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2025-09-30 23:23:03

Finn moved like a man whose life had been spent learning how to make seconds count. He folded himself into silence, voice low and precise into the secure earpiece. “Alpha teams, positions,” he said. “Bravo, cover the south stairwell. Charlie, vents and roof access. No lights, no sudden moves. We do not engage unless I give the word.”

Outside, the hospital’s sterile lights hummed, indifferent. Inside, the rhythm was a metronome for the operation Finn had orchestrated from his office: a chessboard of men and women in dark jackets, radios patched into channels he controlled. Albrecht’s teams moved like ghosts—trained, efficient, chosen for discretion. Finn had insisted on professionals who could be surgical, not theatrical. Tonight, the difference between a surgeon and a butcher would matter.

He kept his eyes on the feed of Ruth’s room. The camera was angled just enough to show the bed, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the faint twitch of an IV line—not a thing out of place to anyone

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“Tell me what you want—why Ruth?” Finn asked, buying rhythm, buying time.“You were meant to be invisible,” the intruder said. “They wrote scripts. They assumed you’d stay small. I was given an assignment: remove the variable. You became inconvenient. Ruth—her wealth, her reach—she’s leverage. She gets you to dance.”Finn watched the intruder’s eyes for a fissure. There was none. Just a patient arrogance that came from being bankrolled and informed, from knowing someone would cover steps if anything went wrong.“All right,” Finn said. “If you want me to walk out there and hand you whatever you think I have—if you want me to step into the corridor and let you take me away—give me two things first.”The intruder’s brow twitched. “Name them.”“First: you let Ruth stay still and untouched while I move. No harm, no stunts. Second: you come within my sight—no pipes, no corridors where you can vanish. Let me see your face clearly. If you want proof that I won’t give the ledger, I’ll give you
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The room camera gave them a narrow view: the intruder’s silhouette, hood thrown back, features blurred by camera grain. They paused at the bed and, in one smooth motion, slid something along the sheet. Finn leaned forward, straining for shape: a glint of metal, a length of tubing, a small sealed syringe? The camera didn’t resolve the detail before a slight movement of Ruth’s hand brushed the intruder’s arm.Time telescoped. For Finn, the world lengthened into the sound of distant boots and a thin, high hum of monitors. He could see the nurse at the doorway, frozen, eyes wide as she registered the person standing beside her patient. He could see the intruder’s head tilt, listening not to the monitor but to the whispered commands over a hidden earpiece.And then the intruder’s voice—close enough that the camera captured the tilt of their mouth—was calm, cold: “Mr. Callahan,” they said. “You can watch. Or you can act.”Finn’s throat went dry. The team was surrounding the wing now, moving
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Finn moved like a man whose life had been spent learning how to make seconds count. He folded himself into silence, voice low and precise into the secure earpiece. “Alpha teams, positions,” he said. “Bravo, cover the south stairwell. Charlie, vents and roof access. No lights, no sudden moves. We do not engage unless I give the word.”Outside, the hospital’s sterile lights hummed, indifferent. Inside, the rhythm was a metronome for the operation Finn had orchestrated from his office: a chessboard of men and women in dark jackets, radios patched into channels he controlled. Albrecht’s teams moved like ghosts—trained, efficient, chosen for discretion. Finn had insisted on professionals who could be surgical, not theatrical. Tonight, the difference between a surgeon and a butcher would matter.He kept his eyes on the feed of Ruth’s room. The camera was angled just enough to show the bed, the slow rise and fall of her chest, the faint twitch of an IV line—not a thing out of place to anyone
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The shadow outside the corridor hadn’t moved for several minutes, but that made him more uneasy—not less. Patience was a weapon, and this intruder was testing him, baiting him like a predator with prey on the edge.Albrecht stepped closer, whispering, “Finn, the security team reports an unidentified individual bypassed two checkpoints. They’re trying to get close to the ICU entrance. I’ve mobilized additional units, but—”Finn cut him off sharply. “No, Albrecht. Subtlety. We can’t spook Ruth or trigger them to panic. We control this, or Ruth is dead.”Albrecht exhaled slowly, recognizing the cold logic in Finn’s eyes. “Understood. I’ll coordinate remotely. Keep your eyes on her.”Finn’s focus didn’t waver. He mapped the intruder’s possible approaches in his mind—doors, vents, access points, even staff routines. But the anomaly wasn’t ordinary. Someone inside the hospital, someone who knew every procedure, every timing, and yet, moved like a shadow in sync with him.Meanwhile, across t
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Finn’s hand trembled slightly as he ended the call. He stared at the phone, unblinking, the city lights outside his office reflecting in the dark screen. Whoever had just spoken knew something—knew exactly how to hit the one soft spot Finn had never admitted existed: Ruth. His mind raced, calculating probabilities, contingencies, and possible traps, but one thought remained stubbornly clear: Ruth’s life was now the battlefield.Albrecht, sensing the tension, stepped forward cautiously. “Finn… what happened?”Finn clenched his jaw. “Someone knows about Ruth. They’re targeting her. And they’re not bluffing.”Albrecht’s eyes widened. “Do you know who?”Finn shook his head. “No. Not yet. But they’re inside the network, inside the system. Whoever this is, they’ve waited for the right moment—and that moment is now.”The office felt colder, even with the hum of electronics and the faint scent of espresso lingering in the air. Finn pulled up secure video feeds of Ruth’s suite at St. Mary’s Ho
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Albrecht entered without knocking, his expression a mix of concern and admiration. “Finn, you’ve built a fortress around your operations. Any small leaks they’ve attempted? Neutralized?”Finn turned, a slight smile on his lips. “Already. Every subtle misdirection, every whisper of doubt, it’s all cataloged. They think they’re testing me, but really, they’re feeding my strategy.”Albrecht raised an eyebrow. “And the psychological angle? Ruth’s condition still sensitive. Are you confident the pressure won’t compromise her recovery?”Finn’s eyes narrowed. “I control that variable. All communications go through me. Every rumor, every conversation, every impression—they all pass through a filter I designed. No misstep will reach her.”By late morning, Finn convened a strategy meeting with his core team. The atmosphere was tense but controlled. “Today,” he began, “we anticipate not just direct attacks, but indirect manipulations. Daniella and Hans have begun the second phase. Subtle hints,

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