The Omission Index, Ch 6- Fulminating Heart Pt. 3

In a dark railyard, a desperate psychic gambit is the only thing standing between a terrified superhuman and disaster.

The old Willesden Junction railway yard lock was quiet, a heavy silence thick with the smell of stagnant water. There was a hidden dread in its decaying brickwork. Evening was turning the London sky a bruised purple, coloring the dirty old arches and rusty signal posts. Hale felt coal dust and grit under his worn shoes, a familiar feeling from many forgotten places where bad things had happened.

Kwan moved beside him. His left arm was in a makeshift sling Reid had made from a first-aid kit. Kwan's face was tight with controlled pain. A dozen local police officers, looking worried but dutiful, spread out on either side. Their boots crunched softly on the gravel paths between abandoned train tracks. Behind them, looking more dangerous, were four men from D11, London’s specialist firearms unit. They held their Heckler & Koch carbines low and ready, moving smoothly, without the nervousness of the local police.

Further back, near their cars, Knopff and Reid wrestled with a bulky machine on a tripod. It looked less like a weapon and more like a web of polished steel, humming capacitors, and a central focusing lens that seemed to drink the fading light. It gave off a low, jarring hum that Hale could feel in his teeth. This was SHEPARD’s latest try at a non-lethal (mostly) device to stop superhumans, called the "Resonance Nullifier." Hale knew "mostly" was a dangerous word. Knopff had cheerfully explained earlier that too much power could scramble a target’s nervous system like an egg, possibly killing them. This was another reason to find Sameer fast and talk him down.

“Anything, Hale?” Kwan murmured, his voice hoarse. He kept his good hand near the trauma kit on his belt, mostly out of habit.

Hale shook his head, looking at a line of old goods wagons. Their wooden sides were rotted in places, showing dark, empty insides. “Nothing clear. Just… old fear. Desperation. This whole place feels full of misery.” He touched the cold, damp wall of a crumbling brick building, closing his eyes for a moment. A thin trickle of blood, dark in the gloom, seeped from his left nostril. “He’s close. The feeling is fresher here, sharper. Panic is the strongest feeling, mixed with a kind of… tired confusion.”

They moved forward carefully. The D11 unit, led by a stern-faced sergeant Hale had spoken to, began to search the larger buildings – old sheds, forgotten signal boxes, and the large shell of what might have been a loading bay. Their disciplined shouts of “Clear!” sounded flat in the damp air.

Twenty minutes passed, then thirty. The light was fading fast. The constables switched on their heavy torches, their beams cutting through the gloom. The air grew colder, and the smell of damp earth and creosote got stronger. Hale felt frustration building. Sameer was a terrified kid, not a trained operative; he couldn’t have just disappeared.

“Sector Gamma, anything?” Hale’s voice, sharp and professional, crackled over the comms unit on Knopff’s harness.

“Negative, Hale,” Knopff’s rough reply came back. “Reid’s picking up faint, unsteady energy readings, but they’re too spread out to locate. Like a slow leak, not a burst pipe. The kid’s either hiding well and barely giving off energy, or he’s gone.”

“He hasn’t gone,” Hale muttered, mostly to himself. The feelings were too strong here, too recent.

It was Kwan who noticed it first. He stopped, tilted his head, and raised his good hand for silence. “Listen.”

Hale listened hard. Over the distant rumble of a train on the active lines and the hum of the Nullifier, there was another sound – faint, almost impossible to hear. A rhythmic, muffled sob, broken by a sharp intake of breath.

“North-east,” Kwan whispered, nodding his chin towards a thick patch of overgrown bushes and rusted metal sheets leaning against the far wall of the lock. “Sounds like he’s hidden deep in there.”

Hale nodded to the D11 sergeant, who smoothly sent two of his men that way. The constables tensed, their torch beams all pointing at the spot.

“Sameer?” Hale called out. Hale kept his voice even, pitching it to carry without startling, loud enough to be heard but not threatening. “Sameer Ali, we know you’re in there. We just want to talk. No one wants to hurt you.”

The sobbing hitched, then stopped. It was replaced by a sharp gasp. A faint metallic scraping sound followed, as if someone was trying to hide deeper.

“He’s there,” the D11 sergeant confirmed quietly. His men took positions, weapons still ready but not aimed directly at where they thought Sameer was. The air in the railway yard grew tighter, the unspoken dread suddenly focused on one spot.

Hale looked at Kwan. The search was over. The much more dangerous part was about to start.

Kwan took a deep breath. The air smelled like rust and fear. "Alright, Hale," he said. "Let's not have what happened at the bus station happen again. I'll try talking to him from here. Keep those D11 men back, and please, tell Knopff to keep that humming machine turned down low unless things go wrong."

Hale nodded quickly. "Sergeant, hold your men. Lower your weapons. We're trying to talk to him calmly." To Kwan, he said, "I'll be right behind you. Tell me if his feelings suddenly get stronger. I can't get a clear sense of how he is through whatever he's hidden behind, but it feels… unsteady. Like static on a bad radio."

Indeed, as Kwan walked a few steps closer to the thick bushes and wavy metal sheets, a low hum vibrated through the ground. It was hard to notice. A piece of the rusted metal bulged out a little, as if something unseen was pushing it from inside. Dust fell from the top edge of the leaning metal.

Kwan stopped about twenty feet from the rough hiding spot. He didn't have a megaphone, but his strong voice carried in the quiet. "Sameer? My name is Ezra Kwan. We spoke to your parents. Your mother, Nusrat, and your father, Rashid."

A choked sound, half-sob and half-gasp, came from inside the tangle of bushes. The humming grew stronger for a second, and loose bits of rust fell from the metal sheets.

"They're very worried about you, son," Kwan went on, his voice gentle, like a father's. "Your Abbu, he blames himself. He told us about… about Jashn, about the clothes. He didn't know how much it hurt you. He's heartbroken, Sameer."

A loud, sharp crack sounded from inside the barricade, like a thick branch breaking. Hale tensed. His hand moved towards his gun without thinking, but he stayed still, watching Kwan. Hale’s eyes narrowed, trying to understand the confused feelings he sensed. The panic was still there, strong and raw, but now mixed with something else – a sharp feeling of shame, and a deep, aching sadness.

"Your Ammi… she just wants you home safe, beta," Kwan’s voice grew softer. He used the loving Urdu word on purpose. "She made your favorite barfi. It's waiting for you. She said you always loved how the silver leaf shines in the light."

A low moan came from the barricade. It was a sound of pure sadness. The ground under their feet shook a little. One of the leaning metal sheets scraped loudly against another as it moved a few inches. In the small gap that opened, Hale saw quick movement, a flash of pale skin and dark, messy hair. Sameer looked completely worn out. His face was streaked with dirt and tears, his eyes wide and red in the dim light. He was thinner than at the bus station. His hoodie was torn at the shoulder, and he clutched his stomach as if he was in pain. The air around his hiding spot shimmered faintly, like heat rising from a hot road-a clear sign of his stressed powers.

"We know you're scared, Sameer," Kwan said, his voice steady. "And we know you didn't mean for any of this to happen. Not at the market, not at the bus station. Sometimes… sometimes things are just too much. We understand that." He took another small step forward. "We're not here to punish you. We're here to help you. To help you get control of what's happening to you. Your parents want that too. They love you very much."

The humming got a little quieter. The shimmering in the air around Sameer’s hiding place lessened. Hale let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Kwan was reaching him. Maybe.

Then, a D11 officer to Hale’s left moved, his boot scraping loudly on loose gravel. At the exact same moment, a sharp, sudden burst of static crackled from the man’s radio.

It was enough.

Sameer’s head snapped up. The delicate connection Kwan had made shattered like glass. The boy’s eyes, which had softened for a quick moment, widened with new, total terror. Then they hardened into something else: the desperate fury of a trapped animal.

“You lie!” he shrieked. His voice cracked with a teenager's rage and fear. “You’re all liars! You’ll hurt me! Like the others!”

The air didn’t just shimmer; it began to boil. The low hum grew into a grinding, high-pitched sound that shook Hale’s bones and made his teeth ache. The rusted metal sheets around Sameer bent outwards violently, as if a huge, unseen force was building inside. Loose stones and dirt around the barricade floated up, swirling in a small whirlpool. The light from the constables’ torches flickered and dimmed, as if Sameer was sucking all the energy into himself.

Hale felt the mental pressure shoot up – a huge wave of strong, uncontrolled feelings, much worse than at the bus station. This wasn't just fear; it was a wild mix of shame, terror, rage, and deep, self-hurting sadness. It was building up to a terrible explosion. Knopff’s Nullifier, even if turned up to full power, might not be enough, or fast enough. The "mostly" in "mostly non-lethal" felt terrifyingly real.

There was no time. No time for orders, no time for Knopff, no time for anything but instinct.

This will break me, a cold part of Hale’s mind realized, even as he acted. He braced himself, feet wide apart, and put all his will, his whole self, into one desperate mental action. He didn’t try to block it. He opened himself, becoming like a pipe, a drain for the storm of feelings raging inside Sameer. He reached out with his special sense, not to understand, but to pull, to draw away the strong fear and rage that was about to explode.

It was like trying to drink the ocean through a straw. The flood of Sameer’s pain slammed into him – a crushing, deafening mental hit. He felt the boy’s terror like it was his own, the burning shame, the bitter anger. His sight broke into a dizzying pattern of pain, and an inner scream drowned out the sounds of the railway yard. He felt a burning heat behind his eyes, a sign of a huge mental backlash that could break his mind.

Through the blinding mental noise, he faintly noticed movement to his side. A blur. Kwan. The agent, his face set with firm purpose, was lunging forward. Not towards Sameer, but turning his body, sling and all, as if to protect… Hale? Or maybe the closest group of police officers. It was a desperate, selfless move, a body trying to block an unseen force. It came from a deep need to protect. Hale barely noticed it, his whole mind taken up by the mental fight.

The world faded into white noise and terrible pressure. He felt his knees give way. He was dimly aware his body was failing, even as his mind fought to hold back the flood of mental energy. The ground rushed up to meet him.

The air itself seemed to get thinner, the pressure dropping. Then, from the side, a sharp, metallic click. One of the D11 officers, maybe shifting his position after standing still for so long, had accidentally knocked his gun against a loose piece of metal.

To Sameer, already on the edge from fear and tiredness, it must have sounded like a signal of doom.

A raw, deep scream tore from the bushes, sounding more like an animal than a person. The faint shimmer around his hiding spot exploded outwards. It was no longer a gentle heat haze but a strong, clear twisting of the air. The ground didn't just shake; it jumped. The rusted metal sheets didn't just scrape; they made a loud screeching noise, bending outwards as if a huge, unseen creature was trying to break free. Hale felt it then-a huge wave of pure terror mixed with the wild anger of being trapped, much worse than anything at the bus station. This was it. The limit.

No! The thought slammed through Hale. Another blast like that, or worse, and the Nullifier might not be enough. Or Knopff might turn it too high in panic. People would die. Sameer would die.

There was no time for orders, no time for careful moves. Only one desperate, risky choice.

He threw out his own senses, not to watch, but to take. He aimed his whole mental being at the center of that storm of feelings, at Sameer, and pulled. It was like trying to drain a giant wave through a straw. The boy's fear, his anger, his complete sadness flooded into Hale, a burning mental flood. It was a pain worse than any physical hurt, like drowning in someone else's breaking spirit. He felt his own mind cracking under the pressure, the edges of his awareness weakening. A mental backlash wasn’t just a risk; it was definitely happening, hitting him now, even as he drained the feelings.

Through the roaring in his own head, the dizzying mix of breaking feelings overwhelming his senses, he was faintly aware of movement to his side. A dark shape, Kwan, lunging forward. He wasn't going towards Sameer, but putting himself between Hale and the center of the coming blast. His good arm was stretched out as if to block a terrible disaster. A flash of understanding, dim and distant through his own pain: Kwan was trying to protect him, or maybe the other officers. The fool. The brave, stupid fool.

Then the world faded into white noise and bright light inside him. Hale felt his knees buckle. His body hit the gritty ground with a force he barely felt. The last clear feeling was the strong taste of rust and despair. It wasn't his own, but taken in, burning through him like acid. And a distant, muffled thump, as if something very large and very solid had hit a wall.

He was on his hands and knees, the gravel digging into his palms. The railway yard swam in and out of focus, a sickening spin of twisted shapes and flickering lights from the constables’ torches. The torches now lay scattered, their beams pointing in odd directions. The air stank of ozone and something else, something sharp and burnt. Shouts echoed, unclear and twisted, as if coming from underwater.

He tried to push himself up, but his arms and legs felt like jelly. The echo of Sameer’s terror still struggled wildly inside his head, not just an echo, but jagged fragments of the boy’s own wrenching shame and fear. He could feel later waves of the feeling being pulled away ripple through his body, each one a fresh wave of confusion.

A hand gripped his arm, surprisingly steady. “Hale! You with me?” Knopff’s voice, tight with alarm, cut through the fog.

Hale blinked, trying to focus on the man’s grim face. “Kwan…?” he managed, his own voice a raw croak.

Knopff jerked his head towards a crumpled figure near the now twisted mess of bushes and metal. Kwan was down, curled on his side, not moving. The D11 sergeant was kneeling beside him, shouting into his radio.

The blast… it had still happened. Maybe made smaller by his desperate gamble, but it had still been big. The metal sheets were twisted into ugly shapes. The bushes were flattened, smoking.

And Sameer?

Hale forced his eyes towards the center of it all. Amidst the wreckage, a small figure was slumped, unmoving. Sameer. He looked like a thrown-away puppet, his arms and legs at odd angles.

“Kid’s out cold,” Knopff reported, following Hale’s gaze. “Nullifier registered a spike, then a sharp drop. Whatever you did, it must’ve overloaded him, or maybe the reaction from the Nullifier hitting him mid-blast… Hard to say. Reid’s checking vital signs on both of them now.”

Hale could feel the last bits of Sameer’s panic slowly fading from his own mind. It left behind an empty ache and a deep tiredness. The mental backlash was lessening, but it had cost a lot. He felt cleaned out, raw.

Reid’s voice, usually calm, was strained. “Kwan’s conscious, barely. Took a nasty hit. Possible internal injuries. Sameer… he’s alive. Pulse is weak, breathing is shallow. He needs immediate medical help.”

Hale was on his hands and knees. Gravel dug into his palms. The railway yard spun around him, shapes twisted and torchlight scattered wildly. The air, thick with the smell of ozone and something burnt and metallic, hurt his lungs. Shouts sounded far away and strange, like they were coming from deep underwater.

He tried to stand, but his arms and legs wouldn't obey, shaking heavily. The leftover fear from Sameer still shook his mind, like a ghost pain. Each wave of it passing left him feeling emptier, worn out.

A steady hand grabbed his arm. “Hale! Are you okay?” Knopff’s voice, unusually worried, broke through his daze.

Hale blinked, trying to focus on Knopff's serious, dusty face. “Kwan…?” he asked. His voice was a rough whisper, as if his throat was torn.

Knopff nodded his head towards a fallen figure near the twisted mess of bushes and metal. Kwan was on the ground, curled up and still. The D11 sergeant was kneeling by him, shouting urgently into his radio, his usual calm gone.

The blast… it had still happened. Maybe weaker because of what Hale and Kwan did, but it was still strong. The metal sheets were twisted into strange shapes. The bushes were flat and smoking in places, giving off a weird, sweet, burnt smell.

And Sameer? Hale made himself look towards where it happened. In the middle of the mess, a small figure lay slumped and still. Sameer. He looked like a puppet with its strings cut, his arms and legs at odd angles, completely worn out.

“The kid’s unconscious,” Knopff said, his voice rough, looking where Hale looked. “The Nullifier showed a big energy spike, then a sharp fall. Whatever you two did, it must have overloaded him, or maybe the Nullifier hitting him as his power went off… It’s hard to tell. Reid’s checking their conditions now, as best he can in this mess.”

Hale could feel the last bit of Sameer’s strong panic slowly leaving his own mind. It left a deep, empty ache and a tiredness that went to his bones. The mental backlash was fading, but it had cost him a lot. He felt raw and exposed.

Reid’s voice, usually calm and technical, sounded strained as it carried across the yard. “Kwan’s awake, just barely. He took a bad hit – looks like he was hurt by the force of what he tried to block. He might have injuries inside, his shoulder is definitely dislocated, and probably more. Sameer… he’s alive. His pulse is weak, and his breathing is shallow. He needs to get to a hospital right away. Both of them do.”

The sudden, explosive danger was over. But the results, complicated and wide-reaching, were just starting to unfold.

“Tie up the boy,” Hale managed, pushing himself to sit up. The world still felt unsteady. “Use soft restraints. And get a medical team for Kwan, he’s the priority.” He looked at Knopff. “The Nullifier?”

“It still works,” Knopff grunted. He was already walking towards Sameer, who lay still. Two nervous police officers followed him with handcuffs and a thick blanket. “But I wouldn’t want to push it again tonight.”

As Knopff and the police officers carefully went near Sameer, who was frighteningly still, the sound of approaching sirens grew louder in the quiet railway yard. But it wasn't just local ambulances or police. Many organized headlights turned into the yard. Car doors slammed. The clear, firm sound of heavy boots on gravel meant someone new had arrived.

Men in dark green jackets with the SHEPARD logo on them got out of plain vans. They moved quickly and coldly, spreading out to secure the area, their faces showing no emotion. This was the clean-up crew, the cold, efficient agents of SHEPARD.

Just as they started to rope off the area around Sameer, an old Ford Escort car skidded to a stop just outside the new SHEPARD line. Reid, who had clearly made a call, was there to meet them. Mr. Rashid Ali stumbled out. His face was pale, and his clothes were messy from hours of worried waiting. Mrs. Amina Ali followed, leaning hard on her husband. Her eyes were wide and looked haunted. She held a shawl tightly around herself, as if trying to keep out more than just the cold night air.

They looked at the destroyed scene – the twisted metal, the smoking ground, and the scattered emergency lights that made everything look harsh and strange. And then they saw him. Their son. He was lying in the middle of the wreckage. Knopff and a SHEPARD medic were now busy with him, and a police officer was gently putting restraints on his wrists.

A choked cry came from Amina. “Sameer! My son!” She tried to go to him, but Reid gently held her back. He looked sorry for her but was firm.

Rashid stared, his face showing pure horror and confusion. The fight, the shame, the money problems – all of it seemed small and unimportant next to this clear, terrible truth. This was his son, broken and frighteningly powerful, the one who had caused this… this mess. He saw the SHEPARD agents, how cold and efficient they were, and their strange equipment. The reality of what Sameer was, and the hidden world he had stumbled into, seemed to hit him like a physical blow.

“What… what have you done to him?” Rashid whispered. His voice was hoarse. He looked at Hale, who was being helped up by a SHEPARD agent.

Hale looked back at the father. The after-effects of the mental storm made his own vision blurry. “He did this to himself, Mr. Ali. And to us.” He pointed vaguely at Kwan, who was now being carefully put onto a stretcher by a SHEPARD medical team. “We just… stopped it from being worse.”

Amina started to cry, a low, heartbroken sound that seemed to hold all the broken hopes and fears of the night. Rashid reached out, not to his son, but to hold his wife steady. His own shoulders sagged in complete defeat. They weren't angry or ready to argue anymore, just filled with a huge, empty sadness. They saw their son, not as a monster, but as someone lost to them, someone they couldn't understand or protect anymore, now in the hands of these serious, efficient strangers.

The SHEPARD team leader, a tall woman with sharp eyes, came up to Hale. “Agent Hale. We’ll handle things now. The asset is secure. Your team will be questioned on the way to get medical care.” Her voice showed no emotion. Sameer was no longer a boy; he was an "asset."

Hale nodded, feeling a wave of tiredness wash over him. He watched as Sameer, now strapped to a special gurney for holding him, was wheeled towards one of the plain vans. The local police were being politely but firmly moved back. Their authority disappeared in the face of SHEPARD's quiet power.

The railway yard, a place of forgotten things, had seen another sad event, another life changed forever. What happened this night would affect Sameer, his parents, and the SHEPARD agents who dealt with dangerous powers. The full costs of this night were still to be seen.

Hale went to Kwan, who was being lifted into an ambulance. His face was tight with pain. Reid was already there, helping the medics, his face grim.

***

The next few hours were a blur of questions, reports, and medical care. Kwan was rushed to the hospital, and Sameer was taken somewhere by the SHEPARD crew. Knopff and Hale were treated by the SHEPARD doctors, given painkillers, and taken back to London in a secure van. Reid stayed behind, giving a report to the police and the local SHEPARD office, then drove back.

The whole operation had been a mess, a desperate scramble in the dark. It had worked, barely, but the results were mixed. The only good part was no one died. But Kwan and Sameer had been seriously hurt, and Hale had suffered a powerful mental backlash, the first in years.

Sitting in the van, his eyes on the passing darkness outside the window, Hale felt hollow. His body ached, and his mind was tired. The painkillers helped, but feeling of being hollowed out, scoured clean by another’s pain, wouldn’t go away. This was the price he paid when his psychic senses got involved.

The mental backlash from what happened to him tonight was strong, even if not as bad as the worst ones he had experienced. It was like his mind had been pushed to its limit, then stretched beyond it. The worst part was the emptiness, the lack of feeling. Like a strong wind had blown everything away.

Knopff, sitting next to him, noticed his silence.

"You okay, Hale?"

"Sure. Just tired."

Knopff nodded. His eyes were serious, almost sad. "Kwan's strong. He'll pull through. So will the kid. You did good back there. You did what you had to."

"I know," Hale said, his voice low. He looked back at the passing countryside. "What do you think they'll blame it on? An industrial accident? Or an act of terrorism?"

"Maybe both," Knopff said, his voice flat. "Who knows what Reid will write down in the report. Whatever it is, I doubt the press will hear about it. The official story will be boring, and the truth will be hidden. Like it always is."

They rode in silence, the darkness rushing by outside the van's windows.

***

Now, in the grey light coming through the safe house window, Kwan sat in an armchair across from Hale. “A helicopter is coming for us in an hour,” he said. “We’re going back to Oregon.”

Hale nodded, still looking at his tea.

A soft knock on the front door broke the quiet. Reid, who was arranging their leaving, answered it. A moment later, he came back to the living room doorway. He looked unsure. “Hale, Kwan… Mr. Ali is here. Rashid Ali. He wants to talk to you.”

Hale’s jaw tightened. He felt a little annoyed through his numbness. “We’re finished here, Reid. Tell him SHEPARD will contact him through official ways.”

“He’s… very persistent,” Reid said quietly. “And he looks like he hasn’t slept in days.”

Kwan pushed himself up, wincing. “Let him in, Reid. We owe him that much, at least.”

Hale sighed but didn’t argue. A moment later, Rashid Ali stood in the doorway. He looked smaller and older than he had at the railway yard. His eyes were red, and his suit was wrinkled. He held a worn wool cap in his hands.

“Agents,” he started. His voice was hoarse and thick with tears he hadn’t cried. He looked from Hale to Kwan, his eyes staying on Kwan’s sling. “My wife… Nusrat… she sent me. We need to know. What… what will happen to our Sameer?”

Hale kept his face blank. His inner emptiness was a good shield. “Mr. Ali, we can’t talk about that. SHEPARD has rules for these things. He’ll be checked. He’ll get care.” The words were standard and felt empty.

Rashid’s face looked even sadder. “Care? Like a prisoner? He’s just a boy. He was scared. He didn’t know…”

Kwan stepped forward. His voice was softer, more human than Hale felt he could be. “Mr. Ali, Sameer is strong. And he’s special. SHEPARD has resources… people who understand these things. They’ll help him learn to control it. He’ll have a chance to… to find a place.” It was a carefully worded half-truth, mixed with hope Kwan himself probably didn’t fully believe.

Hale felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. He cut in, his voice flatter and more direct than Kwan’s. “Mr. Ali, what Agent Kwan means is that your son’s situation is complicated. The best thing you can do right now is be patient.” He saw the hopelessness in Rashid’s eyes and continued, speaking with cold, practical sense. “You will most likely be allowed to contact him eventually. When that time comes, the most important thing you can tell Sameer is to cooperate. To do what he’s told. To learn everything they try to teach him. How he’s treated within SHEPARD will depend a lot on how willing he is to adjust.” Hale paused, then added, as a rare sign of kindness, “I will… ask about him. Make sure he’s being treated fairly, considering his situation.”

Rashid swallowed hard. He clutched his cap so tightly his knuckles were white. “We… we’ve always tried to be good citizens, Agent Hale. Ever since we came to this country. We worked hard, followed the law, and taught our son to do the same. We just wanted a better life for him.” His voice broke. “It doesn’t seem to have… worked out.”

A heavy silence filled the room. There was nothing Hale or Kwan could say to that. How unfair it was, the random cruelty of fate and superpowers, was a truth too harsh for comforting words.

Reid cleared his throat gently from the doorway. “The car is here, agents.”

Hale nodded and pushed himself to his feet. His body still ached, the tiredness from the mental strain like a heavy coat. “We have to go, Mr. Ali.”

Kwan placed a hand briefly on Rashid’s shoulder. “Stay strong for Nusrat. And for Sameer.”

Rashid just nodded. His eyes looked empty, fixed on some faraway sad thought. He didn’t try to stop them as Hale and Kwan walked past him and out of the safe house. He was left standing alone with his sadness and the cold, official reassurances of a secret world.

The London air felt damp and cool on Hale’s face as he stepped outside. The car waited, plain and dark. As they got into the back seat, the city blurring past the window, Hale glanced at Kwan. The other agent was staring out his own window, his face hard to read.

Another case closed. Another life sent into the hidden workings of SHEPARD. The costs, as always, were still being counted.

***