Page 50 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
Deliberate. Dangerous.
“Stay sharp.” Jenna’s voice carries from her cell, deliberately casual despite the undercurrent of exhaustion.
Boot steps echo down the corridor before anyone can respond. Not the usual shuffling gait of morning guards but the precise rhythm of Malfor’s personal security team.
The cell doors unlock simultaneously, the now-familiar magnetic thunk preceding the guard’s barked commands.
“Out. Line up.”
They grab Stitch first, roughly, shoving her against the wall. Her expression remains neutral, but her eyes track everything—guard positions, weapons, the slight disruption in their usual routine.
My guard digs his fingers into my arm hard enough to leave bruises, marching me forward to stand beside Stitch. The back of my neck prickles with warning. Something’s wrong. The tension in the air tastes metallic, sharp enough to cut.
“What did you do?” The words barely carry between us, lips barely moving.
Stitch’s eyes flick toward mine, then away. “Took a chance.”
No time for more as we’re marched down the now-familiar route toward the labs. Left turn, right turn, left again. With each step, the guard’s grip tightens on my arm. With each turn, more security personnel appear in the corridors, faces tense beneath tactical visors.
Dr. Elkin waits outside the lab door, shoulders hunched beneath his lab coat, fingers working nervously at his collar. His eyes meet mine with something that might be pity or might be fear.
“Inside.” He steps aside, revealing the lab beyond.
The usual space has transformed overnight. Additional monitoring equipment crowds the workbenches. Two armed guards stand at each terminal. Three men in suits I’ve never seen before pore over printouts and screens. And at the center of itall, Malfor stands with his back to the door, perfectly still, hands clasped behind him.
“Miss Collins.” He doesn’t turn, voice pitched low and controlled in a way that sends ice water through my veins. “Your colleague has been quite busy.”
He pivots, smiles tightly with those cold eyes. “Did you know about her little project? Were you part of it?”
“I don’t?—”
“Don’t insult us with denials.” He gestures toward a monitor where lines of code scroll past, sections highlighted in angry red. “Three hundred and seventeen lines of rogue code. A beacon, buried in our security protocols. Designed to broadcast our location on a very specific receiver frequency.”
My heart stops, then restarts at twice its normal speed. Stitch tried to signal Guardian HRS. A desperate gamble using the very systems Malfor forced her to secure.
One of the suited men approaches Malfor, speaking in low tones. Malfor’s expression doesn’t change, but something hardens in his eyes. He turns to the nearest guard.
“Take them all to the courtyard. Now.”
The guard’s grip shifts from painful to bruising. Dr. Elkin steps forward, hand half-raised.
“The project timeline?—”
“Will be adjusted.” Malfor doesn’t look at him. “Some lessons require demonstration, Doctor. You of all people should understand that.”
They drag me back through the corridors, past Stitch. Our eyes lock for one fractured second, and I read the message there:Worth the risk.
When they throw us back into our cells, it’s only for minutes. Just long enough for the guards to collect the others. Rebel’s face has gone pale, her arm clutched protectively against her chest. Malia trembles. Mia keeps her face blank. Jenna catches my eyeacross the cellblock, a question in her expression. I shake my head slightly.
Not now. No way to explain safely.
The cell doors slam open once more.
“Out. Courtyard. Now.”
Sunlight hits with a blinding force after days in fluorescent hell. The courtyard blazes white as the tropical sun is reflected off the concrete and metal surfaces, instantly causing sweat to bead on my skin. Gulls wheel overhead, screeching freedom we can’t reach.
They’ve arranged a semicircle of guards around a central post—metal, about seven feet tall, with restraints mounted at the top. Beside it stands a small table with objects I don’t want to identify.
