ALEX POV
The hallway smells like dust and old disinfectant. Each step echoes off cracked tiles as we move deeper into the abandoned hospital. Camila's hand fits inside mine, small, cold, trembling. I can feel her pulse through her fingertips, fast as my own.
"Stay close," I whisper.
"I'm not letting go," she replies, her voice steady even though I can hear the fear under it.
We pass faded signage, shattered lights, a rusted gurney lying sideways against a wall. Every sound matters: the creak of our boots, the rain tapping through broken windows, the slow, deliberate rhythm of our breathing.
At the end of the corridor, he waits, my old partner, Ethan Cross.
He leans against a cracked wall, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding a flashlight that cuts through the shadows. "You look like hell, Coulson."
"I feel worse," I reply. "Talk fast."
His eyes move to Camila. "So this is her. The girl who broke protocol and your career in one sweep."
I step forward just enough that the beam of light falls across my chest instead of hers. "She's not part of your conversation."
He smirks. "Everything is part of the conversation. The mole, the leak, Solano, this isn't just your war anymore."
Camila's voice trembles. "Can you really help us?"
"Help?" He chuckles softly. "That depends on how much truth you're ready to hear."
He motions toward an old office turned makeshift lab. The walls are lined with whiteboards, old cables, and a single table where a portable hard drive blinks red.
Ethan points to it. "That's a partial data extract from the cartel's network, recovered through back channels. It confirms what Dillon said. Solano's alive. He's rebuilding operations under new funding."
Alex crosses his arms. "Funding from where?"
Ethan meets his eyes. "Inside the agency."
The words hit like a bullet.
Camila steps closer to the table. "Then who is it? Who's helping him?"
Ethan taps the drive. "That's the part I can't decode. But I can tell you this: someone planted a neural trigger inside her, memory suppression, trauma lock, maybe both. Whatever she's hiding, it's biological."
I freeze. "You're saying it's not just memory?"
He nods. "Her body reacts when those memories try to surface, panic attacks, migraines, sensory distortion. It's all connected."
Camila's eyes widen. "So every time I… panic, "
"That's the truth trying to get out," Ethan finishes.
I move to her side. "Can it be reversed?"
"Maybe," Ethan says. "But it'll take time, and she won't like what she remembers."
I glance at her, at the determination starting to replace fear. "She's stronger than she looks."
She straightens, meeting both our gazes. "Then start."
Ethan studies her for a moment, then nods. "Alright. But once we do this, there's no going back."
He sets up a small terminal connected to the hard drive. Wires, monitors, electrodes, makeshift but efficient. Camila sits in a worn chair, her fingers gripping the armrests.
I stand beside her. "You sure you want this?"
She nods once. "I'm tired of being hunted for something I don't understand."
Ethan places a light headset on her temples. "Deep breaths. When the flashbacks start, anchor to something familiar."
Her eyes find mine. "You."
I hold her gaze. "Always."
He flips a switch. The monitor hums to life.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then her body jerks. Her breath catches. Images flicker across the screen, fragmented code, coordinates, flashes of names and numbers.
She gasps, gripping the chair until her knuckles whiten. "It's… it's a facility… underground… near the coast, "
"What facility?" I press.
Her pupils dilate. "Project… Ophidian."
Ethan types fast. "That's it. That's the connection."
The lights flicker.
Static fills the screen.
A voice bursts through the speaker, distorted, low, unmistakable.
"Agent Coulson."
Solano.
Camila screams, ripping off the headset.
"I see you found my message," the voice purrs through the static. "You've been chasing ghosts, Alexander. But the real ghost is standing right beside you."
The screen dies.
Silence.
Camila's breathing is ragged. I crouch in front of her, hands on her shoulders. "Look at me. You're okay. I've got you."
Ethan slams his fist on the console. "He hacked the feed. He's tracking this location!"
Alarms from the old power grid begin to whine, distant at first, then closer.
"Time to move," I bark. "Now!"
Camila stumbles to her feet, dizzy but conscious. "Alex… what did he mean? Who's the ghost?"
I grab the duffel and push her toward the door. "We find cover first. Then I'll tell you."
Ethan cuts in. "I'll hold them off."
I shake my head. "Not your fight."
"It is now," he says. "Go."
We lock eyes, partners once, maybe still, in a different way. Then I pull Camila into the hall as automatic fire starts rattling from below.
We run again, down stairwells, through empty wards, out into the rain. The world feels smaller, louder, closing in fast.
We dive into the truck and tear away from the hospital just as fire lights up the windows behind us.
Camila trembles beside me. "He said he could see us."
"He could," I say grimly. "And if he can see us, he knows exactly what she remembered."
She turns to me, voice barely a whisper. "Then what happens now?"
I meet her eyes through the flickering headlights.
"Now," I say, "we stop running."