Her fingers moving.
'Once he enters that cell,' she thought, 'it is over.' 'Tartarus Class A wing.' 'No portal technology functions within a six-hundred-meter radius of the facility.' 'No suppressor bypass.' 'The collar comes off at intake but the cell does the same job permanently.' 'He goes in.' 'He does not come out.' 'Not for years.' 'Not for a decade.' 'Not—'
Her fingers stopped.
She looked at the GPS tracker.
At the blinking dot that was the SUV.
Moving through the city.
Toward the facility.
She looked at it for a long time.
Her hand moved.
Not to her thigh this time.
To the console.
To a tab in the lower left of her secondary monitor — a small, unmarked tab, the kind that didn't have a label because it didn't need one, because she was the only person who had ever sat at this console and she knew what every tab was by position.
She looked at the tab.
Her fingers hovered.
On Screen Seven, his face. Still at the camera.
On the GPS monitor, the blinking dot. Moving.
