Eli didn’t wake until the car slowed and turned right, and the crunch of gravel under the wheels shook him out of his stupor.

“What the—?” He jolted upright, then grabbed his head and cursed. The pounding at his temple had grown worse after his uncomfortable nap against the window.

“I’ll heal that before we go in,” Beake murmured as he navigated the car down a long, rocky driveway. A warm light at the end of the road gave the barest hint of a house’s silhouette. “I told you we’d be there before you know it.”

Eli tightened his hand into a fist as Beake rolled to a stop—then reluctantly relaxed his fingers when the man dug out a green vial and a cloth from the glove box.

“Hold still for a moment.” He flipped the vial against the cloth, then held the fabric up to Eli’s forehead, not meeting his gaze. Just like in Beake’s compound, Eli’s headache dissipated, even as he kept a wary eye on the green liquid still sloshing in the vial.

“I realize I’m the psychopathic kidnapper in this scenario, but…” Beake removed the cloth and folded it. “I can promise you this healing solution is perfectly safe. Besides,” he opened the door, “that headache will be very unhelpful in the cabin.”

Eli tensed and looked out the windshield. Now that the car was parked close to it, he had a better, if still murky, view of the safehouse. It was…not what he was expecting.

He had anticipated a structure of concrete and glass, something cold and geometric and offensive against the natural landscape. What he found instead was a sprawling, rough-edged log cabin, with flower boxes and a swinging chair on the porch. Gentle yellow light filtered through embroidered curtains. As Eli opened the car door, he could hear the soft lapping of a lake trickling through the pines, mingling with the relaxing scent of their boughs.

It took him a second to remember Beake’s warning about the cabin.

“Wait—what do you mean, unhelpful?” Eli repeated, but his kidnapper had already started walking towards the house. Eli followed, fighting the urge to turn on his heel and sprint down the driveway. It didn’t matter how cozy or warm the cabin looked—this was Beake’s place, and his henchmen were on the other side of that door.

But then again, so was Dawn. He took a breath and forced himself to climb the stairs to the porch.

“What’s in the cabin?” he pressed, keeping to the edge of the platform.

“It’s not that, it’s—well, let’s just say my team is…” Beake paused with his hand halfway to the door, and Eli’s mind scrambled to finish the sentence for him. Cold? Distrusting? Ruthless?

“They’re loud,” Beake said, and knocked on the door.

Five heavy locks turned in quick succession, and a short woman with curly hair burst onto the porch.

“Good Lord, finally!” The woman wrapped her sturdy arms around Beake’s waist, then drew back and gave him a sharp look. “When I said drive safe, I didn’t say drive like a retiree.”

Beake, of all things, laughed.

“I was going ten over the limit, Sherry—“

Sherry didn’t have time for his excuses. She had already leaned back through the doorway, voice booming. “Grim, he’s home!”

“I’m right here, woman.” A hulking person in red flannel passed by the door and stopped at a staircase. “Banneker! They’re here!”

Upstairs, a chair rolled across a wood floor, and a voice yelled back, “I know that, I watched them drive in!” A beat. “Sorry I didn’t clean the car!”

Eli remained rooted to the porch as the cacophony inside the foyer continued. This wasn’t Beake’s team. This couldn’t be his team. Was he still sleeping? Was this a dream? He looked back to the car, half expecting to see himself still asleep in the front seat.

“Eli!” a familiar voice called over his thoughts. Shoulders slumped in relief, Eli slid past Beake and Sherry to the woman standing just beyond the staircase.

“Dawn!” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, her curly mohawk tickling his chin. He had never in his life been so happy to see a co-worker. “Are you alright? They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

“Hurt me? What, this flannel brigade?” She withdrew and nodded to the commotion at door. “No, I’m fine. What about you? I saw you fall on the escape ladder.”

“You saw me? How?”

“Elias, I’m getting your bag,” Beake called from the porch. Eli whipped around.

“Don’t touch my stuff, Beake—“

Beake glared and spread his arms. “Who do you think carried you and your stuff to the car after your fall? The agency?”

As Eli’s face flushed, Dawn took his arm and led him up the stairs.

“Come on, let him get the bag. I can show you your room.”

Eli frowned. “My room?”

“What, you thought you’d get a cell?” Sherry interrupted them from the foot of the steps. “Down the hall, last one on the left. Made sure you were next to Dawn.”

Eli looked at every floorboard, every door with suspicion as Dawn led him down the hall. This wasn’t right, none of this was right.

“Grim picked me up just before the agency got to my place,” Dawn said, unfazed by the warm, comfortable wooden walls and the permeating smell of tree sap. “Then I called you from here. Banneker’s got eyes on your apartment, I could see the agency pulling up.”

They passed an open door that flashed with blue light. Eli peered in, then immediately reeled back. Over a dozen computer screens blanketed the opposite wall, all whirring with games, live-streams, and various security feeds of the cabin. The man hunched before the digital shrine slid off his headphones and twirled around in his padded chair.

“What’s up?” He waved, and without stopping the spinning motion, returned back to the screens. Dawn tugged on Eli’s sleeve to keep him moving.

“So,” Eli rubbed his eyes as he continued down the hall, “so you really think it was the agency?”

“Who else could it be?” Dawn opened the door at the end. “It wasn’t these guys.”

Eli walked into his room. Narrow, simple—a bed with a quilt, a wardrobe, a curtained window. Someone had placed flowers on the nightstand. He glanced out the window, then felt the flower petals. They were real.

“What if…” He took a breath. His theory sounded more stupid by the minute. “What if they staged all this?”

“Staged?” Dawn sat down on the edge of the bed in a sign for him to continue. Surely she knew exactly how dumb he sounded, but he had to say it anyway.

“Yes.” He gestured to the cabin at large. “As part of some—some elaborate game, or a continuation of whatever they did to the previous agents?”

“I’m mildly offended,” Beake’s voice cut in from the doorway. He placed Eli’s bag on the floor next to the dresser. “If this is all some elaborate game meant to keep you from catching me, one,” he held up a finger, “very bold of me to bring you straight to my safehouse, I’m impressed with myself. Two,” another finger, “the agency will be looking for you five minutes after you fail to show up to work tomorrow, and I will have placed myself in more danger than I was previously. Good on me, actually. There isn’t enough danger in my life.”

Eli folded his arms to keep himself from throttling the sarcasm out of Beake’s throat—but the man wasn’t done talking.

“However,” he continued, “if it is, in fact, the agency who attacked you for taking one step in a direction they didn’t like, then they’ll have your files marked as dead as early as tomorrow.”

Eli couldn’t help but glance at his bag, where the files of four dead agents were stuffed into the front pocket. His palms started to sweat again.

“I’m gonna need proof,” he said, trying to keep his tone sharp. Beake nodded, unruffled.

“If Ms. Kerighin agrees to help, Banneker can get temporary access to the agency’s database, and can show you the files tomorrow morning. But for now,” he stepped back into the hall, “I recommend you both sleep.”

Eli sat on the edge of the bed next to Dawn. He was sure that her mind had already spun through the thoughts he was now grappling with. Dead didn’t mean the agency would stop hunting him, not by a long shot. It just made it easier for them to do so. Dead men couldn’t use their IDs, access their assets, reach out to their families—

His breath hitched, and Dawn grabbed his arm.

“Hey. We don’t have confirmation yet.”

“Yeah.” Eli didn’t meet her gaze. “You’re right, we don’t.”

“This could all still be an elaborate ruse.”

He gave a broken, humorless laugh. “And if it isn’t?”

Dawn smiled. “Then at least we’re stuck in here together.”