All Chapters of The Debt He Can't Collect: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

Six weeks in the safe house.Emma counts days by meals delivered through the door slot. By the changing light through the single window. By the sound of guards rotating shifts outside.Forty-two days of isolation. Of waiting. Of slowly going insane.She exercises in the small room. Push-ups. Sit-ups. Testing her enhanced strength against the walls. Against the floor. Against herself.The compound is still active. Still working. She can feel it in her bones. In her blood.Four years and seven months left.The burner phone stays hidden under the mattress. Emma takes it out sometimes. Stares at the saved number. Puts it back.Not yet.But the temptation grows stronger every day.On day forty-three, Victoria visits.Emma hears the locks disengage. The door opens. Victoria enters with two guards flanking her.She looks tired. Older. This situation is aging everyone."How are you holding up?" Victoria asks.Emma doesn't answer. Just stares.Victoria sits in the single chair. "I have updates

Emma wakes to the sound of metal scraping concrete.The underground base never sleeps. People training at all hours. Enhanced metabolisms mean less sleep needed. More time to prepare.She sits up. Checks the time on her phone. 5:47 AM.Lily is already gone from her bed. Sophie sleeps curled tight. Knees to chest. The way she slept in her cell for nineteen years.Some habits don't break easy.Emma dresses. Follows the sounds. Down the corridor. Through the converted platform. To the training area.A cleared space. Mats on the floor. Equipment scavenged from gyms. Weight racks. Punching bags. Makeshift obstacle courses.Lily spars with Marcus. Moving fast. Enhanced speed making her blur. But Marcus is stronger. More experienced. He catches her mid-strike. Throws her.Lily hits the mat. Rolls. Comes up grinning."Again."Marcus shakes his head. "You're predictable. All speed, no strategy. You telegraph every move.""So teach me not to.""That's why you're here."Emma approaches. Lily see

The New Jersey facility is different.Smaller. Suburban. Disguised as a pharmaceutical research lab. No fences. No obvious security. Just another corporate building in an industrial park.Which makes it more dangerous.Emma studies the blueprints. Third time today. Marcus stands beside her. Pointing out details."Main entrance here. Service entrance here. Underground levels here and here. That's where they keep subjects. Twenty-three confirmed. Ages ranging from twelve to forty."Emma's jaw tightens. Twelve. They're experimenting on children."Guard count?""Fifteen. All enhanced. But light weapons. They're relying on secrecy for security. No one knows this place exists except Torres's partners.""When do we move?""Tomorrow night. Small team. You. Me. Alex. Lily. Chen. We go in quiet. Extract subjects. Plant evidence for the FBI. Leave before anyone knows we were there.""No explosions?""Not this time. This facility is in the middle of a populated area. We blow it, innocent people d

Two weeks after Subject 47's execution, a package arrives.Marcus finds it at one of their dead drops. A storage locker in Brooklyn. Brown box. No return address. Just a name written in marker.Emma Lawson.He brings it to the base. Sets it on the table. Everyone gathers. Staring. Suspicious."Could be a bomb," Alex says."Could be. But it's addressed specifically to Emma. That means someone knows she's here. Knows she's with us." Marcus looks at Emma. "Your call. Open it or destroy it."Emma approaches. Studies the box. Plain. Unmarked. Weight feels light.Her enhanced hearing picks up nothing. No ticking. No electronics. Just paper rustling."Open it."Marcus cuts the tape carefully. Lifts the lid.Inside is a folder. Medical files. Photos. A USB drive. And a note.Emma reads the note aloud."Emma. We need to talk. Meet me at the coordinates below. Come alone. I have information about your father's research. About the compound degradation. About how to stop it. You have forty-eight

Emma sat in the sterile examination room, the paper gown crinkling with every breath. She'd chosen Dr. Patricia Walsh carefully—a cardiologist with no ties to Cross Industries, no connections to the pharmaceutical world that had already taken too much from her. An independent voice. Someone who would tell her the truth without corporate filters or convenient omissions.The truth turned out to be worse than silence.Dr. Walsh entered without preamble, tablet in hand, her expression the practiced neutral Emma recognized from her own training. The kind of face you wore when the news was bad but you needed the patient calm enough to hear it."Your echocardiogram shows significant left ventricular hypertrophy," Dr. Walsh said, pulling up the images. Emma's heart appeared on the screen, the walls thickened in ways that spoke of chronic strain. "Combined with your blood work and the information you provided about the trial drug—Compound 7—I can confirm what you suspected. Your heart has been