Page 171 of Fractured Loyalties
"Minimal patrols at the south lot. Two vans. One rover circling every six minutes. I assume Volker thinks you're still enjoying the hospitality suite."
"He knows we're moving. He's toying with the pace."
"Then you’ll need me to clear the rear field." A pause. "How bad is the injury?"
"Manageable. Get into position. We’ll be topside in four."
Lydia clicks her tongue. "Understood. But next time, Elias, don’t pretend you don’t need saving. It’s getting predictable."
The line cuts.
Mara looks at me, unreadable.
"She’s still here?"
I nod. "She’ll cover our exit."
"She doesn’t like me."
"She doesn’t like anyone."
"She must be...worried."
I almost smile. "That’s just how she says ‘hurry up.’"
Kinley snorts softly. The elevator dings.
We brace.
And whatever’s waiting at the top—we meet it together.
The elevator doors part with a sluggish whine, revealing a corridor lit in harsh fluorescents that flicker overhead like failing nerves.
The antiseptic brightness is jarring after the dim corridors below. I blink fast, adjusting. It’s not quiet up here. The muffled chaos has followed us—boots pounding somewhere close, the shrill crackle of radios distorted by concrete and steel.
Kinley steps out first, gun raised. He gestures left, then right, clearing the space in swift, trained arcs. I haul myself upright, ignoring the fiery rip in my shoulder, and guide Mara with one arm around her waist as we move.
This level is colder. Empty. There are no bodies here, but everything feels touched—searched, sorted, staged. A faint, artificial scent lingers in the air. Not quite bleach. Not quite blood. A smell I know too well.
"This way," Kinley says, urgency low and vibrating.
We push through another door, entering a wide service hall. Here, crates line the walls—sealed boxes labeled forchemical transport and biohazard containment. Most are likely just props now. Psychological warfare, wrapped in cardboard.
A sharp crack echoes behind us.
Mara flinches. My gun is up before I breathe again.
From the far end of the hallway, a voice cuts through the sterile air. Smooth. I know it.
"You always had a flair for the dramatic, Elias."
Volker.
He steps out from a side corridor, unarmed, hands in the pockets of a tailored coat that doesn’t belong in a place like this. His hair is neatly slicked back. Unbothered. Like he walked off a boardroom floor and into his own personal hunting ground.
"You brought her here," he says softly, almost with reverence. "I thought you might keep her caged a bit longer."
Mara’s breath is sharp beside me.
