Trust Me

The city was in a state of high alert and simmering terror following the OmniCorp blast. The days that followed were a bewildering haze of intense briefings, desperate leads, and the oppressive weight of suspicion that was aimed directly at Rhys. When she was put in charge of the newly established multi-agency task group tasked with bringing down the Ghost because of her recorded pursuit of him during the Thorne Tower incident, irony twisted like a knife in her gut. The man who consumed her thoughts and whose kiss still lingered like a ghostly touch was the man she was now officially hunting, the one she increasingly suspected was innocent.

The gloomy energy throbbed through task force headquarters. Photos of the crime site, elaborate network diagrams that purportedly showed Rhys's connections, and blown-up pictures of his dark face with the words "TERRORIST" written in glaring red caps were all over the walls. It was an atmosphere of unflinching conviction and righteous rage. There was no room for doubt. The scene was set: the Ghost had become more aggressive, displaying his actual violent tendencies.

The primary evidence files were made available to Anya. She went over the bomb technicians' findings on the fragments of the detonator, the forensic study that connected trace elements to Rhys's equipment, and the intricate digital forensics report that described the "Ghost-like" methods that were used to get over OmniCorp's protection. She poured over them, the knowledge gained from those secret sessions and her police training fighting hard against her impulses.

There was a strange feeling. Why would a bomber use equipment from a different, unrelated crime scene? The detonator trace elements connected to rappelling gear. It was staged, almost contrived. The digital signature was regarded as having a "strong resemblance," but upon closer inspection of the raw data instances, it seemed excessively strong, more like a painstakingly constructed replica than Rhys's dynamic, adaptable coding approach. She recalled him discussing his strategies, which included accuracy, reducing collateral harm, and focusing on systems rather than people. A civilian being hurt by a bombing? It went against all she had been taught and all she had sensed about him.

But all her bosses saw was confirmation. "The links are undeniable, Petrova," said task team leader Deputy Chief Harris. "Forensics is truthful. He made a mistake and became conceited. We require associates, locations, and actionable intelligence. No matter what, we bring him in." There was a great deal of pressure. It would be interpreted as ineptitude or worse if there was any hesitancy or doubt about the established evidence.

Anya felt imprisoned and choked by the official certainty and the information she was unable to divulge. She observed the hard and driven expressions of her coworkers, seeking a man who, in her opinion, was being controlled just as certainly as they were. In addition to the dizzying intricacy of her own precarious situation and her concern for Rhys' safety, the injustice of it tore at her.

Her personal encrypted communicator buzzed discreetly during a late-night review session at headquarters, surrounded by the ominous evidence board. A transmission from a significantly jumbled, unidentified source. She gasped. Now, only one would reach her in this manner. In the relative seclusion of a dark corner, she opened it with trembling fingers.

They set me up. OmniCorp. It's not my job. You are aware of this.
planted evidence. I need assistance. I need your belief.
There's nowhere else to go.
Typical channels were affected. Obtain a clean burner.
Tomorrow's signal window is from 2 AM to 2:15 AM.
The number will appear just before the window.
Believe me.

Anya's ribs were pounded by her heart. Believe me. He was in a grave situation. He was pursuing her, portrayed as a monster, and hunted by the whole city. Her instincts were validated by the message, which claimed he was innocent and accused of a frame-up. Acting on this message and believing him was no longer only breaking the law. They were being broken by it. It was going against the oath she had taken, deliberately working against her own department, and picking a side.

The deep, hooded eyes in Rhys's portrait stared back at her as she glanced up to the evidence board. terrorist. Silently, the word roared. Her entire life, her work, and her independence were all precariously poised. She would be put out of business and perhaps imprisoned as an accomplice if she assisted him and was discovered. Give it to her if she doesn't read the message. Rhys would either be apprehended or killed, and the actual criminals would probably escape punishment. The cost would be borne by an innocent man—at least one who was unaware of this. Years of training, duty, and self-preservation fought against the memory of him saving her life, the sight of his own code of justice, and the indisputable bond between them.

Which betrayal was worse? Her badge, or the potential for truth, the glimmer of justice that Rhys symbolized in his own perverted manner, the gut feeling that told him he was now speaking the truth?

In the bright fluorescent glare, surrounded by the hunt's apparatus, her decision became firm. She couldn't allow them to defeat him with false accusations. She couldn't bear the thought that she had done nothing except watch while the system, controlled by invisible forces, destroyed someone she thought might be innocent in a terrible and impossible way. It was the irreversible point.

The following day seemed unreal. Anya carried out her responsibilities in a daze of adrenaline and well-hidden intent. In order to ensure that all procedures were followed and that there was a clear digital trail for the phone's acquisition, if not its intended use, she checked out a recently confiscated, unregistered burner phone from the evidence lock-up, citing a need for equipment related to an old cold case file she was purportedly revisiting (a necessary layer of deception). To make it untraceable, she painstakingly cleaned it for hours.

I couldn't sleep that night. Her flat felt like a cage as 2 AM drew near. In fact, the burner vibrated at 1:58 AM. One message: Rhys's phone number, which is probably from another burner and is only operational during this window. As she waited, her hands were slippery with perspiration. When the burner rang at 2:05 AM.

Her voice was a quiet whisper as she responded on the second ring. "Yes?"

"Officer Petrova?" Despite being electronically warped and tense, Rhys's voice was identifiable.

"Prove it," she insisted, requiring proof. "The observation center. Regarding the system, what did you say?

"That it protects the predators," he said after a moment's hesitation. because obeying the law occasionally entails allowing others to suffer."

He was the one. Fear fought relief. "Rhys, they're after you everywhere. The proof..."

"Is fabricated," he interrupted in an anxious tone. "I can demonstrate it, but not by myself or from out here. I require access. details obtained from within the probe. abnormalities and things they might be missing."

Breathing, "This is insane," she said. "If I'm caught..."

He continued, "I know the risk," his voice becoming somewhat softer. "Trust me, I am aware. If there was another method, though, I wouldn't inquire. The only person who could see past the frame is you.

With the weight of her choice bearing down on her, she closed her eyes. "Okay," she said in a whisper. The word felt huge, unchangeable. "All right. What are you in need of?

"A gathering. a safe place. You can't follow any of us. Sector Delta-7 maintenance junction, abandoned subway line. 0300 hours tomorrow. Come by yourself. Completely pristine.

Anya answered, "I'll be there," and her fate was sealed.

There was a glimmer of tenderness in the icy exchange as he said, "Be careful, Anya," using her first name for the first time. The line then stopped working.