Page 148 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

This was madness. A few months ago, I’d been terrified of everything, jumping at my own shadow. Now I was on a suicide mission, breaking into a military facility to rescue the man who’d always protected me. Who would die for me in a heartbeat.

Who was currently in an operating theatre, a scalpel in his skull.

My pulse roared in my ears as I reached the final corridor. The door at the end was unmarked, but according to the schematics I’d downloaded, this was it.

Kit, we’re coming for you.

I burst through the door without hesitation.

The room spread before me, spy-film worthy—dozens of monitors covering every wall, showing camera feeds from throughout the facility. A single chair sat in the centre, surrounded by keyboards and control panels.

And standing wide-eyed beside that chair, a steaming cup of coffee frozen halfway to his lips, was a soldier who looked barely older than me.

He blinked at me like I was a hallucination.

All I had was the element of surprise.

And a taser.

I used both.

33

Kit

The surgeon’s blade bit deeper into my neck, and I gritted my teeth against the horrible tug of pressure. Blood trickled down, warm against my skin. The restraints held me fast as they worked, and all I could do was stare up at those blazing surgical lights and try not to think about what they were about to shove into my brain.

“Steady now,” the surgeon murmured. “Almost through the subcutaneous layer.”

Priya stealing my mug to read my tea leaves. Late night chess sessions with Seb. Felix’s arms wrapped around me on my bike, holding me like he never wanted to let go.

A door slammed open with such violence that the sound ricocheted off the theatre walls.

My eyes snapped towards the entrance—

Rory.

Rory, right here.

No. Surely not.

Yet there he was—standing in the doorway, wrapped head to toe in thick ski gear, a rifle gripped in his gloved hands.

The surgeon’s hands stilled against my neck.

“What the—”

The first gunshot exploded through the room, deafeningly loud in the enclosed space. A guard crumpled beside me, blood spraying across the pristine floor. The surgeon jerked away from my neck, his scalpel clattering to the ground.

Another shot. Another body dropping.

Moira’s voice cracked like a whip through the chaos. “Rory!”

My heart lurched.

No. No, no, no—he can’t be here. Not Rory.

He advanced into the room with his rifle raised.