NovelTrueChapter 1307:
Then the interrogator leaned in, his voice low and sly. “If you want to save that hostage, | will give you a
chance.”
Her breath hitched, her heart pounding. A chance? She stared into his eyes, searching for truth, her thoughts a
tangled storm.
“Pick one of your teammates to die,” he said, his words sharp as a blade.
The command jolted her back to clarity.
Her mind steadied, the pieces clicking into place.
“What do you say?” the interrogator pressed.
“Is this the second evaluation?” she asked, her voice calm. In that instant, clarity surged through her like a jolt.
Her mind, no longer clouded, began stitching the fragments together.
From the beginning, the plan had unfolded with unnerving precision—flawless in execution, almost too perfect to
question.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtYet something did not sit right. If these people were truly the cutthroat criminals they pretended to be—
desperate, dangerous, cornered—why waste ton theatrics?
By now, they should have vanished into the wind, dragging the hostage with them, leaving only blood and
smoke in their wake.
Instead, they lingered. Each second they hesitated only narrowed their window of escape, especially with elite
reinforcements likely converging already. She had voiced the question—carefully, clearly—watching for a flinch,
anything.
And there it was. Just a flicker. The interrogator paused, his eyes sharpening for the briefest instant before
slipping back behind the veil of indifference. But Freya saw through the charade. She eased back, letting the
truth settle over her.
Eventually, he could not keep up the pretense.
Loosening her ropes, he crossed his arms, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “How did you know?” he asked. “The
captain and the others planned this for weeks.”
Freya shrugged, her lips twitching. “Just a guess.”
His jaw slackened. “A guess?” The word was a curse in their world, a reckless gamble.
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He started to speak, but the door creaked open. A man stepped inside, plainclothed, hair mussed, blending into
the shadows like he belonged there. Michael's earlier words about the “hostage” echoed in Freya's mind. This
was him.
He approached, his steps measured, and repeated the interrogator’s question.
“When did you figure it out?”
Freya caught the interrogator’s subtle flinch, the way his posture shifted.
This man was no ordinary “hostage”.
“When he offereda chance,” she said, her voice steady.
He fired more questions, each one probing deeper.
She answered without rend
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The truth sank in. The test was not
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It was about seeing the lie for what it was.
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