Page 25 of Shatter
Dawson sat in the tilted van and let his eyes adjust. The partition window was cracked. Through it, only rain. The air had changed. Salt. Wet stone. The iron scent of the coast forcing its way in.
He was not afraid.
He was waiting.
The rear doors tore open with a scream of metal forced past design limits. Cold air rushed in, immediate and physical. Dawson turned toward the light.
Xaiden stood beyond the torn doors, rain cutting across him, as if the coast had assembled him from whatever it had on hand.
Not uniform. Civilian dark. Black henley soaked through, tactical trousers plastered to his legs, boots caked in red clay. Water tracked along his jaw. In one hand, a hydraulic spreader hung low, still carrying the work it had just done.
Across the road, a truck idled at an angle, headlights cutting through rain in two clean beams. Old. Battered. The right fender dented and patched. Lyle’s truck.
“Out,” Xaiden said.
Alden recovered quickly. Dawson watched the process. Spine straightened. Hand slid toward his jacket. The mask returned, smooth and controlled.
“Xaiden. You’re committing multiple felonies. Medical warrant filed. Interfering with healthcare transport.”
Xaiden did not respond. He stepped in, took Alden by the lapels, and pulled him out of the van. Not rough. Efficient. Alden’s feet hit mud, then the side of the van as Xaiden pinned him there with his forearm.
Rain hit Alden’s face and stripped away the last of the polish. For the first time, he looked like a man.
“I have cave audio,” Xaiden said, voice low. “Your voice. Coercion under threat of institutionalization. That goes live, you lose everything. Lyle has the uplink. One signal.”
Rain fell harder.
The truck idled.
No one moved.
Dawson climbed out of the van. His boots sank into mud along the shoulder. The drop to the Pacific lay somewhere beyond the dark. He could hear it. Deep water moving against rock.
The bracelet ticked again.
He looked at Alden.
Thirty-two years of trying to understand him reduced to this. No layers. No structure. Just a man pinned to a van, searching for an exit that was not there.
“Give me the key,” Dawson said.
Alden’s jaw tightened. “Christopher—”
“The key.”
Xaiden increased pressure. Metal flexed. Alden’s composure cracked just enough.
His hand went to his pocket.
The transmitter was small. Brushed silver. He held it between two fingers, then let it go.
Dawson took it.
The sequence came back easily. Three buttons. Last held.
The bracelet released with a soft mechanical shift.
Dawson held his wrist still for a second, then lowered it and let the band fall into the mud.
