The rain had barely dried on their coats when Morgana and Callen returned to their underground refuge. The stolen flash drives lay on the table between them like poisonous fruit. For a long time, neither spoke.
Callen broke the silence. "Do we open them now?"
Morgana nodded. "Whatever Emil wants me to see is on there. We find it, we use it."
---
Decoding the Past
Noor's encryption was as elegant as it was ruthless. Layers of locks peeled away under Morgana's fingers until the screen bloomed with data: personnel files, mission histories, classified images from the very beginning of the agency.
"The agency wasn't built to be a shield," Morgana murmured as she scrolled. "It was built to be a sword. Thirty years ago, they started recruiting the best from every discipline—espionage, linguistics, psychology. The first generation. They called them The House."
Pages of dossiers told a story of a covert organization that had bled and adapted for three decades, invisible in the cracks of governments. Every ghost had a maker.
---
The Director's Rise
Callen leaned over her shoulder as another file opened. This one bore a familiar face.
Adrian Locke.
Ten years younger, but the same piercing gaze. He hadn't been born a director. He'd been a field agent—exceptional, reckless. The records showed his climb: twenty years in the field, Marrakesh as the crucible that scarred him, then a sudden promotion to Director when his predecessor died in a covert op five years ago.
The images that followed showed the truth: he hadn't just led missions; he'd survived them. Alone. Over and over.
Morgana's breath caught as she found one classified memo: Locke recommended for leadership due to his uncanny ability to rebuild operatives broken by the field.
"He built me," she whispered. "And Emil. And maybe everyone like us. We're all pieces of him."
---
The Mole
One drive was different. It held only one folder, and inside it, a single recording. Noor's voice.
> If you're hearing this, it means I didn't make it out. The breach isn't outside. It's inside. Someone with unrestricted access is funneling everything to Emil. I traced it back. It's someone close to the Director.
She paused, as if unsure whether to say the name.
> Morgana, trust no one. Even him.
The file ended abruptly.
Morgana stared at the screen. Her hands felt cold. Noor had died for this message.
---
Tension Between Allies
Callen stepped back, folding his arms. "That's why he wanted us to find these drives. Emil wanted you to see how deep this goes. He's trying to break you from the inside."
"He doesn't have to try," Morgana said softly. "It's working."
Callen's hand brushed against hers, steady and grounding. She looked at him, and for a moment the storm inside her quieted.
---
A Glimpse of Emil's Plan
Another drive decrypted itself automatically, revealing a map. Lines connected cities across Europe, all converging on one place: London.
"He's not finished," Morgana said. "This wasn't just a hit. It's a siege."
"Then we stay ahead of him," Callen replied. "We take this to the Director, and we confront whoever's feeding him."
Her jaw tightened. "Not yet. First, we find Emil's next move. And when we do, I finish this."
---
The Final Choice
On the screen, Noor's final log flickered again. Morgana closed the laptop slowly, the weight of thirty years of ghosts pressing down on her.
For the first time, she felt the true cost of the house she had built her life inside. And for the first time, she wondered whether she wanted to save it—or burn it to the ground.