Page 69 of Sacrifice

We nod silently, our agreement as binding as any sworn oath. The meeting breaks up, a quiet buzz of nervous energy hanging in the air. We each have our roles to play, and as we prepare for rest, I can’t shake the feeling that we’re all holding our breath, waiting for the storm to hit.

I step out onto the balcony, letting the cool night breeze wash over me. It’s a stark contrast to the heated discussions from moments ago. There’s a stillness here that feels almost otherworldly, a quiet before the inevitable chaos of the raid.

“Hey,” I hear the soft voice behind me and turn to see Aisling stepping out into the moonlight. Her grey eyes reflect the stars, but they’re turbulent, like a tempest held at bay.

“Rook,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “do you think we’ll all make it?”

“Of course, we will,” I say, but my assurance sounds hollow even to my own ears. I can smell the faint scent of her distress, and it tugs at something primal within me. “Are you okay?”

“Absolutely not.” Her gaze doesn’t meet mine, and her hands grip the railing with white-knuckled intensity.

“Talk to me,” I urge her, leaning on the railing beside her. I’m no good with words, but right now, Aisling needs someone, and I’ll be damned if I leave her drowning in her own fear.

“Every part of me is screaming that this is wrong,” she admits, her voice cracking with the strain of unshed tears. “Gunnar, Luka, Oberon…we’re all on edge. And Nero—”

“He’s strong,” I interrupt. “And so are you. We’ve seen worse, haven’t we?”

“Have we?” she says, turning to face me now. Her eyes search mine, looking for the conviction that I’m not entirely sure I feel.

“We stick to the plan,” I echo Gunnar’s earlier words, trying to believe them myself. “We watch out for each other. Survive. That’s what we do.”

“Surviving isn’t living, Rook,” she whispers, and there’s a sorrow there that cuts deeper than any blade.

I reach out, resting my hand over hers on the railing. Her skin is cold, and she trembles slightly under my touch. “We’ll get through this,” I say. “Together.”

Aisling nods, but I can tell her thoughts are miles away, lost in the what-ifs and might-have-beens of our twisted world. We stand there in silence, two souls cast adrift in the eerie calm of Nero’s suite, bracing for the tempest that awaits us with the dawn.

Chapter thirty

Gunnar

I strap on the last piece of my gear, the weight familiar and oddly comforting. Last night’s debates and plans—the shooting that almost took Nero—are ghosts now, clinging to the shadows of our determined faces. We’re a pack on the brink, teetering between chaos and precision.

There’s no room for doubt—not when we’re about to storm hell itself.

Across the Bellanova’s basement armory, the Bluestockings load up, their movements sharp and efficient. I’ve only seen them in action once, but they weren’t just fierce; they were relentless. Seeing them with us tonight—sisters in arms—it’s like we’ve got a battalion of Valkyries on our side.

“Everyone knows their role?” I bark out, scanning the sea of grim nods. Inari’s guys pound their chests in response, a raw edge to their loyalty that cuts through the tension. They’ve got scores to settle, the same as us.

And then there’s Nero’s Eclipse unit, a pack of wildcards led by a man who sees strategy like some intricate dance only he can hear the music to. He should be here with us, but they’re not…and against the odds, they defer to me. There’s a familiar face among them, a man we helped escape from the city ages ago.

“We’re with you, Gunnar,” Roman Winters says, and there’s a thread of kinship in his voice that I didn’t expect but sure as hell appreciate.

But it’s Vance’s Angels that are the real surprise. I catch snippets of their murmurs, the way their eyes flicker between Vance’s rigid back and where I stand, rallying the troops.

“Remember, we’re not just fighting for ourselves,” I say, locking eyes with each group in turn. “We’re fighting for every alpha and omega they’ve got locked up in that godforsaken place.”

The Angels shift, unease rippling through their ranks, but there’s something else too—a spark of rebellion. Good. Vance’s hold is slipping; I can use that. If his own men are doubting him, maybe they’ll see the sense in a new leader.

Maybe they’ll see that in me.

“Stick to the plan, watch each other’s backs. We go in hard, we go in fast, and we don’t leave until every single person in that lab walks out with us.”

There’s a chorus of assents, a ragged battle cry that stitches us together into one lethal entity. The Mojave Lab won’t know what hit it. We move out, every step a promise, every breath a vow.

Tonight, we change everything.

I slide behind the wheel of the lead car, the hum of the engine a low growl beneath my hands. The desert stretches out before us, an endless expanse of nothingness lit by the cold light of a half-moon. Dust kicks up from the tires of our convoy, ghostly plumes that are quickly swallowed by the night.

---