Chapter 5: Hidden Depths

The address Blake had given me led to a run-down apartment complex in a neighborhood where people minded their own business. I'd spent the morning reviewing his files, and what I'd found had shaken me to the core.

The conspiracy wasn't limited to missing persons with supernatural abilities—it extended to active recruitment, medical experimentation, and what could only be described as a supernatural assets program. People like me weren't just being monitored; we were being catalogued, evaluated, and either eliminated or conscripted.

Lisa Park's apartment was on the third floor, accessible only by a narrow staircase that creaked with every step. I knocked softly, using the pattern Blake had specified—three quick, two slow, three quick again.

The woman who answered the door looked nothing like the missing person photos. Her hair was short and dyed black, her clothes deliberately nondescript, but her eyes held the same wariness I recognized in my own reflection.

"Agent Morrison?" she asked quietly.

"Call me Kate. Blake sent me."

Lisa stepped aside to let me in, then quickly locked the door and engaged two additional deadbolts. The apartment was sparse, functional—a place designed for quick departure rather than comfortable living.

"He said you might be able to help," Lisa said, settling into a chair positioned to watch both the door and windows. "But I'm not sure anyone can help with this."

"Tell me what happened. From the beginning."

Lisa's story was both familiar and terrifying. She'd been having precognitive dreams since childhood, but had learned to keep them secret after a guidance counselor's well-meaning report led to months of psychiatric evaluation. As an adult, she'd occasionally shared her visions with police when they might prevent harm—always anonymously, always carefully.

"Then Agent Carson started showing up," Lisa continued. "At my work, at the grocery store, at my apartment building. Always with some excuse—canvassing the neighborhood, following up on tips. But he was watching me specifically."

"How do you know?"

"Because I dreamed about him. Saw him reading a file with my name on it, photographs of me going back months, reports about my 'anomalous behavior patterns.'" Lisa's voice shook slightly. "In the dream, he was talking to someone about whether I should be recruited or eliminated."

Agent Carson—Blake had mentioned him as the FBI agent who'd been killed in action with no record of what action. "What happened to Carson?"

"He approached me directly about six weeks ago. Said the Bureau knew about my abilities and wanted to offer me a consulting position. When I refused, he got... aggressive. Started following me openly, making threats." Lisa pulled her knees up to her chest, suddenly looking much younger than her twenty-six years. "That's when I hired David Chen."

"And then Chen ended up dead."

"Along with Carson. I saw that too—dreamed about Carson being shot by the same person who killed Chen. A young man with cold eyes and a silver knife."

My blood ran cold. The killer I'd seen in my psychometric vision of Torres's murder—young, ordinary, fanatical. "Can you describe him?"

Lisa closed her eyes, concentrating. "Mid-twenties, average height, brown hair. But it's his eyes that stand out—completely empty, like he feels nothing about what he's doing. And he has a scar, here." She touched the left side of her chin. "From something that happened when he was younger."

I made mental notes, building a profile. "Have you seen anything else? About who he works for, what they're planning?"

"Fragments. Images of a facility somewhere outside the city—concrete buildings, high fences, people in lab coats." Lisa shuddered. "In my dreams, I see other people like us. Some are cooperating, working for them. Others..."

"Others?"

"Others are strapped to tables, screaming."

The image Lisa painted was horrifying—a government program that had moved beyond recruitment into active experimentation. "How many people?"

"I don't know. Dozens, maybe more. The facility is big, heavily guarded. And there's something else." Lisa met my eyes. "I've seen you there."

My heart stopped. "What do you mean?"

"In my dreams, you're in one of those concrete buildings. But you're not screaming—you're fighting. There's a man with you, someone trying to help you escape." Lisa tilted her head, studying my face. "Someone who cares about you more than he should."

Blake. She had to be seeing Blake. "What happens? Do we escape?"

"I don't know. The dreams always end the same way—with an explosion, fire, alarms. Then I wake up."

I spent another hour with Lisa, gathering details about her visions and the patterns she'd noticed. When I finally left, I had a clearer picture of what we were facing—and it was worse than I'd imagined.

My phone buzzed as I reached my car. A text from Blake: Museum of Flight. Employee parking. One hour.

I drove carefully, checking for surveillance, taking a circuitous route designed to expose anyone following me. The museum was a good choice—public enough to discourage violent action, large enough to provide multiple escape routes.

Blake was waiting beside a vintage aircraft display, ostensibly reading informational plaques like any other visitor. I approached casually, stopping beside him to study the same exhibit.

"Lisa confirmed your worst fears," I said quietly.

"The facility?"

"Among other things. She described experiments, people being held against their will. This isn't just about recruitment—it's about weaponization."

Blake's jaw tightened. "I was hoping I was wrong."

"There's more. She's been having dreams about me. Says she sees me at the facility, fighting to escape with someone who cares about me." I glanced at him sideways. "Someone who might be you."

For a moment, Blake's professional composure slipped, and I caught a glimpse of something deeper—concern, protectiveness, and something that looked remarkably like affection.

"Kate," he said carefully, "there's something I need to tell you."

Before he could continue, my phone rang. Sarah's number flashed on the screen, and I hesitated only briefly before answering.

"Kate, thank God." Sarah's voice was tight with worry. "Where are you?"

"Why?"

"Because Director Wilson just issued a BOLO for you. Says you're considered armed and dangerous, possibly suffering from a psychological break."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"He's claiming you attacked Agent Blake at some diner, that you've gone rogue. Kate, what the hell is happening?"

I looked at Blake, who was listening intently despite my attempt to keep the conversation private. "Sarah, I need you to listen carefully. Don't trust anything Wilson tells you about me. Don't trust anyone at the Bureau."

"Kate, you're scaring me."

"I'm scared too. But I need you to promise me something—stay away from Wilson, stay away from anyone asking about me. Can you do that?"

"I... yes. But Kate—"

"I have to go." I ended the call and turned to Blake. "Wilson just burned me. BOLO, claims I attacked you, says I'm having a breakdown."

Blake swore softly. "He's accelerating the timeline. This means they're close to moving on their endgame."

"What endgame?"

"I don't know yet. But Lisa's visions suggest it involves the facility, experiments, and probably a lot of people dying." Blake took my arm gently. "Kate, we need to get you somewhere safe while I figure out our next move."

"Forget safe. If Wilson's painting me as a rogue agent, I'm already past the point of no return." I met his eyes. "Where's this facility Lisa described?"

Blake was quiet for a long moment. "I have suspicions, but confirming it would require surveillance, reconnaissance—"

"Then let's get started."

"Kate, if I'm right about the location, it's heavily defended. Going in blind would be suicide."

"And staying out here while they round up more people like us would be cowardice." I stepped closer, close enough to see flecks of gold in his blue eyes. "You said you wanted my help bringing them down. This is me helping."

Something shifted in Blake's expression—surprise, admiration, and that deeper emotion I'd glimpsed earlier. "You realize this probably ends with both of us dead?"

"Maybe. But at least we'll die fighting for something that matters."

Blake smiled, and for the first time since I'd met him, it reached his eyes. "My sister would have liked you."

"I would have liked her too."

We spent the next hour planning our reconnaissance of the suspected facility location. Blake had traced several financial transactions to a property northwest of the city—officially listed as a private research installation, but with military-grade security and unmarked federal funding.

As we prepared to leave the museum separately, Blake caught my hand.

"Kate," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "About what Lisa said—about someone who cares about you more than he should..."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Blake—"

"I know this is the worst possible timing. I know we barely know each other, and you have every reason not to trust me." His thumb traced across my knuckles, sending electricity up my arm. "But she's right. I do care about you, more than I should, more than is smart or safe."

The admission hung between us, vulnerable and honest. Part of me wanted to step back, to maintain professional distance, to protect myself from another potential betrayal. But a larger part wanted to lean into the warmth of his touch, to let myself believe that someone could know the worst parts of me and care anyway.

"Blake," I said finally, "if we're going to do this—if we're going to take down a government conspiracy and probably die in the process—I need complete honesty between us."

"You have it."

"Then tell me about the psychometric vision I had. You in my apartment, leaving the threatening note. Because either my abilities are wrong for the first time in my life, or there's something you're not telling me."

Blake's face went pale. "Kate, I swear to you, I have never been in your apartment. I would never threaten you."

"Then explain the vision."

Blake was quiet for a long moment, thinking. "Could someone else have your abilities? Someone who could manipulate what you see?"

The possibility hadn't occurred to me, but it made horrible sense. If the government had been collecting people with supernatural abilities, they might have found someone with psychometric powers who could plant false visions, contaminate evidence, lead investigations astray.

"You think they have someone like me working for them?"

"I think they have people like all of us working for them, willingly or otherwise." Blake squeezed my hand. "Kate, whatever you saw, whoever placed that vision in your mind, it wasn't me. I give you my word."

I studied his face, looking for deception, for any sign he was lying. But all I saw was sincerity, concern, and something deeper that made my chest tight.

"Okay," I said finally. "I believe you."

Blake's smile was radiant with relief. "Thank you."

As we left the museum, heading toward what would likely be the most dangerous mission of our lives, I found myself thinking about Lisa's visions. She'd seen me fighting to escape, seen someone trying to help me, someone who cared more than he should.

Looking at Blake—at the determined set of his shoulders, the protective way he scanned for threats, the gentle strength in his hands—I began to understand what Lisa had seen in her dreams.

And for the first time in years, the future didn't seem quite so frightening.