The woman's eyes clung to Layla as if drowning.
"I—I was with them," she stammered, voice barely audible. "I escaped."
The room fell dead silent.
Rhea's fingers tightened around the keyboard.
Cole's jaw locked.
Layla's eyes searched every inch of the girl's face—weariness, guilt, fear—all written across pale skin.
For a fleeting moment, empathy surged.
But it was quickly replaced by cold resolve.
"Who are you?" Layla demanded.
The girl swallowed hard, trembling.
"Name's Isla. I… I was part of Mark Darrow's private team. They kept us hidden, told us it was for security… but it wasn't."
Her eyes darted toward the floor.
"Not security. Control."
Rhea exhaled sharply.
"What exactly did they do?"
Isla's lips quivered.
"They trained us to silence anyone who got too close."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"They used fear… and worse."
Layla's stomach twisted.
Cole's hand drifted toward his weapon.
Isla flinched.
"I didn't want to hurt anyone," she sobbed.
"I ran. I stole files. I… I don't know if anyone's safe."
Layla's heart raced.
Could she trust this girl?
Could Isla's information be a gift—or a trap?
Rhea's eyes, sharp as ever, met Layla's.
"We have no time," Rhea whispered.
"If this is true, we need to act fast."
Cole's gaze hardened.
"We need intel, not sentiment."
Layla's jaw tightened.
But her eyes lingered on Isla's shaking hands.
For one fleeting second, Layla saw a reflection of herself—broken, desperate, cornered.
"Why come here?" Layla asked, her voice cutting through the tension.
Isla's eyes lifted.
"I saw your broadcasts," she said, voice hushed.
"I know you're fighting them. I—I want to help."
Her eyes pleaded.
"Please."
Rhea's fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Cole's eyes narrowed.
Layla felt the room's pulse quicken.
Every instinct screamed this could be a trap.
But the stakes were too high.
Cole stood abruptly.
"No guarantees," he growled.
"If you're lying, we'll know."
His hand rested on his sidearm.
Isla flinched but didn't look away.
Rhea clicked open a secure comm channel, blocking external surveillance feeds.
"We'll run tests," she muttered.
"If even one anomaly shows up, we cut her loose."
Isla nodded quickly, desperate for trust.
With suspicion still thick in the air, Layla made a decision.
"We use her."
The words felt heavier than the air between them.
Cole's eyes flashed.
"That's a risk."
"Yes," Layla replied.
"But doing nothing is worse."
Rhea's eyes narrowed in thought, then she exhaled slowly.
"I'll monitor every channel. We'll encrypt the pathways. She can't get far if something's off."
Cole's lips pressed into a thin line.
"I still don't trust it."
Layla's eyes burned.
"Neither do I."
But she stepped closer to Isla.
"You're here because you want to atone," she said.
"You're here because you know the truth."
Isla's eyes filled again.
"I do."
Isla's trembling hands reached into the satchel she carried.
She pulled out a small drive, worn and scuffed from travel.
"It's everything," she whispered.
"I copied it before I escaped. Names… locations… their plans."
Rhea's eyes lit up with cold precision.
Cole's jaw twitched.
Layla's heart thundered.
For one breathless second, the room seemed to hold its own secrets.
But no one noticed the faint red blinking light in the corner of the room.
A covert surveillance node.
Silent.
Hidden.
Watching.
Layla held the drive in her hand.
The weight of it felt heavier than iron.
"This is the break we needed," she whispered.
Her eyes locked on Rhea and Cole.
"We proceed."
Cole's lips parted but no words came.
Rhea's eyes narrowed in agreement.
The die was cast.
As the room buzzed with whispered strategy, Layla's mind flashed back.
A cold hospital room.
A file folder smudged with fingerprints.
A childhood memory—being silenced by those who smiled but betrayed.
A love lost to lies.
She clenched her jaw.
This fight wasn't about reputation.
It was about taking back the narrative.
Taking back power.
This was the reckoning she'd always feared but never faced.
Now, she would not turn away.
"I'll do anything," Isla whispered.
"Just… don't let them take me back."
Her eyes locked on Layla's.
"I'm tired of running."
Layla's eyes softened—just a fraction.
"You're not running anymore."
Her voice was firm but reassuring.
"You stand with us."
Isla's eyes widened.
Relief and terror wrestled within her.
Cole finally broke the silence.
"We'll need operational roles," he growled.
He outlined checkpoints, extraction points, and encryption layers.
Rhea divided tasks with swift precision—what to monitor, where to patch, how to isolate.
Layla, surprisingly calm, drew out a public narrative plan.
She would shape the story when the time came—one that revealed truth without spiraling into chaos.
Her mind ticked through headlines, soundbites, timing windows.
For the first time in months, she felt not cornered, but in control.
At the room's center, the four of them stood in a circle.
Cole, stone-faced but resolute.
Rhea, analytical but fierce.
Isla, broken but willing.
Layla, trembling but empowered.
Without ceremony, they nodded.
No contracts.
No signatures.
Only trust earned in danger.
Outside, the first sunbeams stretched across the skyline.
Inside, the room pulsed with quiet determination.
The fight had only just begun.
But something had shifted.
This wasn't survival anymore.
This was war.