Semua Bab In the Wake of Truth: Bab 61 - Bab 70

(Jane’s POV)The name flashing on my screen wasn’t just any name.Dr. Victoria Green.My therapist.I hadn’t spoken to her since that last session months ago—the one where I walked into her office carrying far more than just the weight of betrayal.I stared at the screen a moment too long, the vibration against my palm crawling like that of a weird insect, unsure of which direction to take.For a few seconds, I didn’t move. Then, as if accepting what I already knew I had to do, my thumb hovered midair.Claus and Andrew both noticed.“I need to take this,” I said quietly, already rising. “Just a moment—I’ll be right back.”On any other day, I wouldn’t have let a single second slip—not with everything we were trying to make sense of: Julia, Lara, the hidden archive floors at HAB, the attacks, and how it all connected.But this call was different.Dr. Victoria Green wasn’t just a therapist. She was the only person who’d held space for my crumbling truth the day Julia confessed.The one wh

(Julia’s POV)They didn’t bind my hands, maybe because I was a woman, or maybe because they hadn’t fully figured out what I’d done before I fled the estate.But that didn’t make the grip on my arm any lighter, or the look of one of the patrolman’s face any easier to ignore under the harsh glare of the truck’s headlights.He said nothing. None of them did. Just short, clipped instructions exchanged between them.“Secure the vehicle.” “Confirm her identity.”“Record bodycam feed.”I was escorted to the side of the road, past the blinking headlights of the Hilux I’d jammed multiple times during my escape, and into the harsh glow of their security lights.The estate’s protocol wasn’t messy or dramatic. It was professional and rigid.One patrolman retrieved my phone from the Hilux. Another carefully bagged it. One stood recording the entire exchange while another began filling out a tablet form, his gloved fingers moving briskly over the screen.“Name,” one of them asked, not even looking

(Luke Linderman’s POV)It had been two days since Julia was taken into custody. Forty-eight uneasy hours of meticulously maintained quietness, broken only by updates given at regular intervals and the echo of failed damage control.I had left the guesthouse near the New York–Massachusetts border the morning after her arrest. It had served its purpose which was privacy, distance, and deniability.Now I was back in Connecticut, standing by the tall, arched window of my white mansion’s study, watching the clouds gather in a strangely mesmerizing formation, as if the sky itself was pointing accusatory fingers at me.The mansion was unusually quiet. No soft jazz or blues drifting through the hallways, no idle chatter from the staff or my bodyguards. Just a silence dense enough to feel like the aftermath of a mission gone wrong.I turned away from the window and downed the last of my brandy. Bitter and hot—fitting, in every sense.Pedro had remained in New York, doing his best to right his w

(Julia’s POV)A week after my arrest and transfer to a federal holding facility, I was led out of the special holding cell where I’d been kept and into a narrow observation room for one reason: to identify people.The glass in front of me was so clear it almost didn’t seem to be there, a thin, perfect frame that let me see everyone inside without them seeing me.Even so, I knew this protocol wouldn’t truly protect me. Not from the kind of man I was dealing with.Luke Linderman sat in the middle of the holding unit, hands cuffed, his countenance looking relaxed but his eyes sharp and watchful, scanning the room as if he believed it wouldn’t be long before they set him free.Three men sat with him. All three were broad-shouldered, and their faces were familiar. I’d seen them close to him many times, always following him like shadows, almost like body doubles.“That’s him,” I said, my voice steady.“All three with him are his men. The one in the long black coat, dressed like him, is his

(Nathan’s POV)The hallway to Julia’s holding unit was just wide enough for two people to walk side by side, and it surprisingly lacked the usual smell of typical holding centers and recycled air, probably because this was a special facility, one of those “Very Important Cases” units.I kept my hands buried deep in my pockets, as if that could hide the subtle anxiety climbing up my chest.Director Packman walked beside me, his long strides unhurried. I couldn’t blame him, after all, I was the one affected here, the one heading toward one of the most difficult conversations of my life.His badge swung lightly against his chest, catching the overhead light with each step we took. “She’s in holding, the last room,” he said, giving me a brief glance. “Special Agent Vera Carruth agreed to give us seventeen minutes instead of the thirty we requested. Don’t waste it.”I gave him a quick nod, my jaw tight. “I really appreciate you doing all this for me.”“It’s really no big deal,” he said. “Y