"I'm listening."
"Good. That's the first intelligent decision you've made in weeks." My father's voice came through the phone like poison poured slow. Deliberate. Every syllable weighted with the absolute certainty of someone who had never lost at anything that mattered. "The extraction attempt ends now. Your team turns around and returns to Century City. In exchange, I allow them to continue breathing."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then I give the order and your four companions become casualties of a tragic highway accident. Unforeseeable circumstances. A drunk driver, perhaps. Or mechanical failure. The details are flexible."
I looked at the photograph again. Four faces. Four women who had chosen to follow me into this nightmare because I'd convinced them it was worth the risk.
My drain stirred restlessly. Hungry for something to fight. Something to destroy.
But there was nothing to drain through a phone call. Nothing to burn or crush or portal away.
"You're bluffing."
