Briefing Room — Carter Hayes
The transcript lay on the table between them, printed on stark white paper that made the words feel heavier than they should have. Hayes stared at the line again, jaw tight.
Because Bergmann won’t let you.
Hayes was barely familiar with the name and didn't understand the context. He didn’t know the scope. But he knew one thing: Kline hadn’t meant to say it.
Leah sat across from him, elbows on the table, fingers pressed to her temples. She looked exhausted, but her mind was still moving — sharp, relentless.
“We need to treat this as credible,” she whispered.
Hayes nodded. “I know.”
Leah tapped the transcript. “He didn’t say ‘Bergmann’ like it was a threat. He said it as if it were a fact.”
Hayes exhaled slowly. “Which means whoever he is, they’re above Kline.”
Leah looked up. “Or outside him.”
Hayes didn’t like that thought. Not one bit. Marianne entered the room, closing the door behind her. “Command wants a preliminary assessment.”
Hayes didn’t look away from the transcript. “Tell them we’re working on it.”
“They want to know if the northern site is real.”
Hayes finally looked up. “It’s real.”
Marianne hesitated. “We don’t have proof.”
“We have Kline,” Hayes said. “And Kline doesn’t slip unless something rattles him.”
Leah nodded. “He’s losing control. That’s why he said the name.”
Marianne crossed her arms. “So, what’s the next step?”
Hayes tapped the transcript again. “We find out everything we can about who Bergmann is.”
###
ICU — Elijah Greyhawk
The room was quiet except for the soft hiss of the ventilator and the steady beep of the monitors. Elijah sat in the same chair he’d been in for hours, Chet’s hand cradled in his.
Elijah hadn’t heard about the transcript. He hadn’t heard about the northern site. He hadn’t heard the name Bergmann. All he knew was this room. This bed. And Chet.
Chet’s breathing was shallow but steady. His eyelids fluttered occasionally, slight movements that made Elijah sit up straighter every time.
A nurse entered quietly. “His vitals are stable for now.”
Elijah nodded. “He squeezed my hand again.”
“That’s good,” she said. “He’s trying to come back.”
Elijah brushed a hand through Chet’s hair. “I know.”
The nurse hesitated. “You should rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” she whispered. “But I understand.”
Elijah didn’t look away from Chet. “I’m not leaving him.”
The nurse didn’t argue. She left the room quietly. Elijah leaned forward, resting his forehead against Chet’s hand.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “Just keep fighting.”
Chet didn’t respond. But his fingers twitched — a faint, searching movement that brushed against Elijah’s palm. Elijah’s breath caught. He held on.
###
Federal Holding Facility — Kline
Kline sat alone now, the evaluator gone, the recorder off. He held his hands in a rigid, controlled posture, even though the table cuffed them.
Except for his eyes. His eyes were furious. He replayed the moment in his mind — the slip, the name, the way the evaluator’s expression had changed. He hadn’t meant to say it.
He hadn’t meant to give them anything. He clenched his jaw, the metal cuffs digging into his wrists.
They weren’t supposed to know about the northern site or know about the continuation. They weren’t supposed to know about Bergmann. Not yet. Never. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, trying to regain the composure he’d lost. But the damage had been done.
And he knew it.
###
Briefing Room — Leah Gagnon
Leah stood at the whiteboard, marker in hand, staring at the name she’d written in clean block letters:
BERGMANN
It looked wrong on the board. The name was too stark and unknown. Marianne leaned against the table. “We don’t have any records under that name?”
Leah nodded. “I checked. There is nothing in the federal database. Nothing in our archives. And nothing in the facility logs. Just a couple of mentions on holding records, but nothing about who he is.”
Hayes crossed his arms. “Which means either the name is an alias—”
“Or someone scrubbed it,” Leah finished.
Hayes didn’t like either option. Leah tapped the board. “The northern site… if it exists, it’s not on any official map. Not in any of the files we seized. Not in any of the satellite sweeps.”
Marianne frowned. “So how do we find it?”
Leah looked at the transcript again. “We start with the only thing we have.”
Hayes nodded. “Kline.”
Leah hesitated. “And the name.”
Hayes looked at the board.
BERGMANN
This name with no context. A shadow with no outline. A threat without a shape. But it was enough. Enough to shift the investigation, to change the stakes. Enough to make Hayes’ stomach twist.
“We move carefully,” he said. “Until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Leah nodded. “Agreed.”
But her eyes stayed on the name. Because she knew — even without details, even without context, even without a face — this was the beginning of something bigger.
###
ICU — Elijah Greyhawk
Chet’s breathing hitched again — a small, sharp sound that made Elijah sit up straighter.
“Chet? Hey. I’m here.”
Chet’s eyelids fluttered, then tightened, as if he were trying to wake but couldn’t quite reach the surface. His fingers trembled in Elijah’s grip. Elijah leaned close, voice steady. “You’re safe. You’re out. Just breathe.”
Chet’s fingers tightened around his. Elijah exhaled shakily.
Elijah didn’t know what was happening outside the room. All he knew was this:
Chet was still fighting. And Elijah wasn’t leaving him.