keep me breathing - john price x oc

14. retrograde

The plastered walls of the briefing room, that had turned into an overnight camp for you and Kate, felt increasingly suffocating. You sat beside her at the table, the pool of light from the desk lamp the only thing that illuminated the exhaustion on both of you. The photographs and letters were spread out before you like a puzzle of stolen moments from your lives. You had spent hours going over every detail, searching for any small clue that could lead somewhere.

"There's got to be something here," Kate muttered, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The magnifying glass she was holding with her other hand clinked softly against the table. "We know Reynolds likes to play his mind games, so I'm sure we're missing something."

Price walked in several times, bringing you tea and coffee, each time his gaze was lingering on you and Kate, the concern on his face growing. His movements were slow, his own shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

The third time he entered, he grabbed a mug himself and settled into a chair across from the both of you. The blue shine of his laptop highlighted the lack of sleep in his face. He caught you staring.

"Everything all right, love?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You forced a smile. "Yeah. You sure you don't want to rest? We got this."

His eyes softened momentarily, then he shook his head. "No. We do this together."

"Ava's right, John," Kate said. "It won't help us if you are straining yourself." She reached for her mug of now-cold coffee, her gaze moving from the photos to Price's tired face. "Go get some rest. We'll wake you if we find anything."

Price grunted, taking a long sip of his coffee, his face distorting a little at the bitter taste. His eyes lingered on you. "And what about you two? You've been at this for hours."

"What exactly are you looking to find?" Gaz asked before any of you could answer. He was sitting in the corner, next to Ghost, who was hunched over a laptop, his gaze totally focused on whatever he was doing. Every so often, he'd tap a key.

Kate sighed. "Literally anything at this point. Names, dates, you name it."

"But if those are Ava's personal letters, why would there be anything to find?"

Something crossed your mind. Gaz's question brought something up that had seemed weird to you earlier. Your attention went back to a letter, where you swore you noticed something was off. You stared at the words, and you saw it again.

"Wait. There's something off about this handwriting," you murmured, picking up another one of the letters addressed to you, the paper thin and brittle beneath your fingers. It was your mother's familiar script, but something about the slant of the letters, the pressure of the pen, felt wrong.

"What do you mean?" Kate asked, peering over your shoulder:

You pointed to a name scrawled at the bottom of the page – the signature. It was barely noticeable, almost perfectly mimicked, but you knew your mother's handwriting like your own. "Look at the 'i' and the 's'. It's almost identical, but there's like a tremor, that shouldn't be there."

You pulled out another letter, then another, comparing the signatures. A cold realization dawned. "These are not my or my mum's letters. They've been forged," you whispered, your voice catching in your throat. "These letters, they're copies."

"Are you sure?" Gaz asked, eyes widening. "Why?"

"They've been using these to communicate," Price then said. "He's not stupid. It's harder to track."

Ghost's voice, sharp with urgency, cut through the room. "Got something. Konni network is buzzing about a high-value target. They're moving him. Could be Soap, they call him 'the Scotsman'."