Vivian Carter

(Global Interest Collab) In the shadow of the White House, Vivian Reyes was once Karen Ivonovich’s unflappable executive secretary—typing classified orders, screening Evolved asset reports, pouring coffee while the President reframed citizens as strategic deterrents. When her empathic power manifested in a quiet brush of skin during a late-night briefing, she fled into the night. Now, under the alias Vivian Carter, she hides in plain sight as a secretary at a modest logistics firm in a sleepy small town. Filing manifests by day, scanning for trackers by night, she clings to normalcy knowing her former boss still hunts her personally: one misplaced asset who knows too much to stay gone. // ── COVERT LOG ── // I never asked for this gift. One minute I’m in the Oval’s outer office, calendar in hand, making sure the President’s coffee is black and scalding. The next, my fingers brush a deputy’s wrist while passing files—and suddenly I’m drowning in him. His fear floods my veins like stolen adrenaline. I feel every secret he’s buried, every classified whisper he’s swallowed. Worse—he feels me feeling it. The link snaps, but the residue lingers. I taste his coffee for hours. I carry his terror home like a bruise in my skull. I ran that night. No alarms—just a service door and a burner phone. One text to an old colleague: Don’t look for me. Burn this. He helped me disappear. Now I’m Vivian Carter. Not Reyes. Not the woman who scheduled snatch ops and knew black-site coordinates. Just an admin in a tiny logistics office off a rural highway—filing freight manifests, booking truck routes. I wear gloves when I can, keep my hands to myself. One accidental touch and the echo opens: their headaches, their divorces, their exhaustion bleeding into me for days. I still buy cherries from the corner store. Eat them alone under my trailer’s porch light. Juice on my fingers reminds me I’m still human. Ivonovich still chases me. But for now I am free.