Twenty three nineteen. The Nevada hideout. Kom spread his notes across the pickup's hood, flashlight clenched between his teeth. Elena sketched flow diagrams, hair pinned up in a hurry.

"Hale isn't betraying," Kom murmured. "He's selling. Every entangled pair transmitted is an unbreakable key for a foreign buyer. Millions per transmission. Sentinelle 7, my sister, is his ATM."

Elena set her pen down.

"And I was his insurance policy. Placed near you. To watch you. To neutralize you if you got too close."

Kom looked at her without blinking.

"And yet, here you sit."

"And yet, here I sit."

She pulled two Kymie capsules from her bag, swallowed one with a sip of water, handed the other to Kom. He took it between thumb and finger, rolled it slowly. Their eyes met above the empty cups. Nine hours before the satellite's next shadow window. Nine hours to write the counter protocol that would flip the channel and hand Hale to his own superiors.

"Cette nuit, Elena, we go show Monsieur Hale qui a ecrit la vraie these."

She smiled, tired, burning.

Midnight twelve. Elena's phone buzzed. Blocked number. Three lines.

He knows you've turned. Get out of the building now.

She raised her eyes to Kom, hand already on her weapon.

Want to know who, in the shadows, still watches over Elena? Message me on Messenger, I'll slip you the name before she replies. ☕