Kill Order

Part 2, Chapter 5: Pulse and Proof

Tristan's alarm buzzed at 6:00 sharp, slicing through the thin layer of rest he had managed. He rose, wincing at stiff muscles, and glanced across the room. Evelyn was already sitting on her side of the bed, eyes on the floor as though rehearsing lines for a play.

"Good morning," he said, voice hoarse.

"Good?" she replied, forcing a smile. "Debatable."

They dressed in near silence. Tristan selected a plain charcoal suit, nothing that suggested bravado, while Evelyn chose a navy blazer and dove grey blouse, minimal jewellery. She stood before the mirror fastening the top button.

"We keep answers crisp," she said, checking the collar. "If they ask about personal feelings, we pivot to mission success. Professional trust, nothing more."

Tristan tied his tie twice before it sat straight. "Polygraph tracks stress, not truth. We show steady vitals, they will believe."

Evelyn picked up her watch. "I have practised square breathing. Four in, four hold, four out. Keeps heart rate fifty five." She met his eyes in the mirror. "Can you manage?"

"I have wrestled worse than questions," he said. "Remember basic training. Picture slow waves, count the heartbeat."

She clipped on her watch, exhaling slowly. "If they push on the bond between us..."

He shrugged into a jacket, checking the line of the shoulders. "We call it operational synergy."

A small laugh escaped her, easing the tension. "Fancy term for trust."

"Fancy terms may keep the Director calm." He reached for a thin wallet in the dresser drawer, hesitated. Inside lay a photo of the two of them in hospital scrubs after the Borodin op, both still bandaged, both smiling at something just out of frame. He left it in the drawer. "No sentimental props."

Evelyn watched him, then stepped closer. "Whatever happens, we know the truth."

"That we work well together," he agreed.

"And nothing more?" Her tone gentle, teasing the edge of honesty.

He met her gaze, warmed by the morning light. "Nothing on record."

That earned a genuine smile. She brushed imaginary lint from his lapel, fingertips lingering. "Pulse check," she whispered. "Seventy three. Could be worse."

He lifted her wrist briefly, feeling her pulse match his. "We have this."

The secure phone buzzed at 7:40. Kerr's voice came through. "Polygraph suite in twenty minutes. Do not be late."

Tristan ended the call. "Time to prove we are not the worms."

Evelyn pocketed her clearance badge, straightening her shoulders. "Let us hope the machine likes synergy." She stepped toward the door, paused, and looked back. "Ready, partner?"

He crossed the small distance, opened the door for her. "After you."

They left their office side by side, breath syncing as they descended the stairwell. Each carried a script of facts, practised breathing rhythms, and the quiet hope that truth would withstand cables and electrodes. Behind them the safe flat remained still, blinds half drawn, mugs in the sink, evidence of a life briefly paused. Ahead waited the hum of polygraph sensors and questions sharp as scalpels, ready to slice at every heartbeat.

But for now, they walked together, matching steps, steady as waves.

Director Sophia Renwick met them outside the polygraph suite at 8:00, clipboard tucked tight under her arm.