I looked like a stranger.

The uniform I wore felt like a costume from a life I had already left behind.

I drove south on Interstate 95, keeping my speed exactly five miles over the limit.

I could not afford to get pulled over by a state trooper now.

My phone buzzed in the cup holder.

The screen showed an restricted number.

I hesitated, then pressed the speaker button.

“Natalie,” a voice said.

It was not Caroline.

It was Harlan Voss.

His voice was dry, flat, and entirely devoid of urgency.

“Colonel,” Voss said. “You have caused a significant disruption in the northern sector.”

“The northern sector is dead, Voss,” I said.

“Nothing is dead until I say it is,” he replied. “Your mother has already contacted me.”

“She’s trapped in the bunker,” I said. “And the data is gone.”

“The data is never gone,” Voss said. “It is merely misplaced.”

“I have the encryption keys,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “And you are currently traveling south on ninety-five.”

I glanced at the mirrors, searching the dark highway behind me for headlights.