Chapter 60 Scottish Highlands
Safe House - 11:23 PM (Local Time)
The safe house was a converted stone manor on the edge of a loch, surrounded by miles of empty moorland. Isolated. Defensible. Beautiful in a stark, lonely way.
They'd set up a medical room in what had once been a library monitors and equipment brought in from Cole Enterprises' emergency stores. Adrian was settled in the best bedroom, still weak but stable.
I should have been sleeping. Dr. Ashford had given me a room next to Adrian's, with a comfortable bed and blackout curtains.
Instead, I stood at the window overlooking the loch, my arms wrapped around myself, watching moonlight ripple across dark water.
"Can't sleep either?"
I turned. Marcus stood in the doorway, two mugs in his hands.
"Tea," he said, offering me one. "Dr. Ashford said caffeine is limited during pregnancy, so it's herbal. Chamomile."
I took the mug gratefully. "Thank you."
Marcus moved to stand beside me at the window. For a moment, we just stood in silence, watching the night.
"How long have you known?" I asked finally.
"Known what?"
"That Emily Grant wasn't my real name."
Marcus was quiet for a long moment. "I suspected after we found the journal. The way the entries were written they felt rehearsed. Like someone performing the role of an FBI agent rather than actually being one." He glanced at me. "But I wasn't certain until Dr. Morrison found that file."
"You didn't tell me."
"I wasn't sure it mattered," Marcus said. "Real name or cover name you're still the person who tried to save Adrian. You're still the one carrying his child. The label doesn't change that."
"Doesn't it?" I said bitterly. "How can I help him find his truth when I don't even know mine?"
"Maybe," Marcus said carefully, "you help each other. Both of you are trying to figure out who you are underneath the lies. Maybe that's something you can only do together."
I wanted to believe that. But doubt was a poison spreading through my thoughts.
"What if I'm not the hero of this story?" I whispered. "What if I'm another victim? Or worse what if I was part of it from the beginning? What if everything I think I remember about wanting to save Adrian is just another layer of programming?"
"Then we figure that out too," Marcus said firmly. "But Emily or whoever you are I've been watching you for the past week. The way you fought to get to Adrian in Switzerland. The way you held his hand through that video. The way you protected him during the escape even though you're pregnant and terrified. That's not programming. That's choice. And choice is what makes us human."
Tears burned in my eyes. "I'm so tired of not knowing who I am."
"Then let's find out," Marcus said. "I've got contacts. People who owe me favors. I can dig deeper into the FBI files, find out who you were before Emily Grant. But it's going to take time."
"How much time?"
"Days. Maybe a week." He paused. "Can you wait that long?"
Could I? Could I stand here in this stone house, helping Adrian reconstruct his shattered identity, while my own remained a mystery?
A sharp pain suddenly lanced through my abdomen.
I gasped, the mug slipping from my hand and shattering on the floor.
"Emily?" Marcus grabbed my arm. "What's wrong?"
Another cramp, stronger this time, radiating from my lower stomach. "I don't something's wrong—"
"Dr. Ashford!" Marcus shouted toward the hallway. "Now!"
The cramping intensified. I looked down and saw something that made my blood run cold.
Blood. Not much, just spotting on my pajama pants. But enough.
"The baby," I whispered. "Oh God, the baby"
Dr. Ashford burst into the room, took one look at me, and immediately shifted into emergency mode. "Get her to the medical room. Carefully."
Marcus lifted me, carrying me down the hall as I tried not to panic, tried not to think about losing the one thing in my life I knew was real.
Medical Room - 11:47 PM
I lay on the exam table, trying to stay still while Dr. Ashford performed an ultrasound with equipment that looked far too sophisticated for a remote safe house.
"The Coles don't do anything halfway," Dr. Ashford muttered, reading the monitor. "Even their emergency safe houses have better medical equipment than most hospitals."
"Is the baby okay?" I asked, my voice tight with fear.
"Give me a moment," Dr. Ashford said, moving the ultrasound wand carefully across my abdomen.
The room was silent except for the soft sounds of the equipment.
Then a sound. Fast. Steady. Impossibly beautiful.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump.
"That's the heartbeat," Dr. Ashford said, relief evident in his voice. "Strong and healthy. Around 160 beats per minute, which is perfect for seven weeks."
I started crying. Not from fear this time, but from overwhelming relief.
"The baby's okay?" I managed.
"The baby's fine," Dr. Ashford confirmed. "What you experienced is called implantation spotting. It's not uncommon in early pregnancy, especially under stress. Your hormone levels are good, the embryo is developing normally, and there's no sign of miscarriage."
"Then why the cramping?"
"Stress," Dr. Ashford said bluntly. "Your body has been through significant trauma in the past two weeks physical, emotional, psychological. The cramping is your uterus reacting to elevated cortisol levels. Not dangerous, but definitely a warning sign that you need to slow down."
"I can't slow down," I said. "Adrian needs"
"Adrian is stable and sleeping," Dr. Ashford interrupted. "What he needs is for the mother of his child to take care of herself. Which means rest, proper nutrition, and significantly less running from armed attackers."
Despite everything, I almost laughed. "I'll try to avoid that in the future."
"See that you do." Dr. Ashford cleaned off the ultrasound gel and helped me sit up. "I want you on bed rest for the next forty-eight hours. Light activity only. No stress, no heavy lifting, no escaping facilities."
"Can I still see Adrian?"
"Yes. In fact, I think it would be good for both of you. But Emily" He paused. "You need to tell him about this. About the spotting. He deserves to know."
I nodded, though the thought of adding more worry to Adrian's already overwhelming burden made my chest tight.
"There's something else," Dr. Ashford said carefully. "While I was examining you, I noticed something. A scar. Small, behind your right ear. Very precise, very professional. The kind you get from neurosurgery."
My hand flew to the spot he'd indicated. I felt it a thin line of raised tissue, maybe an inch long, hidden beneath my hairline.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It means," Dr. Ashford said slowly, "that at some point in your past, you underwent a surgical procedure involving your brain. Given what we know about Project Tabula Rasa, given the sophistication of the memory manipulation" He met my gaze. "Emily, I think you may have been a subject of the program yourself. Long before you became Emily Grant. Maybe even before they perfected the technique they used on Adrian."
The room spun.
Subject Zero. That's what Stirling had said in that overheard conversation we'd never actually heard, just intuited from context and evidence.
"You think I was the prototype," I whispered.
"I think it's possible," Dr. Ashford said. "Which would explain the layers of identity, the fragmented memories, the way your conditioning broke down differently than Adrian's. You weren't just investigating Project Tabula Rasa. You were part of it. And whoever you were before that procedure" He touched the scar gently. "she might be completely lost."