brow, avoiding the question.

Miller glanced down the hallway, wary of prying ears. "But you're a runaway. How are we going to get around that?"

"Sitting on the sidelines will not fix anything."

His voice was strained, reluctant. "Have the doctor's cleared you? I mean, you were on deaths door only a few days ago and the moment you are up you're aching to leave."

His words sparked a flare of anger. He wasn't her caretaker. She didn't need his permission. She had a job to finish.

"Are you coming?"

He ran a hand through his hair, conflict written across his face. She didn't wait for his answer—she didn't need him.

In her room, she pulled on the clothing Madicorp had provided: sports pants, a black T-shirt, and running shoes. When she stepped back into the hallway, he was waiting. He had changed back into the oversized suit he'd worn the day they arrived.

For all his reluctance, she knew he understood her urgency. At last, he sighed and gave a resigned nod. "This is reckless. You're rushing into this, and you haven't thought it through. But I'll help."

She acknowledged him with a curt nod, and together, they walked to the car park where Sebastian waited. He handed her a set of identity papers and a firearm. "You won't reconsider?" he asked.

She didn't answer. He looked at her a moment longer, then added, "Our doors remain open should you wish to return."

As Sebastian disappeared back inside, Miller glanced her way. "Huh. These people aren't as hostile as you made them out to be."

She shot him a look and got into the car.

****

Miller and Vanessa arrived at the Winfield Media Corporation building, pulling into the underground parking garage. Miller looked uneasy, his fingers drumming on the dashboard as if bracing for conflict.

As they stepped out, Vanessa caught the glint of nerves in his eyes. "There's no reason to be nervous. We're just here to gather information. Nothing more."

"The Agency had this place under surveillance after that article about the rogue agent dropped," he said. "It was blatant. We didn't see any when we drove past, but it doesn't mean they're not watching."

"They're always watching. But they have no reason to believe I'd show up here. The intimidation tactics were just that—tactics. That's what they do when they are angry."

They navigated through the basement level and toward the elevators. When they stepped out on the upper floors into the open-plan office. The floor was a sprawling hive: cubicles crammed with papers, monitors flashing headlines, and staff rushing between desks.

Their presence didn't go unnoticed. Heads turned, conversations hushed. Vanessa felt the collective gaze follow them as they strode toward Robert Tick's office.

Sarah practically jumped when she saw Miller. "What are you doing here?" she asked, throwing her arms around him in a quick hug. "I don't understand. I thought you were still at—" She stopped short, stepping back as her gaze landed on Vanessa.

"We're here to see Robert," Miller said, glancing toward the office door.

Robert Tick stood there, arms folded. The moment his eyes landed on them, his face paled.

"Gary," Robert said with a strained voice as though trying to mask the panic rising in his throat. "What's going on?" His eyes darted nervously, scanning the room as though expecting Agency operatives to burst in at any moment.

Behind him, Sarah's expression shifted from surprise to outright disapproval. "Gary, what the hell are you doing? Bringing her here?"

Miller held up a calming hand. "We're not here to cause trouble."

He stepped forward, but Robert moved back, his hand gripping the edge of his office door as if ready to slam it shut. "Honestly, Robert, it's okay," Miller said, his tone placating. "Just hear us out."

Robert hesitated, then stepped aside, gesturing them in. He closed the door behind them with a soft click.

Vanessa glanced around the office, taking in every detail. She could feel the tension coming off Robert. Miller was right behind her, steady but keeping his distance.

"I'd ask you to take a seat, but I don't want you hanging around," Robert remarked.

"Robert, we need to see the information Mary Karter sent you," Vanessa said, cutting straight to the point.

Robert's jaw tightened, his anger flashing as he focused on Miller. "I trusted you," he bit out.

Time was slipping away, and Vanessa fought the urge to throw her weight around—tear through the office, overturn drawers, find what she needed. But she forced the thought aside. She wasn't here in a black uniform anymore. This wasn't about compliance; this was about trust.

"Gary, this is ridiculous! You realise she's probably here to destroy it, and you've fallen for her lies!"

Miller turned to her, his expression uncertain, lost for words. "It's up to you what you tell him."

Vanessa stepped forward, her voice cold and deliberate. "Let me make this clear. This will not become a news story. If any of this gets out, I'll make sure your organisation doesn't exist by the time I'm done."

Robert let out a bitter, humorless laugh. "You conscripts are all the same," he said, his anger boiling over. "Fucking protecting the wrong people!"

Vanessa met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm a runaway."

Robert took a moment to digest her words, his brow furrowing. Then he tilted his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "Sorry? A runaway? Then what good could this information possibly serve you?"

Vanessa didn't flinch. "I believe a rebel faction has infiltrated the Agency, and the rogue agent was working for them. I have a suspect, but I need concrete evidence to bring to the executive. Right now, you might be the only one who has it."

Robert let out a belly laugh, the kind that was equal parts disbelief and disdain. "Do you hear that, Gary? I'm the only one with evidence. For an organisation that prides itself on being the all-knowing source of truth, you've failed. But what's that got to do with you being a runaway? You think going to the executive will welcome you back with open arms if you return with an offering?"

Vanessa clenched her jaw, annoyance flickering, but she kept her composure. She had no reason to avoid his questions. "Every time I tried to pursue leads, I was pushed away—blocked at every turn. The only way to weed this individual out is from the outside."

Robert's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Without a word, he stood and began moving a few objects around his office. At first, it seemed random, but then he did something to the innocuous wall behind his desk. A faint click sounded, and a hidden compartment slid open. His fingerprint and eye scan had been the key.

Robert retrieved a slim folder and tossed it onto the desk. "There," he said, snapping the compartment shut with a sharp, deliberate motion.

The files landed with a slap against the desk's surface.

Vanessa flipped it open and scanned the contents. The fact that so much of this was in Robert's hands was troubling—though, she noted, he hadn't made any of it public. Still, the question lingered: could he really be trusted?

Her eyes caught on travel documents—records of John Turner's movements. She flicked through the pages. Multiple trips to Orange Hill, all signed off by the Director. But something else stood out: visits to outlying community towns, including Jody's—Maugro. And then there were the trips to satellite cities, the kind only accessible through Government City itself.

The stated reason for these trips was a vague "standardisation security strategy," but there was nothing concrete to explain the connection. Was this how the cross from Jody's town ended up in Orange Hill? Had Turner planted it himself?

Before Vanessa could finish combing through the rest of the documents, a nervous voice from a cubicle near the elevator caught her attention. She looked out the glass wall, her body tensing when she saw a familiar figure move through the cubicles.

Eric.

She stood and opened the door—there was nowhere to run. Avoiding conflict wasn't an option.

He was in full Agency uniform, his presence imposing. The air seemed to shift as he stepped into view. He froze when he saw her, his stride slowing. His eyes widened briefly in surprise before narrowing into a cold, calculating gaze.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping forward.

Vanessa held her ground. "I could ask you the same. Didn't notice anyone watching this place on the way in."

He moved closer, his eyes flickering to the office behind her. "We've been discreet. There's been nothing happening here to warrant a visible presence. But how did you get in?"

"I'm on a special assignment. That's the only reason I left."

"Good," he replied, voice low. "Then you'll come with me, and we can confirm it. Once that's sorted, you can resume your duties."

He took another step closer, his hand reaching for her arm.

She pulled back. "The assignment will be at risk if I go with you. You're compromising everything right now."

Her eyes darted toward the exits as she calculated her options. Eric wouldn't just let her walk away—she knew that. The Agency didn't operate on trust—if she'd been listed as a runaway, then even someone like Eric would treat her as a potential threat.

Eric's eyes narrowed, his hand dropping slightly, but his posture remained guarded. "I've been given no orders about any 'special assignment.' All I know is that you went rogue. If you're telling the truth, then prove it. Come back, and we'll verify."

She sidestepped when he reached for her again, deflecting his arm and shoving him back just enough to make her intentions clear.

Eric lunged, quick and forceful, but she moved on instinct. She sidestepped his charge, using his momentum to drive him into a nearby cubicle wall. The thin partition rattled under the impact, a stack of papers scattering to the floor. A startled office worker bolted from their desk with a sharp yelp, retreating out of sight.

Eric recovered quickly, his expression hardening with irritation. "You're only making this worse," he muttered, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

He struck again, fast and precise, but she blocked him, her movements swift and deliberate. Angles, force, and momentum lit up in her mind as she countered each strike. She drove her elbow into his ribs, but he twisted just in time, taking the blow on his forearm and retaliating with a knee aimed at her side.

She dodged, but not completely—the strike grazed her, forcing her back into a nearby cubicle. The edge of the desk caught her hip, and she stumbled, struggling to regain her footing.

Eric gave her no time to recover. He closed the gap, grabbing her arm and slamming her hard against the cubicle wall. The thin partition shuddered with the impact. A monitor toppled from the desk beside her, crashing to the floor.

"Stop this, Vanessa," he hissed, his grip tight on her shoulder. "We're trained the same. You know you can't win."

She twisted out of his grasp, driving her knee into his stomach. He grunted, his grip faltering enough for her to bring an elbow toward his jaw. But he was faster, blocking it and lunging forward, his hand darting to grab her collar. He shoved her hard into a row of filing cabinets, the metal digging painfully into her back.

Vanessa gritted her teeth and forced herself to push past the pain. Her mind raced, assessing points of contact, recalculating strategies with every second. She needed a way out.

Around them, the office had erupted into chaos. Workers scrambled for safety, ducking behind desks or bolting for the exits. The air buzzed with panicked shouts and the clatter of chairs and overturned equipment.

"You betrayed your family."

Eric's punch came fast, slamming into her jaw. Pain exploded across her cheek, and she staggered, the sharp taste of blood hitting her tongue. But she didn't stop.

Through the haze of pain, her vision overlaid with angles and trajectories, Vanessa reacted. She lashed out with a kick toward his side, but he was ready. His hand shot out, catching her leg in midair. With a vicious twist, he wrenched her off balance.

Eric's hands closed around her throat, pinning her down against the desk as he leaned in close. "We're trained the same. I know how you fight. I know your next move."

Fighting another Agency-trained operative was like facing her own shadow—every move she knew, he knew as well. She felt the edge of panic rising, but she pushed it down, forcing herself to think.

Then, through the haze of pain and anger, an idea sparked. She met his gaze, a faint, blood-stained smile curving on her lips. "But you forget—"

In one swift motion, Vanessa twisted her body, using Eric's weight against him as she slipped free from his grip. She swung her legs up and around his neck, locking him into a chokehold. With her thighs, she trapped him in place.

"—I'm not the same as you."

Eric's eyes flashed with frustration and panic as he clawed at her arm, struggling to pry her off. He gritted his teeth and slammed her body against the wall hard enough to make her head snap back. She felt the force as the impact rattled her senses. A framed picture crashed to the floor nearby, glass shattering across the carpet.

But Vanessa held on, tightening her grip. Eric staggered, his balance wavering, as he tried to shake her loose. She sensed his breathing growing laboured as he struggled.

In a desperate attempt to regain control, he stumbled, losing his footing. As his legs folded beneath him, he sank to the floor, but Vanessa kept her lock steady, clinging to him like a vice. His struggles weakened, his gasps becoming faint as his face flushed with exertion.

Eric's hand shot up one last time, but his attempts to shake her off grew clumsy and unfocused until finally, his head lolled to the side, and his body went limp.

The office was silent now. Workers huddled in corners or crouched behind desks, wide-eyed as they watched Vanessa standing over Eric's crumpled form.

A cubicle wall had been knocked off its frame; papers were scattered and broken monitors lay smashed on the floor.

She wiped the blood from her split lip with her hand. Her cheek throbbed where he'd slammed her into the wall, but she ignored the pain.

"That was quite a showdown!" Miller's voice broke the silence as she glanced up to see him emerging from Robert's office, his expression somewhere between shock and awe.

"We need to go now," she said, her voice hard, adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

Miller's eyes widened. "Your eyes! Fuck! Is that real?"

"Yes, it's real," she said as she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the elevator.

Behind them, Robert called out. "What do I say if they come asking questions? The Agency will be swarming this place soon, and they will be looking at Sarah and I."

Vanessa barely paused, her tone clipped. "Tell them I forced you. Say you complied under duress."

"And me?" Miller asked as he hurried beside her.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Eric's arrival had complicated everything. "Fuck Miller. Now is not the time."

They hurried to the basement and climbed into the car. Miller slid into the driver's seat, his eyes darting toward her as he started the engine and guided them out of the underground garage.

Vanessa kept her head low—not enough to draw attention, but enough to avoid unnecessary eyes. The forged papers from Madicorp rested in her pocket, ready if needed, though she hoped it wouldn't come to that. Encounters were risks she couldn't afford.

Miller's hands clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles white as they merged into city traffic. His breaths came shallow, the tension radiating off him.

She reached over and gave his arm a light squeeze. "Calm down. Eric's probably alert by now, but Madicorp has ways of making our trail disappear. We just need to stay focused."

"Where do we go?"

There was nowhere else to go. Miller's house would already be under surveillance. "Greenlakes," she said finally.

As they drove, Miller's shoulders began to relax, his grip on the wheel loosening. He glanced at her, concern etched into his face. "Your lip is still bleeding."

"I know."

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on her bruised cheek. "Are you... are you okay? He hit you pretty hard. I thought for sure that was going to knock you out."

She shrugged, trying to brush it off. "Takes more than that."

"Seeing two agents go at it like that... it's intense. I can't imagine what it's like fighting rebels. How did you manage to take him down, though? He was bigger than you."

"It's not about size. Eric forgot that I can go longer without oxygen than most. He thought I was still sick. That was his mistake."

He let out a low whistle. "Lucky for us, then."

On the highway, Vanessa spotted a strange glint on the pavement ahead, catching the afternoon sun. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward, trying to make sense of it.

"Stop the car," she said with urgency.

"Huh?"

"Stop the car! Now!" she shouted.

Miller's face flickered with confusion, but he didn't hesitate. He slammed on the brakes, the sedan skidding to a halt and veering slightly to the side of the empty road.

Vanessa jumped out, her eyes scanning the ground. About twenty meters ahead, she spotted a thin black strip stretched across the road, nearly invisible unless you were looking for it. She followed it carefully, tracing the line into the bushes where it disappeared into a small, concealed box.

A rebel device.

She crouched down to examine the mechanism. She recognised the setup—an ignition trap designed to detonate fuel. Efficient. Deadly. And usually reserved for high-profile targets. Her fingers moved deftly, dismantling the mechanism before yanking the strip from the road. She bundled the parts into her arms and returned to the sedan, dumping them in the trunk.

Miller stared at her, wide-eyed, as she slid back into the passenger seat. "What... what was that?"

"Just go already."

He looked at her with questions in his eyes, but then he nodded and hit the accelerator. As they picked up speed, he finally managed to speak. "What was that thing?"

Vanessa kept her eyes trained on the road ahead, scanning for any other traps. "It's called a fuel ignitor. A rebel weapon. If we'd driven over it, it would have detected our fuel source and triggered an explosion. These kinds of devices are nearly invisible to weapons scanners, which is why they're so effective."

Miller paled. "Are you telling me I nearly drove over a bomb!"

"Well, technically, we would've been the bomb," she replied dryly. "But yes, it would've ignited the fuel source, and... you get the picture."

He swallowed hard. "I've never even heard of these things! How does it... how does it work?"

"There are a lot of weapons you wouldn't have heard of," she said, her tone casual, though the reality of what they'd just avoided made her pulse race. "To be honest, I've only read about these. Never actually seen one in the field."

If rebels were setting traps this close to Madicorp territory, something bigger was brewing.

Miller shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair. "And you just... walked up to it, disarmed it, and tossed it in the car? You disarm bombs like that too?"

She cracked a smile. "I've disarmed plenty of devices. Still have all my fingers, don't I?"

Miller let out a shaky laugh, though there was no humour in his eyes. "You know, with the things I'm learning about you, it wouldn't surprise me if you grew extra limbs to disarm those things."

She chuckled. "Let's just get to Greenlakes in one piece. Drive slower. I'll keep an eye out."

Miller eased off the accelerator as they neared Greenlakes. Vanessa exhaled slowly as they passed through the security checkpoint, the guards barely glancing at Miller as they gave him a cursory nod. Their attention lingered on her, their eyes flicking to her split lip and bruised cheek before one waved them through.

Finally, they pulled up in front of the main building.

Inside the reception area, Sebastian and the Chief Security Officer were waiting. Sebastian's gaze swept over her, the faintest flicker of disapproval crossing his face as he took in the signs of the fight.

"Welcome back," Sebastian said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of scrutiny. "It looks like you've had... an eventful outing."

Vanessa didn't respond, brushing past the comment.

Sebastian stepped closer, his expression shifting from faint amusement to something approaching concern. "You're injured. I'll arrange for you to see the medical team."

"The only thing that took a beating was my pride. I'll be fine."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, clearly unaccustomed to being dismissed. "Nevertheless, I insist. We have protocols. And given your condition, it's essential we monitor any injuries."

"It's not necessary."

Sebastian's eyes lingered on her, assessing. "Very well. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Vanessa said nothing, her cold, unreadable stare meeting his. She wasn't about to hand over anything—not when she couldn't trust what he or Madicorp might do with the information.

Seeing her refusal to engage, Sebastian's expression tightened briefly before he shifted his attention to the Head of Security. Vanessa seized the moment.

"On the road in, we encountered a fuel ignitor. Rebel tech," she said. "Has there been trouble?"

The Chief Security Officer's face remained impassive, but his eyes flickered with something—annoyance, perhaps, or worry. "Isolated incidents," he said vaguely. "Nothing that compromises our operations. We're handling it."

In other words, none of her business. Vanessa forced a nod, though the implications churned in her mind. If rebels were targeting the roads to Madicorp, things were escalating faster than she'd expected.