Chapter 22 : The Fallout
The interview room was small, gray, and designed to make people uncomfortable.
Broyles sat across from me with a digital recorder between us, his expression carrying the professional neutrality of someone conducting a formal investigation. The door was closed. No one else present.
"For the record," he said, "this is a post-operation debrief regarding the November 15th contact with David Robert Jones, fugitive. Present: Deputy Director Phillip Broyles and provisional consultant Kade Clark." He paused. "State your understanding of why we're here."
"You want answers."
"I want the truth." Broyles' eyes didn't waver. "Jones provided accurate intelligence on the harbor threat. The neutralization protocol checked out — Astrid verified it independently. But the circumstances of that intelligence exchange raise questions I need addressed before this goes any further."
The bruise on my forearm throbbed. The adrenaline from the factory had faded days ago, but the physical reminder of what had happened remained — a purple mark that would take another week to heal.
"Ask your questions."
"How did you know the harbor threat was real?"
"I didn't. I assessed it as credible based on Jones' previous intelligence accuracy and the specificity of the technical data. The formula he provided matched known bioweapon delivery methods."
"Pattern analysis."
"Pattern analysis."
Broyles wrote something on his notepad. "Why did Jones ask for you specifically?"
"I disrupted his operations. The vault prediction, the Providence arrest — I cost him time and resources. He wanted to understand how I knew where to look."
"And what did you tell him?"
"That I'm good at pattern recognition." The echo of my own inadequate answer felt hollow. "He didn't believe me either."
"I'm not asking what he believed. I'm asking what the truth is."
The silence stretched. I could feel the weight of everything I couldn't say pressing against the back of my teeth — the transmigration, the system, the meta-knowledge that had guided my actions since Flight 627. All of it impossible to explain. All of it essential to understanding why Jones had targeted me.
"I've been studying the Pattern since before I joined this division," I said finally. "I have access to research databases, published papers, classified incident reports that Broyles approved for my clearance level. Jones' methodology follows recognizable frameworks — bioweapon development, phase technology, dimensional research. I connected dots that were already there."
"Dots that led you to predict exact vault targets. Dots that gave you combat training you never disclosed."
"The combat training is from previous private security work. I told Peter the same thing."
"Peter also told me you moved like someone with professional conditioning. Not weekend classes — professional." Broyles set down his pen. "I've read your background file, Clark. The one that exists, anyway. It doesn't mention military service. It doesn't mention law enforcement. It barely mentions anything before 2007."
The ground under my cover story was eroding. Every conversation, every observation, every slip was washing away the foundation I'd built.
"I can't explain everything," I said. "Some of my work before consulting was classified in ways that don't show up in civilian records."
"That's not an answer."
"It's what I have."
Broyles studied me for a long moment. Then he reached across the table and stopped the recorder.
"Off the record," he said. "I've worked with people who know things they shouldn't know. Intelligence assets, foreign defectors, individuals with access to information sources that don't officially exist. They all have the same look — the look of someone carrying weight they can't put down."
"Is there a question in there?"
"The question is whether you're an asset I can use or a liability I need to contain." His voice hardened. "Your clearance is being reduced effective immediately. Lab access only, no field operations, no classified briefings without specific authorization. You'll continue consulting on Pattern analysis, but under supervision."
The restriction stung more than I expected. I'd built something here — relationships, trust, a role that mattered. And now it was being stripped away because I couldn't explain the truth.
"I understand."
"I hope you do." Broyles stood. "Because Jones isn't done with you. Whatever he saw in that factory, whatever he thinks you are — he's going to keep pushing until he gets answers. And if those answers compromise this division, I'll cut you loose without hesitation."
He left the room. I sat alone with the recorder and the gray walls and the growing certainty that my position was becoming untenable.
Astrid found me in the lab two hours later, her expression carrying the careful concern I'd learned to recognize.
"I intercepted something during routine monitoring," she said quietly. "Encrypted communication to Massive Dynamic's external affairs office. The sender used a routing protocol we've flagged as ZFT-adjacent."
"Jones."
"The subject line referenced you specifically." She pulled up the intercept on her tablet. "'Mutual interest — the Clark anomaly.' He's requesting a meeting with Nina Sharp."
The information landed like a physical blow. Jones and Nina. Two separate threads of investigation potentially converging, sharing intelligence, comparing notes on the consultant who knew too much.
"When was this sent?"
"Six hours ago. We don't have Nina's response."
Six hours. Long enough for Nina to read the message, consider its implications, decide how to proceed. Long enough for the walls to close another inch.
"Thank you for telling me."
"Kade..." Astrid hesitated. "What's going on? Why is Jones so interested in you?"
"I don't know." The lie tasted bitter. "I wish I did."
The diner near Harvard was nearly empty at 9 PM — a few students studying in corner booths, a waitress who looked like she'd been working since dawn, and me, sitting alone with a plate of food I couldn't taste.
I'd spent the evening mapping the threat landscape. Color-coded mental threads connecting every faction that was tracking me:
Olivia: six documented entries in her private file. Terminology slips, prediction accuracy, knowledge that didn't fit my background.
Peter: background check proving I didn't exist before 2007. Combat skills I couldn't explain. Direct questions I couldn't answer.
Walter: thermal readings, Jacksonville trap, dosage correction, Translation symptoms. A scientist building a hypothesis through careful observation.
Nina Sharp: the MD frequency query from the Ghost Network case. Now Jones' direct contact, offering to share intelligence about me.
Jones: twelve-page anomaly file. Camera footage from the factory. A terrorist who had decided I was worth studying.
September: temporal paradox detected at Flight 627. Scan blocked at Reiden Lake. An Observer who had noticed something wrong.
Six threads. Six separate investigations. All circling the same target.
I set down my fork and stared at the map I'd drawn on a napkin — arrows and names and connections that formed a net tightening around someone who couldn't explain why he deserved to escape it.
This was the first time in weeks I'd been honest about being afraid.
Not the adrenaline fear of combat or the intellectual fear of exposure, but something deeper — the fear that I was running out of room, that every move I made created new problems while solving none of the old ones, that the identity I'd built was collapsing under the weight of questions I couldn't answer.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number — the business card number from Jones' factory.
The message was two words: She's interested.
I stared at the screen until the waitress came to refill my coffee, and then I stared at it some more.
Nina Sharp was interested. Jones had made the connection. The net was tightening.
And I had no idea how to stop it.
Support the Story on Patreon
If you are enjoying the series and would like to read ahead, I offer an early access schedule on Patreon. I upload 7 new chapters every 10 days.
Tiers are available that provide a 7, 14, or 21-chapter head start over the public release. Your support helps me maintain this consistent update pace.
Patreon.com/TransmigratingwithWishes