The Orchard
Lena watched his face when she said the word.
Orchard.
It landed like a memory he hadn't lived but recognized anyway.
She jerked her chin toward the door.
"I said close it," she reminded him. "You're letting the street in."
He pushed it shut until the latch caught, then turned the sign to CLOSED more out of habit than intention. Midday light bled in around the edges of the grimy windows; the bar's interior stayed dim enough for secrets.
The few regulars who might have wandered in at that hour were absent. For once, the bar was just hers.
And his.
Lena dropped the bar towel on the counter and folded her arms.
"Start talking," she said. "How do you know about the Orchard?"
"Maris," he said.
Her jaw tightened. "She's alive?"
"Yes," he said. "For now."
"Charming add-on," Lena muttered. "She talk to you, or to the people who own your badge?"
"Both," he said. "Indirectly."
That earned him a narrow-eyed glare.
"You know," she said, "for someone allegedly on my side, you make it very hard not to punch you."
"I'm on my own side," he said. "Sometimes that overlaps with yours. Today is one of those days."
She stared at him for a long beat, then sighed.
"The Orchard wasn't a place so much as a filter," she said. "They talked about it like it was 'promotion.' You didn't go there unless you were 'ready.'"
"Ready for what?" he asked.
"Whatever they needed you to be," she said. "We thought it was some better home, at first. The way staff said it, like a reward. Kids who followed rules. Kids who got the best scores on the stupid tests. Kids who fought back but did it cleverly. They'd get called down to the office and not come back."
"Did anyone ever come back?" he asked.
"Once," she said. "A boy two years older than me. Name was Eli. Quiet. Good with numbers. They sent him to the Orchard for six months. When he came back, he flinched at every sound and could repeat staff schedules from memory. They used him to track us. Then he was gone again."
Kieran filed the name away reflexively. Noor would drag census, death records, internals, anything with an Eli who matched.
"What did staff say it was?" he asked.
"A 'special unit' for 'advanced cases,'" she said. "Sometimes it sounded like punishment. Sometimes like opportunity. Depends which staffer was drunk on which day."
"And the kids?" he asked.
"Freaked out," she said bluntly. "Half wanted to be chosen, because only chosen kids mattered. Half prayed they'd never hear their own names. None of us were given enough information to make sense. That was the point."
She leaned forward on the bar.
"You're going to tell me what it really is," she said. "Before this turns into one more story where I only get half the script."
He met her eyes.
"The Orchard is a selection program," he said. "Forge's way of tagging candidates for more intensive conditioning. Some go on to Black Forge facilities, combat-model programs. Some get tracked into Civilian Integration, like you."
"Integration," she repeated, tasting the word. "That what you call dumping a kid in a bar and seeing if she manages not to die?"
"You're still here," he said.
"So your metrics say success," she shot back.
He didn't deny it.
"Others," he went on, "went into specialized tracks. Deep cover operatives. Analysts. Logistics. Each Orchard node fed different branches. Holcomb was small. It mostly fed Civilian Integration and a handful of assets."
"Assets," she said. "Tools."
"Yes," he said.
"Was I Orchard-picked?" she asked.
"You were flagged," he said. "You ran before the designation finalized."
"So I flunked the talent show," she said.
"You escaped," he said.
"Same thing, from where they stand," she said. "You realize how messed up that is."
"I was one of the ones who didn't run," he said.
Their eyes held.
For a moment, the bar wasn't a bar. It was two children on opposite sides of a program neither of them had asked to enter, grown up into versions of themselves that kept pretending their choices were simple.
"What do they do in the Orchard?" she asked. "Specifically. Not the brochure."
"It varies by site," he said. "Pattern testing, stress induction, peer loyalty trials. They push you until they find out whether you break inward or outward."
"And you?" she said quietly. "Which way did you break?"
He didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
"Point is," he said instead, "the Orchard kids are the ones most likely to end up in places like Arden. Or worse. They're invested in."
Lena's mouth twisted.
"Investment," she said. "Nice word for something that feels like betting on cattle."
"You're not cattle," he said.
"Tell that to your bosses," she said.
"I have," he said.
She blinked at the simplicity of it.
"And?" she asked.
"They told me my perspective was 'interesting data,'" he said.
"Then we're back to cattle," she said.
He exhaled slowly.
"A journalist is about to blow the lid off one part of that investment portfolio," he said. "Arden. Behavior lab. Aegis front. When that happens, the people running the Orchard programs will shift their focus. Some sites will go dark. Some will tighten. Some will try to rebrand."
"And Holcomb?" she asked.
"Holcomb is technically offline," he said. "But anything tied to it is at risk if they decide the Orchard tree needs pruning."
"Are you ever going to finish a metaphor without making me nauseous?" she asked.
"Unlikely," he said.
She jabbed a finger at him.
"So what do we do?" she asked. "Not you. Not your handler. Us. People whose names were just numbers on their lists. Because I am not sitting still while we wait to see if they decide I'm worth logging or not."
"Right now," he said, "the best thing you can do is stay put, stay boring, and not answer unfamiliar phone numbers."
"To keep me safe?" she said.
"To keep you unpredictable," he said. "They expect people like you to run or fight. They don't expect you to hold your ground without drawing attention."
"Newsflash," she said. "I'm already drawing attention. Journalist came into my bar. You rent my room. Maris is back from the dead. I'm not exactly under the radar anymore."
"Then we'll move you when we have to," he said.
"We?" she asked.
"You're not the only one who hates what they built," he said.
She looked at him, the kind of look that tried to peel back layers.
"I'm not your project," she said.
"I know," he said.
"Good," she said. "Because if you start treating me like one of your subjects, I'll show you how much Orchard training I really absorbed."
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"I'd prefer not to find out that way," he said.
"Then don't get me killed," she said. "Or erased."
He nodded once.
"Pack a go-bag," he said quietly. "Something you can grab in thirty seconds if I tell you to leave. Documents. Cash. One thing you can't live without."
She scoffed.
"I don't own anything I can't live without," she said. "That's the first lesson they taught us."
"Then pick something anyway," he said. "Not for them. For you."
She looked away.
Behind the bar, bottles lined up like colored soldiers, each with its own label, its own minor poison.
"Go," she said. "You looked like you were headed somewhere before I dragged you into Orchard land."
"Arden," he said.
"Another nice name for a terrible place," she muttered.
His phone buzzed again.
He checked the screen: Noor.
He answered.
"Credentials ready," Noor said. "Your Aegis consultant profile is live for the next eight hours. Badge will ping green if they scan it. After that, it becomes a very pretty piece of plastic with no friends."
"Arden expecting me?" he asked.
"Security chief got a memo ten minutes ago," Noor said. "Subject: 'Short-notice perimeter review, Aegis standard.' He's annoyed, which is good. Annoyed people show their tells."
"Anything else?" he asked.
"Elena wants your first impressions tonight," Noor said. "Before the triage model locks. And Krell would like to remind you that your actions are being 'evaluated.'"
"I don't work for Krell's entertainment," he said.
"Technically, you do," Noor said. "We all do. Some of us just fake it better."
He ended the call.
"Arden," Lena repeated. "Behavior lab. Orchard kids. Journalists. Internal triage. You people know how to throw a party."
"It's not a party," he said.
"Then bring me a souvenir," she said. "Something that proves they can bleed."
He didn't promise.
He stepped out into the daylight.
---
Arden's main entrance looked almost welcoming in afternoon light.
Almost.
The guard at the desk had the kind of muscle you got from gym memberships and boring shifts. His name tag read M. COLE. He straightened when Kieran walked in, eyes flicking to the visitor badge hanging from the lanyard around Kieran's neck.
"Can I help you?" Cole asked.
"Aegis security audit," Kieran said, flashing the badge. "Short-notice perimeter review. You got the memo?"
Cole's jaw tightened.
"Yeah," he said. "We got it."
He picked up a phone, pressed a button.
"Dr. Brant?" he said after a beat. "Your Aegis guy's here. Says he's doing the thing you forgot to tell me about."
Pause.
"Yeah," Cole said, glancing at Kieran. "Looks boring. You want me to send him up?"
Another pause. Cole's lips twitched in what might've been amusement.
"Alright," he said, and hung up.
He gestured toward the elevator.
"Third floor," Cole said. "Admin wing. Follow the signs for Clinical Oversight. Don't wander. We don't need patients thinking we got new toys."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Kieran said.
He stepped into the elevator.
The walls inside were brushed steel. His reflection stared back: neutral expression, neutral clothes, neutral posture. Everything designed to slide off the mind.
Noor's voice came through his earpiece, muted under the ambient hum.
"Badge scanned clean at reception," she murmured. "You're in the system as 'Marcus Hale, regional risk assessor.' Try not to answer to your real name."
He didn't respond.
The doors opened on the third floor.
A sign pointed right: CLINICAL OVERSIGHT / ADMINISTRATION.
The hallway was carpeted, art on the walls. Landscapes. Abstracts. Nothing that demanded attention.
A woman in a blazer intercepted him near the corner.
She had her hair in a bun too tight to be comfortable and a tablet in hand.
"Mr. Hale?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
"I'm Lorna Kess," she said. "Operations manager. Dr. Brant will join us in a moment. We weren't expecting an audit this quarter."
"It's not a full audit," he said smoothly. "Just a perimeter and protocol review. Standard for facilities with your risk profile."
"Our risk profile," she repeated, with polite offense. "We are a recovery center, Mr. Hale. Not a prison."
"All the more reason to ensure your boundaries are secure," he said.
She didn't like that, which meant he'd hit the right nerve.
"While we wait," Kess said, "I can show you our security room."
"That would be a good start," he said.
She led him down another hall to a door marked STAFF ONLY.
Inside, monitors lined one wall, showing feeds from cameras across the facility.
Too many cameras for a standard clinic.
He let his gaze travel.
Hallways. Entrances. Common rooms. A cafeteria. Exercise yard. Then:
Common Room B.
Mira and Damian.
They sat at a table, a different puzzle laid out between them.
Mira's posture was a little stiffer than before. Damian's fingers drummed on the edge.
"…and we keep all recordings for thirty days," Kess was saying. "Longer if flagged for review."
"Who flags them?" he asked.
"Clinical staff," she said. "Or myself. If there are incidents."
"Any incidents in the last three months?" he asked, eyes still on the screens.
"Nothing out of the ordinary," she said. "Minor altercations. Noncompliance. Typical for our population."
He watched Damian look up, eyes tracking something off-camera.
"Can I see your camera map?" he asked. "Coverage, blind spots, that sort of thing."
She hesitated.
"That's usually reserved for our internal team," she said.
"Aegis is your internal team," he said. "On paper."
She pressed her lips together, then gestured for one of the techs to pull up a schematic.
"Fine," she said. "But we expect any recommendations in writing."
"Of course," he said.
The map lit up. Dozens of little icons.
Noor's whisper in his ear: "Feed confirmed. I'm in. I can piggyback on your badge access for about an hour before their system catches the extra connections."
"Overlay patient distribution," he said out loud, pointing.
Kess frowned.
"Why?" she asked.
"Pattern analysis," he said. "Helps us see where conflict clusters might form."
She nodded slowly.
Tech pulled up another layer: color-coded dots for subject presence over time.
The screen ghosted with motion.
"Common Room B is a hotspot," Kess said, tapping the map. "We've been trialling new grouping protocols. Dr. Brant can explain in more detail."
"Looking forward to it," Kieran said.
On the monitor, Mira placed a puzzle piece deliberately wrong and watched Damian's reaction.
He corrected it automatically.
She smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes.
---
Dr. Isaac Brant's office smelled like coffee and antiseptic.
He rose when they entered, a practiced smile on his face.
"Mr. Hale," he said, crossing to extend a hand. "Isaac Brant. I apologize for the lack of formal welcome. We only got the heads-up an hour ago."
"Short-notice evaluations tend to be more accurate," Kieran said, shaking his hand.
Brant's grip was firm but not crushing. His eyes were pale and sharp.
"Please," Brant said. "Sit."
Kieran didn't, yet.
He walked to the window.
From this height, Arden's grounds stretched out: a fenced yard where a handful of residents walked, accompanied by staff; a small garden patch; a patrol route.
"What exactly are you evaluating?" Brant asked. "Our fences? Our cameras? Our locks? It all feels very… punitive language for a place that's supposed to heal."
"Healing and containment aren't opposites," Kieran said, turning back. "You work with volatile populations. People who might hurt themselves. Others. Security is part of care."
Brant's smile thinned.
"And you?" Brant asked. "You see yourself as part of care?"
"I see myself as part of risk mitigation," Kieran said. "Sometimes that overlaps."
Brant chuckled.
"You sound like one of my reports," he said. "Our oversight agencies love that word. Risk."
He gestured to the chair again.
This time, Kieran sat.
Kess stayed standing by the door, arms folded.
"Is this visit focused on anything particular?" Brant asked. "We passed our last compliance review with commendations for 'innovative methodology.'"
"I've read the report," Kieran said. "I'm here to understand how that methodology intersects with physical security. For example: your use of cameras in common spaces."
"We monitor patient safety," Brant said smoothly. "Real-time observation allows us to intervene before incidents escalate."
"And in private rooms?" Kieran asked.
Brant's eyes flickered.
"Some subjects require closer supervision," he said. "Those under self-harm watches, for instance."
"Your camera map suggests a much wider net than that," Kieran said.
Brant tilted his head.
"You've already looked at our feeds," he said.
"The faster I understand your layout, the faster I can clear you," Kieran said.
"Clear us of what?" Brant asked.
He was still smiling, but there was steel now.
"Of vulnerabilities," Kieran said. "Both in and out."
Brant sat back.
"Do you believe we're doing something wrong here, Mr. Hale?" he asked.
"I'm not here to evaluate ethics," Kieran said. "That's above my pay grade."
"Convenient," Brant said.
"Necessary," Kieran said.
They watched each other.
"Walk him through the protocols," Brant said to Kess. "Show him the pretty parts. I'll join your rounds when I'm done here."
"Of course," Kess said.
She reached for the door.
Kieran didn't move.
"One question before we start," he said. "Your subjects. How many are court-ordered versus voluntary?"
Brant's smile returned, smaller.
"Depends what you mean by 'voluntary,'" he said.
Kess shifted.
"Isaac," she warned.
"It's a fair question," Brant said. "Roughly forty percent are here via some form of legal pressure. Diversion programs, alternative sentencing, child protective services. The rest were referred by families, guardians, or by themselves."
"And do they understand they're part of experimental protocols?" Kieran asked.
Brant's eyes hardened.
"They understand they're receiving treatment unavailable elsewhere," he said. "The word 'experimental' tends to scare people. Fear is counter-therapeutic."
"For whom?" Kieran asked softly.
Brant's gaze sharpened.
Kess opened the door.
"Tour?" she said, a little too brightly.
Kieran stood.
"Lead the way," he said.
As they walked out, Brant's voice followed him.
"You'll find we're very good at what we do, Mr. Hale," he said. "Our outcomes speak for themselves."
Kieran didn't turn.
"That's what I'm afraid of," he said.
---
Noor watched Arden's feeds from a room that had no windows and too many screens.
She tracked Kieran's badge as it moved through the building.
"Third floor corridor," she murmured. "Heading down. Ops manager glued to his elbow. Brant watching from behind like a proud father."
Elena sat beside her, reading the triage sheet again.
"Any sign they're scrubbing?" she asked.
"Logs show a spike in data access thirty minutes after Raj's email hit Aegis," Noor said. "Someone started reviewing internal incident reports. But I don't see large-scale deletions. Yet."
"They're deciding what to burn," Elena said.
"Yes," Noor said.
On one of the monitors, Mira appeared again.
She sat alone now, no puzzle on the table, staring at the TV without seeing it.
Her fingers picked at the hem of her sleeve.
"Flag her feed," Elena said.
"Already did," Noor said. "We'll know if they move her."
Another monitor showed Damian in a hallway, arms crossed, talking to a staff member. His posture radiated coiled energy.
"He's going to end up in the red column," Elena said quietly.
"Yes," Noor said.
"We should move him too," Elena said.
"Maybe," Noor said. "If we can do it without turning him into a grenade in someone else's lap."
Elena rubbed the bridge of her nose.
"Any response from Aegis to Raj's questions?" she asked.
"Draft in progress," Noor said. "Lots of words that mean nothing. 'We take these allegations very seriously.' 'We are committed to ethical innovation.' You know the hymnal."
"I always hated that song," Elena said.
"Me too," Noor said.
They watched the screens a moment longer.
"This is going to break something," Elena said.
"It's already broken," Noor said. "We're just choosing which fracture spreads first."
---
Amelia sat in a parked car across the street from a rusting playground.
The man in the driver's seat tapped the steering wheel, nerves making his foot bounce.
"I'm not supposed to be talking to you," he said.
"You said that three times already," she said. "Doesn't make it less true. Or less necessary."
He glanced at her.
"You don't get it," he said. "They helped my son. He was… he was out of control. Angry all the time. Arden gave him structure. Tools. They said."
"How is he now?" she asked.
The man swallowed.
"In some ways? Better," he said. "He doesn't hit walls anymore. He doesn't scream. He sits. He… follows instructions."
"And in other ways?" she asked.
"He doesn't laugh," the man said. "He used to laugh. Even when he was mad. Now he just… stares. And if I change the routine, he panics. Arden says that's 'adjustment.' But…"
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
"They watched him all the time," he said. "Cameras everywhere. Said it was for safety. But sometimes he'd tell me he felt like a… lab rat."
The words hung between them.
"Did they ever ask for your consent for experimental protocols?" she asked.
"They had me sign a lot of papers," he said. "Said it was standard. I didn't understand half the terms. I just… I wanted my kid to be okay."
"You still can," she said. "But people need to know what those standards really are."
He shut his eyes.
"If I go on record…" he began.
"I'm not asking you to," she said. "Not yet. Background is enough. Your story, no names. It helps us prove this isn't just one angry staffer making things up."
"Someone else talked?" he asked, sharp.
"More than one," she said. "Most off the record. All scared."
He looked at the playground.
A child's laughter drifted across the street. Not his son's.
"Will they come after him?" he asked quietly. "If this goes out?"
"They'll be busy," she said. "But I can't promise anything."
He nodded, jaw clenched.
"Do what you have to," he said. "Just… try not to make him a target."
"I'll do everything I can to make him a witness instead," she said.
He gave a short, bitter laugh.
"Feels like the same thing," he said.
She didn't disagree.
---
Back at Arden, Kess led Kieran past Common Room B.
He paused at the doorway.
"Is this part of your assessment?" Kess asked stiffly.
"Environment matters," he said.
Mira looked up.
For a moment, their eyes met.
He saw it instantly: recognition.
Not of him, but of type.
She saw someone who watched the room the way the staff did, not the way a patient did. Someone evaluating, not enduring.
Her gaze flicked to the corners, then back.
Smart. Fast.
Damian sat in a chair near the window, one leg bouncing. He tracked Kieran with open suspicion.
"You're new," Damian said.
"Consultant," Kess said quickly. "Checking our doors so you don't bolt through them."
"I'm not going anywhere," Damian said. "That's the point, right?"
There was just enough mockery in it to mark him as dangerous. Brant would love him.
"Do you feel unsafe here?" Kieran asked, as if it were just a survey question.
"Safe is a word you people like," Damian said. "I feel watched."
Kess stiffened.
"We've discussed this, Damian," she said. "The monitoring is for your protection."
"Sure," he said. "Feels real protective when you're taking notes on how I breathe."
Mira's lips twitched.
"Notes are important," she said softly. "Without them, how would they know which buttons to press?"
Kess shot her a warning look.
"Enough," Kess said. "Mr. Hale is not here to talk to you. He has a job to do."
Kieran studied them both, filing details against Noor's profiles.
Tran, Mira: high insight, high risk if left in place, high potential if extracted.
Proctor, Damian: high volatility, high loyalty once earned, explosive potential in either direction.
He looked at the camera in the corner.
Brant would be watching.
No sudden moves.
He turned back to Kess.
"I'll need access to your subject movement logs," he said. "Who goes where, when, with whom. Patterns tell us where security is stretched."
"Everything is in the system," Kess said. "We keep detailed records."
"I know," he said.
Her frown deepened.
As they walked away, Mira watched his back.
"Who is he?" she murmured.
"New guard dog," Damian said.
Mira's gaze stayed on the door.
"No," she said. "He's something else."
---
By the time Kieran left Arden, the sun was sliding down behind the factory roofs.
Noor's voice followed him into the parking lot.
"Your badge is about to turn into a pumpkin," she said. "System pinged the double-access. They'll call it a glitch, but we shouldn't push it."
"I saw enough," he said.
"Send me your notes," she said. "I'll overlay them with the model."
"Elena?" he asked.
"She's in a meeting with Regan and Krell," Noor said. "Trying to get approval to move six instead of four. You gave her ammunition."
"Good," he said.
"Don't get in a car accident," Noor said, and disconnected.
He reached his own car, hand on the door handle.
Paused.
Something pricked the back of his neck.
Not a sniper's bead. Not a tail.
Just the feeling of being included in someone else's calculus.
He looked back at the Arden building.
From this angle, it really did look like a recovery center.
Soft light, tidy landscaping, a tasteful logo.
He got in and drove.
Inside, behind one of the many cameras, Brant watched the recording of his visit again, slow-motion, frame by frame.
Pause on Kieran's face as he looked at Mira.
Pause on his posture near the doors.
Pause on the way Kess bristled at his questions.
Brant smiled.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He tapped a note into Mora, the internal system.
> SUBJECT: External Operator – Aegis audit.
Observation: Does not behave like standard corporate assessor. High situational awareness. Possible dual-role asset.
Action: Increase monitoring of common rooms during his visits. Consider introducing mild environmental stressors to assess subject reactions in his presence.
He hit save.
On another screen, Kovács's email to Aegis sat in an open window, forwarded along a chain he wasn't supposed to see.
He read it again, then minimized it.
"Stressors indeed," he said.
The Orchard was bearing fruit.
The question now was who would harvest it.
And who would be crushed under falling branches when the tree finally started to crack.