Emily Lawson was on her knees, her fingers clawing at the thick wool of Tony's coat as she dragged her body forward.
"Call them off, Tony," she wept, the raw desperation in her voice was a physical ache. "Please… I'll do whatever you want. Just... don't kill her."
On the massive, wall-mounted monitor, the live surveillance feed from the hideout remained unflinchingly clear. Mr. Fixer stood under the flickering fluorescent light, his mask obscuring everything but his dead, hollow eyes. He held up a master drive, an encrypted phone, and a handful of secondary recording devices directly up to the lens. Every piece of leverage Emily had used to force a truce was now sitting in the palm of Tony's soldier.
Tony didn't look down at her. He reached across the desk and slid a single sheet of paper across the wood. "Sign it, Emily."
The header stood out: CONSENT FOR IMMEDIATE FETAL DNA EXTRACTION.
