Anabeth didn't cry when the names were read.
She stood still while Cassian spoke them—one by one, carefully, with the respect of someone who understood that saying a name was the last dignity left to the dead. She listened as Rafael added details where he could, grounding each loss in reality instead of letting them blur into numbers.
She didn't cry then.
She cried later.
Alone.
Curled on the narrow bed in the secure room that no longer felt secure at all.
The compound hummed softly around her—generators, cooling systems, distant voices—but inside her chest, everything was too loud.
Images replayed against her will.
The silence after gunfire.
The way Cassian's hands had trembled when he removed his headset.
The look on Rafael's face—anger so sharp it had nowhere to go.
And beneath all of it, the thought that refused to loosen its grip:
They died because of me.
She pressed her fists against her eyes, as if she could physically push the idea away.
It didn't move.
---
Cassian noticed first that she wasn't where she was supposed to be.
"She didn't come to the briefing," he said quietly.
Rafael frowned. "She asked for space."
Cassian nodded, but unease crept into his posture. "Space is one thing. Silence is another."
Rafael sighed. "You can't lock her away, Cass."
"I know," Cassian replied. "But I also know what guilt does to people."
He stood.
"I'll talk to her."
---
Anabeth didn't hear him knock.
She was sitting on the floor now, back against the bed, staring at nothing. The room felt smaller than it had the night before, the walls pressing inward like they were trying to collapse her along with them.
Cassian knelt in front of her.
"Anabeth."
She flinched.
"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I should have been stronger."
Cassian's chest tightened. "This isn't on you."
She laughed weakly. "You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Her eyes finally lifted to his.
"Then why did Hale say my name?" she asked. "Why did he use me to hurt you?"
Cassian hesitated.
And in that hesitation, she found her answer.
---
"He's using what he thinks you value," Cassian said carefully.
Anabeth nodded slowly. "So I'm a weakness."
"No," Cassian said firmly. "You're leverage."
She shook her head. "That's just a nicer word."
Cassian reached for her hand. She didn't pull away, but she didn't hold on either.
"I don't want anyone else to die because of me," she whispered.
Cassian squeezed her hand gently. "No one will."
She looked at him then—really looked.
"You can't promise that," she said. "Not anymore."
Cassian had no response.
That silence settled something inside her.
A decision, quiet and heavy, like a door closing.
---
Later that night, Anabeth couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, the massacre replayed—not the violence itself, but the after. The absence. The hollow space where people had been.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
If Hale wanted leverage—
She would decide how it was used.
---
The message she drafted was short.
No threats.
No accusations.
Just a single line, routed through channels she knew Hale monitored obsessively.
> You want me. Let's stop pretending otherwise.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then she sent it.
---
Hale read the message twice.
Then a third time.
A slow smile spread across his face—not triumphant, not relieved, but curious.
"She chose herself," he murmured.
Mara, standing nearby, stiffened. "Or she's baiting you."
Hale considered that.
"She's not a strategist," he said. "She's exhausted."
"That makes her dangerous," Mara replied.
Hale waved the concern away. "No. That makes her predictable."
He leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"Prepare a response."
---
Anabeth's phone buzzed less than a minute later.
Unknown number.
She answered.
Hale's voice was smooth, almost gentle.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said.
Her heart pounded, but her voice stayed steady. "Neither should you."
A pause.
Then a soft laugh. "Brave. Or foolish."
"Does it matter?" she asked. "You want me to be afraid. I'm already past that."
Another pause.
Longer.
"I didn't expect you to reach out alone," Hale admitted. "Cassian would disapprove."
"That's why I didn't tell him."
The words felt like betrayal as they left her mouth.
But also like agency.
Hale exhaled slowly. "What do you want, Anabeth?"
She swallowed. "An end."
"That's not something I offer," Hale replied.
"Then offer me a trade."
Silence stretched.
"Go on," Hale said.
"Stop using other people to get to me," she said. "No more massacres. No more messages written in blood."
"And in exchange?"
Her chest tightened.
"You get me," she said.
---
Cassian realized she was gone when he saw the empty room.
The bed untouched.
The phone missing.
"No," he whispered.
Rafael was at his side instantly. "What is it?"
"She reached out to Hale," Cassian said, dread flooding his voice. "I can feel it."
Rafael cursed. "How?"
"Because I didn't break her fast enough," Cassian said. "I let her carry this alone."
They moved fast—systems lighting up, tracking attempts firing.
Too late.
Anabeth had planned carefully.
Every move was intentional.
Every step away from them, deliberate.
---
Hale arranged the meeting in public.
Not a secret location.
Not a hidden compound.
A neutral, visible place—an unfinished civic building near the campus, cameras everywhere.
Mara frowned. "This is reckless."
Hale smiled. "It's symbolic."
"For whom?"
"For Cassian," Hale replied. "And for her."
---
Anabeth arrived alone.
No escort.
No weapon.
Her hands shook as she stepped into the vast, echoing space.
Hale waited near the center, hands clasped behind his back.
"You came," he said.
"You knew I would," she replied.
He studied her closely.
"You look tired," Hale said. "Not broken. That's interesting."
She met his gaze. "Say what you want. Just don't lie."
Hale chuckled softly. "Very well. You believe this will end the violence."
"Yes," she said. "If you don't need to provoke them anymore."
"And what makes you think I'll keep my word?" he asked.
She took a step closer, fear screaming in her veins.
"Because if you hurt anyone after this," she said, "you prove Cassian right. That you're nothing but a coward hiding behind power."
For the first time, Hale's smile faltered.
Just a fraction.
"You're trying to manipulate me," he said.
"Yes," Anabeth replied simply. "The way you've been manipulating everyone else."
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Then Hale laughed—not mockingly, but with something like respect.
"You're far more dangerous than I thought," he said.
Her heart sank.
"That's not a compliment," she replied.
"No," Hale agreed. "It's a warning."
---
Cassian arrived too late to stop the meeting.
But not too late to see it.
He watched from a distance as Anabeth stood across from Hale—alone, exposed, unarmed.
His chest constricted painfully.
"She did this to protect us," Rafael said quietly.
Cassian's voice was raw. "She did it because I failed to protect her."
Rafael shook his head. "No. You failed to see how strong she was."
Cassian didn't answer.
He couldn't tear his eyes away.
---
Hale leaned in slightly. "You've made a choice, Anabeth."
She nodded. "So have you."
"Indeed," Hale said. "And choices have consequences."
He straightened.
"Welcome," he said softly, "to the center of the war."
Anabeth's breath hitched.
Not because she was afraid.
But because, in that moment, she realized something terrible and true:
She hadn't just offered herself as leverage.
She had changed the rules.
And there was no going back.