Page 15 of Red Dreams

As the remaining eight scattered for cover, I lunged forward, rolling behind a stone pillar. Chunks of concrete sprayed as they peppered my position with blind fire. Waiting for the telltale click of empty magazines, I vaulted over the pillar's remains and closed the distance.

That’s not to say they didn’t get some shots in. Grunting, I force my wounded leg to bear more weight and head deeper inside.

The foyer is cavernous, all gleaming obsidian and gilded accents. A stark contrast to the rusted, salt-sprayed exterior of the building. And eerily silent now, the gunfire echo fading into memory.

I scan for movement, for the telltale twitch of finger on trigger, but only my reflection looks back at me from the polished black walls. Dozens of Kadens, all bloodstained and wary.

“Talk me through this,” I say into the mic in my mask.

“Sure thing,” Ethan says in my ear. “There should be a path directly ahead to the dance floor. You’ll cut through there and find the private stairs to the VIP suites.”

I hum my acknowledgment and creep forward, using a pistol to part the black velvet curtains directly in front of me. When nothing darts out and shoots to kill, I slink through the fabric and into the main area.

The dance floor's empty—likely cleared for my arrival—but the strobes continue to pulse against the black lacquered floor, painting everything in stuttering shades of blue and red.

Adding to the sensory overload is a sudden blast of music, the bass pounding against my bones. I don’t jump in surprise at the intrusion, but it drowns out any chance of detecting enemies. I stick close to the edges, scanning in every direction.

It’s much too deserted.

“Ethan, where's the staircase?” I growl into the mic.

Static crackles in my ear, Ethan's voice breaking up. “Should be ... northeast corner ... signal's getting...”

The line goes dead. I tap my earpiece. “Ethan? Do you copy?”

Silence.

A cold dread settles in my gut. They're jamming the signal. Cutting me off.

I quicken my pace. Every instinct screams this is a trap, that I’m being herded, but I have no choice. Layla’s here somewhere, and I’ll be damned if I leave without her. The flashing lights throw jagged shadows across the walls, morphing them into phantom assailants with each strobe.

“Ethan, I need eyes,” I say into the mic.

Nothing.

The music swells, distorted notes clawing at my eardrums. I rip out the useless earpiece, accepting that I’ll be doing the rest alone.

Gritting my teeth against the pain lancing through my leg and joining in with my shoulder, I press onward, pistols at the ready. The stairs should be just ahead, according to Ethan's last transmission.

Just as the northeast corner comes into view, the music cuts out abruptly, plunging the dance floor into a silence as jarring as the previous cacophony.

I pause, every muscle tensed, expecting an ambush. But the only sound is the soft scuff of my boots against the lacquered floor as I approach the ornate double doors sealing the stairway to the VIP suites’ gilded carvings of mermaids. Once Ipush through the doors, soft, ambient lighting emanates from recessed sconces shaped like seashells, casting an eerie blue-green glow across the curving, black-carpeted staircase. Each step downward is a battle against the fire in my thigh and the ache in my shoulder, but I clench my jaw, forcing the pain into a distant corner of my mind.

The second my boot hits the first landing, I scan the dimness for movement. Nothing. Just closed doors leading to unknown rooms. Suites for Greycliff’s elite and their visitors to indulge away from prying eyes.

My focus doubles back when I spot the last door on the left standing ajar. I stare at it while lowering my guns. An invitation or a trap?

Probably both.

During my killing spree to get to this point, I didn’t think of Cassie. I couldn’t. But here, standing on the precipice of witnessing who she’s become and what she might’ve done to Layla, my feet turn to lead. On a silent inhale, I step toward the open door, my heart just another weight to contend with. My fingers tighten against the triggers of each pistol ever so slightly.

I can’t kill her.

Even the thought shortens my breath. When I broke into the Siren’s Call, I had one motivation, a single-minded goal:Save Layla.

The how of it, however…

Save her.

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