Page 168 of Fractured Loyalties
"The door doesn't open. Or everything on the other side explodes."
She doesn't flinch, she just watches me. I hear the beat of her fear but also the rhythm of her trust. It's not obedience. It’s defiance wrapped in quiet loyalty. It's the thing I feared the most: she’s still thinking for herself.
The last wire sparks. The door groans.
Then it slides open.
The hallway beyond is darker. Thicker air. Fewer exits. I know this section. Maintenance wing. Less surveillance. But fewer places to vanish if we’re caught.
I sweep in first, clearing corners, stepping over old detritus left behind from some abandoned upgrade. Broken lights dangle from the ceiling like snapped teeth. Kinley closes the door behind us and tosses a shock mine at the base.
"That won’t hold long," he mutters.
I tap into the central node again. The whole grid is shifting. They're not chasing us randomly. They're shifting heat signatures. Herding us.
Mara steps beside me. "He knows you."
I nod.
"Then why hasn’t he killed us already?"
I study her. The blue glare from the screen throws sharp lines across her face. "Because it wouldn’t hurt enough."
She stiffens.
"He wants you alive, Elias. To watch. To doubt yourself."
Her voice is steel. Quiet, brittle steel. And I know she’s right. Volker wants to erode me. Not destroy. Not yet.
I tighten my jaw. "There’s a bypass stairwell to the old security floor. I installed it years ago. He won’t be able to lock it remotely. If we make it there, we can get topside access. But it’s narrow. We can’t go three-wide."
Kinley shrugs. "Then don’t get shot."
"That’s the plan," I deadpan. Then to Mara: "Stay directly behind me. If I go down, don’t stop."
She meets my gaze with something colder than fear.
"If you go down, I don’t keep going."
The words strike deeper than she knows.
The stairwell groans under our weight. The concrete feels damp. Old. Forgotten by every system except time. The overhead bulbs flicker weakly, casting sickly pools of light.
Halfway down, my knee screams from an old fracture. I don’t slow, but my breath catches. A jagged line of pain lances across my upper arm, warm liquid soaking through the fabric of my sleeve. A round must’ve clipped me back in the corridor—I’d felt the pressure, but not the heat until now. Mara notices. Of course she does.
"You’re bleeding."
"Later."
"Elias."
"Keep moving."
She doesn’t argue. But I feel the change in her. The tension isn't fear now. It’s control slipping through fingers.
We reach the bottom. Kinley edges forward, gun raised. He checks the next corridor. Empty.
"Clear. For now."
