Kill Order

Part 2, Chapter 5: Pulse and Proof

"Agent Shaw first," she said without preamble. "Mr Reeves, wait here."

Evelyn gave Tristan a small nod before following Renwick through a double door that sealed with a soft hiss. Tristan was left in a sterile waiting room furnished with two metal chairs, a wall clock, and nothing else besides the low hum of the building's ventilation.

He sat, lacing his fingers and resting them on his knee. The clock hands crawled. He pictured electrodes on Evelyn's wrists, the mechanical voice of the examiner. She would be breathing in steady four counts, steady out. At 8:18 he wondered whether they had already reached the difficult questions. 'Do you harbour any concealed loyalties?' 'Do you have unreported personal attachments within the agency?' He trusted her composure, yet each minute stretched like elastic.

He rose and paced the length of the room, passing the same scuff mark on the floor again and again. He replayed answers in his head, rehearsed square breathing, reminded himself that steel holds under pressure. Still, a flicker of concern pressed at the edges of his calm. If they sensed anything more than teamwork, would they remove her from the field, remove him, separate the two of them into different operations? He pressed his palms together, forcing stillness.

At 8:22 the doors opened. Evelyn stepped out first, cheeks pale but eyes clear. Renwick followed, expression unreadable. For a moment no one spoke. The Director looked Tristan up and down.

"You are next," she said.

Tristan's gaze flicked to Evelyn. She offered the faintest tilt of her head, reassurance packed into the smallest gesture. Whatever questions had come, she had navigated them. Tristan felt the tightness in his chest loosen a notch.

He nodded once, turned toward the open doorway, and walked in. The doors closed behind him with the same soft hiss, leaving the corridor silent.

Tristan settled into the polygraph chair, sensors taped to his fingertips and chest. A civilian examiner in a neat suit handled the machine while Director Renwick stood a few paces off, arms folded.

"Name, rank," the examiner began.

"Tristan, Field Hitman."

Needles drew calm lines. Next came standard controls.

"Is your surname Reeves?"

"Yes."

"Is the sky above this building?"

"Yes."

Lines remained steady, the machine satisfied. The examiner glanced at Renwick, then pressed forward.

"Regarding the ambush three days ago, did you knowingly allow enemy forces onto the train?"

"No."

"Did you receive prior warning of the ambush?"

"No."

Needles stayed smooth. Tristan breathed evenly, picturing waves on a quiet shore.

"Do you harbour guilt over the casualties during that operation?"

Tristan paused only a moment. "No civilian casualties occurred. My conscience is clear."

The graph rippled but held within limits. The examiner tapped a note.

Renwick stepped closer. "Let us discuss your partner. Did you place Agent Shaw's safety above the objective during the Borodin rooftop engagement three months ago?"

A tightness seized Tristan's throat. He swallowed. "I acted to preserve a teammate."

"Answer yes or no, please," Renwick said.