NATE'S POV
The Breakroom in the Level 4 Security Hub was the only place on St. Jude's Key that actually felt like a government office. It had the same flickering LED overheads, the same smell of burnt Arabica, and a vending machine that Sophie had liberated from a closed-down NSA site, which dispensed only protein bars and caffeine pills.
It was also the first time the four of us, the CSI's most notorious unaccounted-for assets, were in the same room without a tactical emergency or a digital apocalypse screaming in our ears.
Clara sat at the laminate table, her sling resting on the edge, looking at a stack of printed Whitehall memos as if she were trying to arrest the paper itself. Sophie was perched on top of a server housing, her legs swinging, while Ryan sat in the corner, nursing a cup of tea and looking remarkably like a man who had seen the face of God and realized He looked a lot like Marco Bellini.
