Identified

The overhead lights cast a warm glow across the cluttered meeting table, its surface scattered with a mix of evidence: the dull-gray scrap of fabric Joren had retrieved from the rooftop, the scratched department pin, Willow’s tablet full of surveillance logs, the blacked out camera feeds, and now the technician and surveillance staff members' testimonies.

Willow leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she thought about what they knew so far. “So we’ve got a surveillance operator who was blackmailed into running a script and a technician who rerouted camera feeds to track Nyra’s movements. Both of them describe the same man who is in his mid-thirties, clean cut, brown hair, and glasses.”

“And the name ‘Turn,’” Gus added. “Fake, probably.”

“Still something,” Joren said. He grabbed the scratched insignia. “This pin confirms some connection to an official department. Add the cloth, the bootprints, and that escape plan they had? We’re not dealing with amateurs.”

Bartholomew squinted at the array of clutter on the table, then poked the gray fabric with a pencil he’d been using as a pointer. “I think they forgot the rest of their coat. Amateurs..."

Willow didn’t bother acknowledging him. “The camera installations were premeditated. That doesn’t happen without someone high up pulling strings.”

Nyra, who had remained quiet, lifted her gaze. “What did they say again about the man?”

Gus flipped open the notes from the interrogation. “They both mentioned that they saw a silver cufflink. They didn’t mention much else, just that he intimated them into doing what he wanted.”

Nyra’s lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s formal-level clearance, not decorative. Only a few people in this department wear those, and they exist in the analyst division."

Joren leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So who are they?”

Nyra crossed the room, pulled open a cabinet, and retrieved a thin binder marked Analyst Clearance. "Based on the descriptions given, we can assume that there are only three possible matches."

Nyra flipped open the binder, revealing profile pages and internal photos. Three names stood out from the paper, each with the same sharp suit and the same silver cufflink visible near the edge of their sleeves that matched the description they were looking for.

“They’re all senior-level analysts. Only one could be Turn.”

Joren scanned the photos. “Wouldn’t he know by now that the other two gave him up?”

“He probably would,” Nyra replied, voice low. “But if he’s smart, he’ll act like he doesn’t. I'm sure he knows we are snooping around already, but that info from your interrogation hasn't been out for long. That gives us time.”

She snapped the binder shut.

"I will have the upper hand in this battle; Turn won't have time to scurry back to his hole in whatever department he came from. I want all three brought in immediately. Lock them down in isolation rooms under round-the-clock surveillance. He won't be able to get any info out like that."

Evening – Interrogation Rooms I - III

Within the hour, all three analysts had been retrieved from their respective offices and escorted through the reinforced corridors of the Continuity department headquarters. No formal charges were spoken, and no explanations offered. Many of the staff saw them being taken away like criminals, fear starting to strike like a snake.

She turned slightly as the surveillance operator and technician from earlier were led into the observation area by Willow and Gus. Both looked very uneasy but cooperative.

“We’ll do it just like a lineup,” Nyra said quietly. “Can you both take a good look at these three and tell me which one blackmailed you?"

They nodded hesitantly.

The first analyst appeared calm, if confused, as he was seated alone in the observation room. The technician shook his head after a moment.

“Not him,” he muttered. The operator also confirmed that he was not the man.

They moved to the second window. This analyst looked impatient, tapping his fingers on the desk. Again, both shook their heads. “Too tall,” the operator added. “And his face was cleaner looking."

Then came the third.

This one sat still. Composed. He folded his hands together neatly on the table and stared straight ahead, expression unreadable.

The operator inhaled sharply.

“That’s him.” he whispered.

The technician nodded slowly. “Yeah. He was cleaner-looking that day, but… that’s him. I remember the way he looked at me. It was terrifying..."

Nyra didn’t say anything at first. She only stared through the one-way glass at the third analyst—expressionless, silent, utterly composed.

Then, without turning, she spoke. “Thank you guys, that has been a big help. You’re free to go.”

As the technician and operator turned, she added, voice cool and quiet, “But keep this to yourselves. If either of you decide to speak of what has happened so far to anyone else, the consequences will make his threats look like a joke.”

Both men stiffened. Neither looked back.

Once the witnesses had gone, the room was quiet again.

Nyra exhaled slowly, her gaze still fixed on the figure behind the glass. “He won’t talk, I know that much at least. But I planned for that to happen, anyways."

Willow glanced over. “So we just sit on him?”

Nyra finally turned away from the glass. “We sit on him, we watch everything, and we make his silence a liability to whoever sent him. If he can’t report back, they’ll act fast to remove any traces of what they did."

Bartholomew raised a cautious hand. “Counterpoint. What if they don’t panic? What if they just let him rot?”

“They won’t,” Nyra said flatly. “That’s not how these kinds of situations work. They will burn any connections before we get our chance to find out who he was sent by. We need to find them before that happens or they will have the upper-hand still."

Joren leaned on the edge of the table, arms crossed. “So we force their hand.”

“Exactly,” Nyra replied. “We monitor the aftermath of his disappearance, not just him. If there are no outgoing messages or contact with anyone, they will bite that bait hard. That's what I'm looking for."

Gus stepped forward, brow creased. “And what exactly are we looking for? Messages? Records?”

"Yes, I have a decent idea based on the evidence we have to guess on who it might be. I'll be sending you four to monitor that department in different ways to see if they slip up in front of us. If they do, I know who to take on and dismantle."

Bartholomew muttered something about cheese lockers and confidential ferret post, but Nyra ignored him.

Joren looked toward the evidence table again. The scratched pin. The cloth. The logbooks. Everything they’d scraped together over the past few days. “So what’s next?”

“We have about two days at most before the lack of communication from Turn sows the seeds of panic. I'll have to get you all in as transfer staff, department surveyors, and just to monitoring from a distance in secret. If I plant you in different ways, they won't be able to keep it a secret for long."

Gus nodded slowly, the plan settling in. “You think we’ll catch them in the act?”

“I don’t need the act,” Nyra replied. “I just need the slip. I don't need hard evidence to arrest, just to convict. The king has my back in this as well, so any major mistakes on our part will be swept under the rug."

Bartholomew raised a hand. “Do I get to wear a disguise? I have a very convincing mustache kit.”

“You’re being listed as an external vendor,” Nyra said without missing a beat. “Cheese specialist and working in the food court on their main base. Keep your ears open and your mouth closed."

He saluted with a cracker still in his hand.

Joren cracked a faint smile, then turned to ask. “What about the rest of us?"

“Willow, you’re going in as a rotating soldier. With your abilities, you can be looking around in most places without raising suspicion as a guard and get into the higher clearance areas when you morph. Just don't leave any evidence if you need to get into somewhere."

Willow’s brows lifted. “Sounds like the world’s most interesting spy job."

“Good.” Nyra said. “Gus, I'll be making you a surveyor from our department to start getting them to panic. The lack of response from Turn could get the ball rolling faster and make them move out of your sites."

“Got it,” Gus said, rubbing the back of his neck. “If they’re hiding trails, I’ll do what I can."

Nyra tapped her knuckle on the folder before sliding it Joren’s way.

“And you,” she said, “are going in as a shadow.”

Joren blinked. “That’s... not a job title.”

“It is now,” Nyra said. “You will be monitoring from afar using any means and tools at our disposal. An outside perspective can give our other three more opportunities to move to where they need to be."

“I’ve arranged the timing so that each of you will enter the department staggered over the next twelve hours. Different doors, different cover stories. I don't want them to connect you three, otherwise our plan is done for."

“This,” she said, circling one of the internal wings with a laser pointer, “is their operations sector. If they have anything worth hiding, it’ll pass through here first. Keep an eye on anything involving closed-door meetings, unusually quiet files, or sudden personnel shifts.”

Joren, Gus, Willow, and Bartholomew exchanged brief glances. No dramatic nods, just the low hum of the machinery in the walls and the weight of what they were stepping into.

"So what department is this?" Gus asked.

Nyra spoke with such gravitas that you could hear a pin drop. "You will be infiltrating the Department of Defense in Valtryn."