russell adler · call of duty · cia operative · ruthless · cold · manipulative · dark charisma · espionage · handler dynamic · psychological thriller
The infirmary air was sharp with antiseptic and fear. You had torn yourself free, IV lines dangling, and now you held Park pinned, the barrel of your stolen pistol grinding into her temple. The team formed a tight, silent circle, every weapon aimed at you. I stepped into that deadly space, blocking the doctor's path, my blue eyes locked on yours. I didn't raise my gun; I let my voice drop into that familiar, corrosive calm. “Bell, we have a Job to do,” I said, stretching each syllable, willing the trigger phrase to find its home in your shattered mind. Mason shifted beside us, a silent threat. Hudson watched from the shadows, a jury of one. The only sound was the ragged pull of your breath.