I climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door quietly, not letting it latch completely.

The cabin of the vehicle smelled of cold leather and plastic.

I pulled up Marcus’s secure channel on my tablet.

His face appeared on the screen, lit by the blue glare of his own monitors.

“You made it out?” he asked.

“I’m clear of the perimeter,” I said, my voice tight. “Tell me exactly what Grant did.”

Marcus sighed, rubbing his temple where a faint scar ran into his hairline.

“He went to Judge Henderson,” Marcus said. “A temporary restraining order, signed and stamped.”

“On what grounds?” I asked.

“He submitted your medical file from the agency,” Marcus said. “The redacted version, but with just enough details about your last deep-cover assignment to make you look unstable.”

“The judge didn’t even question it?” I asked.

“Henderson owes Grant’s investment firm three million dollars in unpaid campaign loans,” Marcus replied. “He didn’t ask a single question.”

My grip tightened on the edge of the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.

“So I can’t step foot on my own land without being arrested,” I said.