Evan returned to the compound at 1355 hours, five minutes before Morrison's deadline. The captain was waiting in the corridor outside interrogation room two, that calculating smile firmly in place.
"Cutting it close, Cross."
"Traffic was a nightmare," Evan lied smoothly.
Morrison's eyes narrowed, but he didn't push it. "The subject is back in her room. Today's session was particularly... productive. Dr. Brennan believes her telepathic abilities are even more advanced than we initially assessed."
Telepathic. So that's what they were calling it. Evan felt his jaw clench but kept his expression neutral. "Good to know."
"Indeed. She's quite the little specimen." Morrison said it casually, like Anaya was a lab rat rather than a terrified child. "Command is very pleased with the data we're gathering. They're already discussing long-term testings."
Long-term. The words settled like lead in Evan's stomach. They were never going to let her go.
"I'd like to see her now," Evan said.
"Of course. Though I should warn you—she's been rather... uncommunicative since the session ended. Didn't speak a word during the transport back." Morrison's smile widened slightly. "Perhaps you can coax something out of her. Just be the Papa of your daughter."
Yeah, because I'm the only person in this hellhole treating her like a human being.
Evan didn't say it. Just moved. The lock clicked open—Morrison's doing—and Evan stepped inside.
Anaya was curled up on the bed, facing the wall, her small body completely still. She didn't move when the door opened, didn't acknowledge his presence.
"Kid?" Evan approached cautiously, mindful of the camera. "Anaya?"
Nothing.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and only then did she turn. Her amber eyes were red and swollen, but worse was the emptiness in them—like something fundamental had broken inside her during the tests.
"Papa," she whispered, and her voice was so small, so defeated.
Evan's chest constricted. He gathered her into his arms, and she clung to him with desperate strength, her face pressed against his shoulder.
"I was brave," she said, the words muffled. "I tried to be brave like you said. But Papa, it hurt so much. They—they went inside my head and it felt like they were tearing me apart. Like they were pulling out pieces of me and looking at them under lights and—and—"
Her small body shook with suppressed sobs. She was trying so hard not to cry, to be strong, but she was five years old and she'd just been tortured for hours.
"I know, little light. I know." Evan's arms tightened around her, one hand moving to stroke her tangled hair. "But listen to me. This is the last time. You hear me? The last time they're ever going to hurt you."
She pulled back slightly, searching his face with those too-large eyes. "You mean it?"
He glanced at the camera—that ever-present red eye—then back at her. Under the guise of wiping tears from her cheeks, he leaned close and breathed, "Tonight. When it's very late and everyone's asleep. Be ready."
Understanding flickered in her expression, chasing away some of the emptiness. "Okay, Papa."
"That's my girl." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, surprising himself with the gesture. When had she become his girl? When had this stopped being an assignment and become something else entirely?
She buried her face back against his chest, and Evan held her, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat, counting down the hours until 0200.
Until freedom.
Or death.
At this point, he wasn't entirely sure which one he was hoping for.
The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. Dinner arrived—some kind of stew that Anaya picked at listlessly. Evan forced himself to eat, knowing he'd need the energy for what was coming. He tried to feed her, the way he'd been doing, but she barely managed a few bites before pushing the bowl away.
"Not hungry," she whispered.
"Try a little more, kid. You need your strength."
She looked at him, understanding in her eyes. "For tonight?"
He nodded almost, and she took a few more bites, though each one seemed to require tremendous effort.
After dinner, they sat together on the bed. Anaya taught him more words in her language—whispered so quietly the camera couldn't pick them up, each word a small act of rebellion against the system trying to break her.
"Alathra," she breathed. "It means hope."
"Alathra," Evan repeated, the unfamiliar syllables strange on his tongue.
She smiled—a genuine smile, the first he'd seen since they'd brought her back. "You sound funny. But you'll get better."
"Yeah? Maybe you can teach me more. After."
After. The word hung between them, full of promise and uncertainty.
As the compound settled into its night routine, Evan felt the tension coiling tighter in his chest. Everything depended on the next few hours. Davis, Chen, Rodriguez—they were all risking everything based on a plan cobbled together in a few hours. So many things could go wrong. So many ways this could end in disaster.
But when he looked at Anaya—at the fear and hope warring in her expression, at the bruises on her arms from needles, at the exhaustion in her eyes—he knew he had no choice.
Some things were worth dying for.
At 2300 hours, the lights dimmed to their night setting. Anaya pressed closer to him, her small hand finding his.
"I'm scared, Papa," she admitted quietly.
"Me too, kid. But we're going to be okay. We have to be."
"What if they catch us?"
Evan thought about Morrison's cold eyes, about what the captain would do if he discovered the betrayal. "They won't."
It was a lie, and they both knew it. But Anaya nodded anyway, choosing to believe.
They lay down on the bed, both fully clothed, waiting. Evan had told her to sleep if she could, but her eyes stayed open, staring at the ceiling. He understood. How could anyone sleep before something like this?
He counted seconds, then minutes, his internal clock tracking the passage of time with painful precision.
0100 hours. Somewhere in the compound, Rodriguez would be starting his shift. Chen would be preparing her systems. Davis would be reviewing the camera feeds, memorizing the sequence he'd need to execute.
0130 hours. Most of the compound asleep now. Only skeleton crew awake, guards fighting drowsiness, scientists long since gone to their quarters.
0145 hours. Evan felt his satellite phone vibrate in his pocket—a text from Davis. One word: Ready.
Evan sent back a single letter: Go.
Somewhere in the compound, gears were turning. Rodriguez would be approaching the guard station now, ready with his story about the maintenance issue. Chen would be in the server room, her fingers flying across keyboards, preparing to create the cascade failure that would blind the cameras.
Davis would be watching it all from the security station, orchestrating the whole thing like a conductor with an orchestra.
0158 hours. Two minutes.
Evan sat up carefully, reaching for Anaya. She was already moving, her small body tense and ready.
"Remember," he whispered. "Stay quiet. Stay close. No matter what happens, stay with me."
She nodded, her amber eyes huge in the dim light.
0159 hours. One minute.
Evan stood, moving to the door. He pressed his ear against it, listening. The hallway was silent. Good. He pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over the message to Davis.
Thirty seconds.
Twenty.
Ten.
0200 hours exactly.
Evan sent the message: Now.
For five agonizing seconds, nothing happened. Then—
The camera's red light flickered and died. Chen had done her part.
Ten seconds later, the electronic lock clicked open with a soft beep. Davis had overridden it from the security station.
Evan pulled the door open slowly, checking the hallway. Empty. The nearest guard station was around the corner, sixty feet away, where Rodriguez would be keeping the guards distracted with his maintenance emergency.
It was working. It was actually working.
"Come here, kid," Evan whispered.
Anaya ran to him on silent feet, and he scooped her up, settling her weight against his hip. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, making herself as small as possible. She was trembling, but she made no sound.
"Not a word," he breathed against her ear. "No matter what."
She nodded against his shoulder.
Evan stepped into the hallway.
The compound at night was a different creature—dimmer, quieter, more ominous. Every shadow seemed to hide a threat, every distant sound sent adrenaline spiking through his system. But Evan had walked these halls for six years. He knew every corner, every blind spot, every camera position.
And tonight, with Chen's help, every camera along their route was conveniently experiencing technical difficulties.
They moved quickly but carefully down the east corridor. Past the empty offices. Past the locked storage rooms. Toward the east wing where the perimeter fence waited, where freedom waited, if they could just—
Voices. Close. Too close.
"...weird night," one was saying. "Half the cameras are down. Tech services says it's some kind of power fluctuation, but I don't know... feels wrong, you know?"
"Everything feels wrong lately," the other guard replied. "You hear about the elf kid? Five years old, and they've got her in testing every day. Makes me sick."
"Yeah, well. Not our call. We just follow orders."
Their voices faded as they rounded the corner, heading toward where Rodriguez would intercept them with his maintenance crisis.
Evan counted to ten, then kept moving.
Down another hallway. Through a door that Davis had unlocked remotely. Into the east wing proper, where fewer personnel worked, where security was lighter because nothing important was supposedly stored here.
The exit was close now. So close. Evan could see the door at the end of the hallway, the one that led to the equipment yard, that led to the fence, that led to—
His phone buzzed. A text from Chen: 60 seconds until system auto-corrects. Move NOW.
Sixty seconds. That was all they had before the cameras came back online, before the carefully constructed illusion of a power failure collapsed.
Evan ran.
The exit door loomed ahead. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. He hit it at full speed, his shoulder slamming into the crash bar, and it burst open into the cold night air.
The equipment yard spread before them—vehicle pool, storage containers, and beyond that, the chain-link fence topped with razor wire. And beyond that: darkness. Forest. Freedom.
Fifty seconds.
Evan sprinted across the yard, Anaya clutched against his chest. She was so quiet, so still, like she understood that any sound could doom them both.
The fence. Twelve feet of chain-link topped with coils of razor wire designed to keep people in. Or out.
Forty seconds.
Evan grabbed the fence with his free hand and started climbing, one-armed, Anaya clinging to him. The metal cut into his palm, cold and unforgiving. Up. Higher. The razor wire at the top would be the hardest part, would tear at them, but there was no other way.
Thirty seconds.
He reached the top. The razor wire gleamed in the security lights, wicked sharp. Evan pulled off his jacket and threw it over the wire, creating a thin barrier. Not perfect, but it would have to do.
"Close your eyes, kid," he told Anaya. "And hold on tight."
She buried her face against his neck as he hauled them both over the top. The razor wire tore at his clothes, his skin, drawing hot lines of pain across his arms and back. But he didn't stop.
Twenty seconds.
They dropped down the other side, Evan's knees screaming with the impact. He stumbled, caught himself, started running again.
Into the tree line. Into the darkness. Into the forest that bordered the compound, where the cameras couldn't follow.
Ten seconds.
Behind them, the compound was still quiet. Still sleeping. Still oblivious.
Five seconds.
They were twenty yards into the forest when—
ALARMS.