[V2] Chapter 16: Dylan

Date: Same day

Location: ITW: Interrogation Watch

Mission: Be entertained

“I’ll ask again,” White said, his voice steady but forceful. “Why were you put in the CARGO Foundation?”

“They don’t tell us much of anything, alright?” Lowman hissed. “Not much. In fact, it would be smarter to assign spies to something without telling them why.”

“But they don’t do that, do they?” White countered smoothly. “I mean, your sister was on it too.”

Lowman’s jaw tightened. “My sister has no idea either.”

Immediately, I caught it—so did White. It was subtle, a slip of the tongue, but undeniable. Lowman had said it would be smarter—not that they actually did it that way. White leaned in slightly, his sharp gaze slicing through the air. Nikki, meanwhile, mostly just stared, clearly struggling to follow the implications.

“But they don’t do that, do they?” White repeated.

Lowman’s smirk vanished. White cracked his knuckles, but instead of throwing a punch, he simply shifted the folder in his hands, flipping a page like he was reading from scripture.

“Now, unless I’m mistaken, this is from your sister’s high school graduation speech,” he said. “She’s also about to graduate from being a junior spy. Congratulations, I hope.”

Lowman’s glare hardened.

White didn’t care. He cleared his throat and quoted from the file:

“‘I wouldn’t be able to survive without my brother, Marcus. I can only hope with all my heart that I won’t have to watch his burial. Pain would be the epitome of my life.’”

White snapped the folder shut. “Her words.”

“But you’re interrogating me,” Lowman said. “Or, based on your phrasing, inspecting me.”

White nodded. “And you’ll be the one to make pain the epitome of her life.”

Then, suddenly, he pulled out his phone. Lowman’s eyes widened.

I felt a jolt of tension in the air. Everyone’s faces—except Mari’s and the security guard’s—were struck with shock. White’s voice was quiet, but the weight of his words crushed the room.

Then, two men in gray suits entered, dragging someone between them.

Tilli Lowman.

“Is that the great Tilli Lowman?” White mused. “You’ve been quite the congirl, haven’t you? Watching your brother’s back all the way up in those front desks.”

Tilli opened her mouth—

“I didn’t say you could speak,” White cut in sharply. “Now put the gun on his head already.”

A gun was pressed against Lowman’s temple in an instant.

The security guard sighed dramatically, like we were about to witness a theme park stunt. “If you are sensitive to this, you are free to leave.”

None of us moved.

Not because we weren’t affected, but because nobody wanted to be the first to crack. I settled for squeezing my eyes shut. Maybe that was enough.

Lowman was silent.

White exhaled. “Now, I want you to take a good look at your sister, Marcus. Every single detail. Because if you don’t answer my question, this will be the last time you see her.”

Lowman didn’t blink.

I was sure he was frozen in fear—because if that were me, my mouth would already be running faster than my brain, spilling every secret I had since birth.

Or, more likely, I’d just blast the entire room apart with a shockwave. That sounded like the better option.

But unfortunately for Lowman, he couldn’t do his cooling wind trick without his wand. He was stuck.

“So they do do this,” Nikki muttered.

“This is rare,” Tisiah admitted. “First time I’ve ever seen them pull a move like this. Just shows how important this must be.”

“And they threw you guys in here with me,” Mari muttered.

“I can’t pick and choose, Mari,” Tisiah replied, before repeating the phrase under his breath, as if trying to make sense of it.

White continued his stare-down with Lowman, whose entire body had started to tremble, like a vibrating chair cranked to the highest setting.

Lowman looked at Tilli. She wanted to speak, but hesitation flickered in her eyes.

Still, even through the terror, one thing was clear: Marcus Lowman was not a fan of dying.

Especially if it meant his sister would suffer because of it.

“I was put in for the very reason I’m here,” he finally said.

White’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask for riddles; I asked—” He stopped. A thought clicked. “Wait—the TSA wanted us to find you?”

Lowman nodded.

White’s expression darkened. “Why?”

“Because they believe someone with great power is inside your facility.”

“Who?”

“They never shared that with me. Nor how they plan to do it.”

White stiffened. His grip on the file tightened, as if debating whether to slam it down or snap it in half. Then, slowly, he asked, “Is this person top on the MP system board?”

Lowman blinked. His face paled. “That’s what MP is?” he muttered.

White inhaled sharply. He glanced at the agents holding Tilli. A silent signal passed between them.

“Take her away,” White said.

The agents obeyed without hesitation.

“Enjoy your stay here,” White added before exiting the room.

I glanced at Nikki. Her eyes were narrowed. “Why did he guess that?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Mari hissed. “It makes too much sense.”

By the time we returned to the first level and got our passes back, our fifth classes had already begun.

And that’s when things got worse.

Because that was the class I had with Jamal and Maddie.

I never really knew them. Not until now, at least.

I trudged up the stairs and into Mr. Chiffon’s classroom. Class had already been going for ten minutes.

Mr. Chiffon, a white man with thin white hair, looked up from his desk. His face was clean-shaven, though faint outlines of a beard still lingered along his jaw. He wore a tucked-in purple polo, khaki pants, and some scuffed-up black shoes that looked like they came from Goodwill.

“Connor,” he said, unimpressed. “Contemplating skipping class?”

“No,” I muttered. It was so quiet, it barely counted as a response.

He took my pass and gestured for me to sit.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “You’ll be getting a packet. Simple review of yesterday’s lesson. Pass these out.”

As I settled into my seat, I noticed Jamal and Maddie.

They sat apart, separated by some guy with his hood up, face planted against his desk.

They weren’t bothering me.

Yet.

And then my phone buzzed.

I glanced down. It was Nikki.

What did she want?

“Hey, Ni—Dylan?” I picked up, keeping an eye on Jamal. Still nothing.

“Dylan—bro, do you have more friends?”

I blinked. “That’s a really cool codename, ain’t gonna lie.”

Nikki sighed. “Nonetheless. Remember when Lowman said the first person on the list was the target?”

“Yeah?”

“Guess who it is.”

A cold weight sank into my stomach.

I already knew.

“Malachi,” I murmured.

Nikki clicked her tongue. “Well, so much for suspense. But look at it this way—if you save Malachi, you’ll look superior in September. You might even win.”

And just like that, my hope returned.

“There are two things you can do,” she continued. “One: expose the mole and make it public that you saved Malachi. That’ll make you a legend. Or you can defeat him and cement yourself as the top student in academy history. Either way, you save him.”

A flood of possibilities crashed into me, too fast to process.

But through the chaos, one thought emerged.

“What if I do both?”