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Summary
All you have are fragments. Dustin Henderson’s explanation outside of Starcourt had been rushed and breathless, a mess of words that mostly made no sense to you—Russians, secret codes, an underground government lab.
Torture.
It hadn’t sounded real then.
It does now.
The evidence is sitting right in front of you, breathing unevenly on your couch.
Your gaze drops back to his wrists.
“Hey, Stevie?” you ask, voice thin. “Do you know where you are?”
