Chapter 14
2200 Hours
Tuesday
Allentown, PennsylvaniaIt was ten in the morning, and the small apartment they had rented in Allentown, Pennsylvania, felt like a sanctuary—but only on the surface. The entire team was there, but the room was thick with tension, the kind that stirs silently beneath the everyday sounds of a ticking clock and the shuffle of feet. The hum of city life outside was a stark contrast to the quiet, raw emotions inside the room.
Ben sat on a worn chair next to the bed, where Erica lay still, her face pale but composed. Catherine knelt by the bed, her hands moving with practiced precision as she patched up Ben's bruised arm. Each movement was deliberate, but the weight of her sadness was palpable. She had been silent for most of the morning, but her eyes betrayed the guilt gnawing at her.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again, breaking the silence. Her voice cracked, barely audible. "I... I led you into that trap. I should have seen it coming."
Ben glanced down at Erica, who lay with her eyes closed but clearly awake. The cuts on her face from the explosion still looked raw, and her body remained stiff under the bandages. He felt an overwhelming need to shield her, to protect her from everything—especially this guilt that now hung over Catherine like a storm cloud.
"It's not your fault, Catherine. We got out, didn't we? We're here. That's what matters," Ben reassured, though his words felt hollow even to him. His own guilt simmered beneath the surface—if only he had been quicker, if only he had stopped them from walking into that warehouse. He couldn't shake the memory of that night.
His mind flashed back to the place—dim, cold, and silent except for the hum of machinery. Groggy and disoriented, they had parked the Reach stacker in some dingy lot, stealing an old beat-up car to escape the docks. The car smelled like cigarettes and old leather, but they didn't care. They were just grateful to be alive.
It had taken them a few miles to figure out where they had been held—New York Port. The realization had been like a punch to the gut. When they'd finally found someone on the street who didn't ask too many questions and allowed them to borrow a phone, it was Catherine's voice on the other end of the line, veiled in coded words. The Wilmington safehouse had been compromised, they had been attacked, and she urged them to flee immediately. There was no time to lose.
Now, back in the present, the quiet weighed on Ben. The aura in the room thickened, and a knot formed in his stomach. He needed answers. The thought had been plaguing him all morning—*How had they been found in the safehouse? How had they known? *
"Miss Catherine," Ben said carefully, his voice low, trying not to startle her as she focused on a deep gash near his shoulder. "How did they find us? At Manhattan, I mean. And how did they know about the recon? How were Erica and I so easily caught?"
The room stilled, and for a moment, Catherine didn't respond. She froze, her fingers still wrapped around the roll of bandages, and a shadow crossed her face. She turned her head slightly, glancing at Zoe, who stood against the far wall. Zoe had been uncharacteristically quiet since the morning, arms wrapped around herself, her eyes staring vacantly at the floor.
When Catherine didn't respond immediately, Zoe's breathing hitched, and Ben turned to her. The silence was deafening now. Slowly, a soft sob escaped Zoe's lips, her shoulders trembling.
"They... they used me," Zoe whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. "I didn't know what they were planning. I thought I was just... I thought I was helping. But they used me to find you. To get to you. I swear I didn't know they were planning to kill you."
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