Colson didn't flinch.
Didn't sip.
Didn't speak.
He just stared straight ahead… because he sensed it.
The red dot lingered on his chest for exactly 4.2 seconds.
Then vanished.
He exhaled.
Outside, in the woods, Nico lowered the rifle, hand trembling.
"She needs proof," he whispered. "Not blood."
Sienna stood beside him, face unreadable. Her silence said everything: she hadn't decided yet whether she wanted Colson dead—or in her bed again.
"I can dig deeper," Nico said. "Find out if that order's still live, or if he disobeyed it for her."
"Too late," Sienna murmured. "If he ever meant to tell me… he already would've."
Back at the safehouse, Colson lit a cigarette.
And slid open a hidden panel behind the fireplace.
Inside—files. Photographs. IDs. One of her, taken just days ago… at the café. Before the explosion.
Someone else had eyes on her.
And not just him.
He picked up a phone. Dialed a number she didn't know existed.
A voice answered: distorted, metallic. "Status?"
"She knows something," Colson said. "I don't know how much. But it's coming apart."
"Contain it," the voice said. "Or we release Protocol WHITE ASH."
Colson froze.
"That's a full reset," he whispered.
"Yes," the voice replied. "That includes you."
The line went dead.
Behind him, the floor creaked.
He turned.
Sienna stood in the hallway, barefoot, holding a small knife.
"I had a feeling you were still lying to me," she said softly.
Colson stared at her.
And smiled.
"Then the game just got interesting again."