Page 60 of Damian
Focus, Robinson. One thing at a time.
We hit the server room door—steel, reinforced. Cyclone slapped a charge onto the lock, hands moving so fast his fingers blurred. “Thirty seconds,” he panted.
We stacked against the wall, weapons ready. Sweat trickled down my spine, my pulse a steady drum. I thought of Morgan’s last words before I left, her eyes fierce and desperate.Come back to me.
I would. But not until I had the data that would tear Luthor’s empire apart.
The charge beeped. Cyclone shouted, “Clear!”
The door blew inward.
And all hell broke loose.
81
Morgan
The safehouse walls felt too thin.
Ruby and I sat side by side on the sofa, the pistol heavy in my lap, our ears tuned to every sound outside. For the past hour, it had been nothing but the steady whisper of wind through the pines, the occasional crack of a branch. But something in the air had shifted, thickened, like the woods themselves were holding their breath.
Ruby whispered, “They’re not coming back tonight, are they?”
“They will.” My voice was sharper than I meant. I forced myself to soften. “Damian always comes back.”
She studied me, her eyes searching. “You really believe that?”
“Yes.” I swallowed hard. “Because I have to.”
Silence pressed down again. I thought of him in the dark, moving through shadows with that calm, lethal precision. I thought of the way he’d kissed me in front of everyone, like hiding wasn’t an option anymore. And I thought of the man at the door last night, promising he’d be back.
The floor creaked by the back hallway.
Ruby stiffened, her fingers clawing into my arm. “Morgan—”
I lifted the pistol, my heart pounding, the sound ricocheting in my ears. “Stay behind me.” How could they find us in this new safehouse?
We moved slow, careful, toward the kitchen. The shadows stretched long across the floor, the air heavy with silence. I pressed my back to the wall and peered around the corner—
Nothing.
Just the empty kitchen. Just the hum of the fridge. Just my own pulse, thundering like gunfire.
I let out a shaky breath. Ruby’s hand trembled against mine. “False alarm,” I whispered, more for her sake than mine.
But even as I said it, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was out there, circling, waiting for the perfect moment to strike again.
I pulled Ruby closer and whispered, “We’re not opening that door for anyone but Damian.”
And I prayed to God that when the knock came, it would be him.
82
Damian
The blast shoved the steel door inward, smoke curling into the hall. I pushed through first, rifle raised, senses sharp.
The server room blazed with light—rows of towers humming, fans whirring, cables snaking across the floor like veins. And men. Too many men. They’d been waiting for us.
