Reporting
1097 Words
The corridor stayed quiet too long.
Not the clean quiet Iris was used to—this was heavy, crowded with things no one wanted to say. Emergency lights pulsed along the floor, red and slow, like a warning that hadn’t finished sounding.
The Black Talon operative lay where he’d fallen.
Armor split. Blood dark against pale floor panels. High-security plating—undeniable now that it was still.
Iris hadn’t moved.
Her blade was gone from her hand, but her fingers were still curled like it should be there. Her balance hadn’t shifted. Her breathing hadn’t changed. If she focused, she could still feel the echo of the strike traveling up her arm, a vibration that refused to fade.
“…075.”
The word wouldn’t stop repeating.
Elias broke the silence first.
“What did he mean.”
It wasn’t a question at first. It was disbelief shaped like one.
“What did he mean—you’re Black Talon?”
She swallowed.
Her throat felt too tight, like it didn’t remember how to do this part.
“I don’t know,” she said.
It sounded wrong even to her.
Elias let out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t know? Iris, he said you were late. He said you were precise. He fought you like he’d done it before.”
She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at him.
Her lips parted.
For a moment, nothing came out.
Then, barely audible—more breath than voice—she whispered, “The dream.”
Elias frowned. “What?”
She didn’t repeat it.
Her gaze drifted past him instead, unfocused, like the corridor had stretched too far for her eyes to follow. The hum beneath her skin hadn’t stopped. If anything, it felt louder now—out of rhythm, searching.
Elias stepped closer. “Iris. What dream?”
She swallowed again.
The word dream felt wrong now. Too small. Too harmless.
Her fingers twitched at her side, like they were waiting for a weapon that wasn’t there.
Before he could press her again, boots echoed down the corridor—fast, controlled, unmistakably not theirs.
Elias’s head snapped up.
“Elias,” someone called out.
The moment fractured.
Alex’s team swept in seconds later, weapons raised, eyes already cataloging damage. One of them cursed under their breath at the sight of the body on the floor.
Alex slowed as he approached, gaze dropping to the armor, the insignia faint beneath the blood.
“Report,” he said.
Elias looked at Iris once more.
She didn’t meet his eyes.
Whatever he was about to say stayed there—unfinished, unresolved—as Alex stepped fully into the red-lit space and the weight of command settled over all of them.
Alex straightened slowly.
“Start from the top,” he said. Calm. Command voice. The kind that didn’t invite embellishment.
Elias exhaled through his nose. “Relay station was bait. Power signatures were clean on approach—too clean. He was waiting in the main corridor. High-security Black Talon.”
Alex nodded once, eyes still on the body. “One operative?”
“That we saw,” Elias said. “No markings. Heavy armor. He didn’t engage until after he talked.”
Alex’s gaze flicked up. “Talked how.”
Elias hesitated.
Just a beat—but Iris felt it anyway. Felt the shift in the air, the moment where he decided what to say out loud.
“He addressed Iris directly,” Elias said. “Ignored the rest of us. Said she was late. Said she was precise. Like he expected her.”
One of Alex’s people glanced at Iris, then quickly away.
Alex didn’t. His eyes moved to her now, steady and assessing.
“You recognize him?” Alex asked.
Iris opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Elias answered instead. “She said she’d seen him before. Power Core mission. Sector Nine.”
Alex frowned slightly. “That operation was classified.”
“I know,” Elias said.
The silence that followed felt deliberate.
Alex looked back down at the armor, crouching now, gloved hand hovering just above the insignia without touching it. “High-security doesn’t get deployed alone,” he said. “If he was here, there may be others monitoring.”
One of the team shifted. “You think this was a retrieval?”
Alex didn’t answer right away.
Elias did.
“He said Black Talon doesn’t like surprises,” Elias said. His voice was tighter now. Sharper. “And he said they’d been looking for her.”
Alex stood.
Slowly.
“That what he said?” Alex asked.
“Yes.”
Alex’s eyes returned to Iris. Not accusing. Not gentle.
Measuring.
“And during the fight?” Alex asked. “Anything unusual.”
Elias’s jaw flexed.
“She fought like she knew him,” he said. “Like she knew every move he was going to make.”
Iris felt the words land around her, stacking up, building a shape she didn’t recognize but somehow already feared.
“She disarmed him in seconds,” Elias continued. “No hesitation.”
Alex was quiet for a long moment.
Then, “Iris,” he said.
She forced herself to look at him.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any training you haven’t disclosed to us?”
Her mouth felt dry.
“No,” she said. “I don’t remember anything before three years ago.”
Alex held her gaze.
Elias cut in, unable to stop himself. “That’s the problem.”
Alex’s head turned slightly. “Explain.”
“She doesn’t remember,” Elias said. “Anything before she showed up. No past. No records. And now Black Talon shows up knowing her. And saying they want her back.”
He shook his head once. “We should’ve questioned it sooner.”
Iris felt something cold settle in her chest.
Alex didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to.
“You think she’s Black Talon,” he said.
“I… I don’t know,” Elias replied.
That landed harder.
Around them, the corridor hummed softly—systems still failing to fully reboot, emergency lights pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
Alex looked at Iris one last time.
“We’ll secure the site,” he said. “Then we talk. All of us.”
His gaze flicked to Elias.
“And until we know more,” he added, “no one moves alone.”
The words weren’t an order.
They were a precaution.
And Iris knew—without anyone saying it—that it included her most of all.
- Writer
