Evans

I stood in the center of my study, the air smelling of old paper and the sharp, metallic tang of the surveillance devices I had smashed on my desk. My hands were still shaking, but it wasn't from fear anymore. It was pure, unfiltered rage. The digital tablet in my hand flickered, reflecting the dark circles under my eyes. Marcus stood by the window, his arms crossed, his silhouette framed by the moonlight hitting the glass.

"Tell me everything, Marcus," I said. My voice sounded like it was being dragged over gravel. "Don't leave out a single detail. I want to know who is breathing down our necks."

Marcus...