JOLIE
The restraint gives with a sound that’s more felt than heard, fibers snapping one by one under tension until the pressure finally breaks enough for me to wrench my hand free. The sudden release throws my balance for a second, my shoulder jerking as blood rushes back into my fingers in a sharp, burning wave, and I grit my teeth through it instead of shaking it out right away.
“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath, dragging the rest of the binding loose and letting it fall to the ground. “That wasn’t gonna hold.”
The tunnel air presses in close around me. I roll my shoulders carefully, testing the range.
“You don’t get to leave me behind,” I murmur, more grounded now, less anger and more focus settling in where it needs to be. “Not like that, not again, and definitely not when we’re this close.”
I glance down the tunnel in the direction Hrask went, tracking the path in my head, mapping where he’ll be by now, how far ahead he’s gotten, and how quickly things can go wrong once he hits the interior layers of the base. The thought pressessharp enough to cut through the lingering adrenaline, but I don’t follow it, not yet, because chasing him blind doesn’t fix anything.
“No,” I mutter, turning back the way we came. “You don’t fix this by reacting, you fix it by taking control.”
Dadams.
The name lands heavy and immediate, slotting into place like it’s been waiting there the whole time, and I move before I can second-guess it. My steps pick up speed through the tunnel, controlled but urgent.
The vertical shaft comes into view again, fractured light spilling down in thin, uneven lines, and I don’t slow as I reach it. My hands catch the edge, muscles tightening as I pull myself up, and the strain hits immediately, ribs locking hard enough to steal my breath halfway through the climb.
“Not now,” I hiss, forcing the motion through it as I hook an elbow over the edge and drag myself the rest of the way up.
I flatten against the surface as soon as I clear it, pressing into shadow as movement passes just a few meters away. Boots scrape across metal plating above, sharper and cleaner than anything in the tunnels, and voices carry in low, controlled tones that echo just enough to distort direction.
“…confirmation’s locked,” one of them says.
“Command override?” another asks.
“Direct. Both flagged. Orders are containment and retrieval.”
I angle my head slightly, catching the shift in their positions.
“Yeah,” I breathe under my breath. “You’re looking for us, and you’re not being subtle about it.”
The patrol line moves past, their formation tighter than it should be for standard rotation, and I wait until the gap opens before I move. The transition from shadow to motion happens fast and clean, my body slipping across the exposed section of corridor and into the next pocket of cover before anyone turns their head.
“Still works,” I murmur, settling briefly behind a support column.
The air up here feels different—colder, sharper, processed—and it carries sound in a cleaner way that makes every movement riskier if I’m not careful. I shift my weight slightly, tracking the next patrol pattern, then move again, angling deeper into the interior where the structure tightens and the security shifts from broad sweeps to controlled points.
Dadams won’t be out in the open.
Not with this level of lockdown.
I move through the corridor with deliberate precision, blending into the edges of movement where I can, breaking from it where I have to, my focus narrowing as I scan for anything that stands out against the pattern.
There.
Two guards outside a sealed door, their stance rigid, their attention fixed inward instead of outward, which tells me everything I need to know.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That’s him.”
I slow as I approach, adjusting my angle to come in from the side instead of straight on, keeping my profile low and my movement tight.
“…he’s not cleared to leave,” one of them says, his voice carrying just enough for me to catch it.
“Doesn’t matter,” the other replies. “Orders are?—”
I don’t let him finish.
