Three days later, Louis sat propped against hospital pillows, laptop balanced on her knees despite doctor's orders about rest and recovery. Her shoulder throbbed with persistent ache that painkillers only dulled, but her fingers moved across keyboard with familiar determination.
"You're supposed to be resting," Ral observed from the visitor's chair where he'd maintained near-constant vigil since surgery.
"I'm supposed to be breaking the biggest intelligence story of the decade," Louis corrected without looking up from her screen. "Rest can happen after deadline."
The hospital room had transformed into makeshift command center—Chen video-conferencing from FBI headquarters in Washington, Rebecca coordinating legal strategy from her foundation's offices in The Hague, and Marcus appearing v
