Page 110 of Dark Night of the Soul

“I was right about Munich,” he said. “But it’s not only a new facility. It’s the Knights new state-of-the-art headquarters. It will be operational soon.”

“How soon?”

He shrugged. “Possibly a month or less. I don’t know. This is where Vormund is planning to launch more experiments. He has… different research.”

I glanced at the car. She sat in the passenger side keeping her gaze focused on us.

“Different how?”

He shook his head. “Not sure. It was classified. I couldn’t get it. What I could get is in that file.” He nodded to the folder in my hand. “You may not want the lass to see it.”

“I’m not sure I can keep her from it,” I said. “She’s tenacious.”

“And reckless. Don’t let her expose herself. That’s what he’s counting on. If she’s captured—”

“I know.” I was all too aware of the grim possibility.

“I’ll arrange transport and send safe house coordinates. You move then. Ditch the car at the airport. There’ll be another waiting in Istanbul.”

I nodded.

Then we parted ways.

Back in the car, she sat with her hands folded in her lap. Waiting.

She wanted an explanation. I wasn’t sure I was ready to give it to her yet. Once I did, there would be no turning back.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“We’ll have to move soon,” I said. “He’s securing a place in Istanbul.”

“Good.”

I knew she’d want to see the file the second we arrived back at the cabin. And there was no way I was going to be able to hide the information about the Munich complex from her. Silas had warned me—thought it would demoralize her to know killing Vormund wouldn’t stop the program. But she’d find it anyway and then she’d be furious I kept it from her.

There was no winning. The last thing I wanted was her wrath.

She was already going to be mad when I tried to talk her out of stepping into the open.

It reminded me too much of when she decided to draw out Lucifer, using herself as bait on that battlefield. That had been destiny. This wasn’t. And that was the difference.

I’d already paid the price of watching her die.

I wasn’t prepared to pay it twice.

I tossed the folder in the center of the dining table. She pounced on it instantly, sitting at the table. When she flipped it open, she paused to examine the full dossier. I knew what it said already, but she was memorizing it. Filing it away.

“His academic work was considered ethically controversial even before his recruitment.” Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Did you read that?”

“I did.”

He held a PhD in Neurocognitive Engineering, an MD in Experimental Neurology, and advanced certifications in behavioral conditioning and neural mapping.

“This is disgusting,” she said. Then read aloud, “Objective is to develop adaptive operatives capable of independent judgment while remaining neurologically conditioned to respond predictably under stress.”

Her gaze dropped to the next line. “Subject exceeded predicted resilience thresholds.” She inhaled a quick, sharp breath. “Is that me? I think that’s me.”

Her voice hitched. Her pupils started to dilate.