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“Plug it in. Verify it yourself.”

His smile widened. “You’d let me plug an unknown drive into my system? You must think me very stupid, Elena.”

“I think you want this data more than you want to play games.” She kept her voice level, bored almost. “But if you don’t trust me, I can leave. Take my chances finding Marguerite on my own.”

Toro’s eyes flashed—there, a crack in his control. He wanted this. Wanted access to Dynamis’s network, to their operations, to the intelligence that could make him untouchable.

Toro pulled the flash drive closer, examining it. “My IT specialist will verify this. If it’s real, you’ll see your niece. If it’s not…” He let the threat hang.

“It’s real.”

He plugged the drive into his computer, and Elena watched the screen light up. Files began appearing—mission reports, agent identities, classified contracts. All of it fake, all of it convincing, all of it exactly what Cal had built to pass their inspection.

“Upload starting,” Cal’s voice whispered in her ear. “I’ve got remote access to his system. The drive is clean on their end—looks exactly like what it should. Playing the long game.”

She inhaled slowly, trying to regulate her rapid heart rate.

“Fifteen percent,” Cal murmured. “Stay cool.”

Toro clicked through files, his expression shifting from suspicious to satisfied. “This is…very good, Elena. Very thorough.”

“I told you it was real.”

“Thirty percent…forty-five percent…”

“You know what I remember most about you?” Toro’s attention shifted from the screen back to her, and something in his voice made her stomach turn. “How you cried. Such pretty tears. You begged so sweetly.”

Don’t react. Don’t give him anything.

“I’m not that girl anymore.”

“No?” He stood, circling around the desk with predatory grace. “I think you are. I think underneath that cold mask, you’re still screaming. Still broken.”

“Sixty percent…seventy-five percent…”

Elena’s hands stayed relaxed in her lap, but every muscle was coiled, ready. He was close now. Close enough that she could smell his cologne—expensive and cloying. Close enough to strike if he touched her.

22:05 Hours—Maintenance Chamber

“We’re at the cell block entrance.” Eden’s voice came through, barely a whisper. “Guard station is empty. They’re at shift change, just like Elena said.”

Relief flooded through Brock, sharp and sudden. The intelligence was good. The pattern held.

“Cypher, we need those electronic locks disengaged.”

“On it,” Cal said. “Locks disengaging in three…two…one. You’re clear.”

Brock listened to the muted sounds of movement above him—doors opening, a quiet female voice asking who they were, Eden’s calm response. Then footsteps, quick and light.

“We have the package,” Eden reported, her voice still controlled but with an edge of triumph underneath. “Female, late twenties, wearing a white habit. She’s asking for Elena.”

Brock’s chest loosened. They’d done it. Clean extraction, no alarm, no casualties. Marguerite was safe.

“Tell her Elena’s safe,” Atticus’s voice came through. “And get her out of there.”

“Copy. Moving to extraction point now.”

Brock heard them descending—Eden first, then a slight figure in white, then Reza covering their six. Marguerite’s face was pale, bruised, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. But she was alive. Whole.