Page 277 of Fractured Allegiance
Lydia stops in front of me. The blade kisses the hollow of my throat, cool and sharp. Her eyes lock on mine, steady, unreadable, but I catch the faintest flicker—a question, buried under her control.
“Make it clean,” Drazen says behind her, his voice smooth as glass. “Or I’ll make you watch while someone else does.”
Elias stands to the side, his gun still at his hip, his expression carved from stone. He’s not going to move yet. This is Lydia’s play. Mara’s hands are clenched white around her arms.
My pulse hammers under the blade. I could say something, could beg her not to, but that would cheapen us both. Drazen would smell the weakness and turn it into blood.
So I don’t flinch. I don’t blink. I give her nothing but truth.
“If you cut me,” I say, low enough that it’s just for her, “you better kill me. Because I’ll never stop coming for you.”
Her pupils flare, her face still as stone. To anyone watching, it looks like she’s considering the strike. To me, it looks like she’s already chosen.
She tilts her head, just a fraction. Then she moves.
The knife slashes down, fast as lightning, but not into me. She pivots, spins, and buries the blade deep in the throat of the nearest one of Drazen’s soldiers behind my shoulder. The man chokes, blood spraying across my chest in a hot arc, his body folding before anyone processes what’s happened.
The yard explodes.
Elias fires, his pistol cracking once, twice, men dropping before they can react. Lydia yanks her blade free, spinning to open another soldier’s stomach with a vicious rip. I fire point-blank into the chest of the man raising his rifle at her, the impact throwing him back into the dirt.
And through it all, Drazen just smiles.
“Kill them all,” he orders.
The floodlights shatter under gunfire. The night becomes a furnace of screams, muzzle flashes, and blood.
I drop to one knee behind the nearest concrete barrier, fire three rounds at the shadows moving along the fence. Onedrops. Two more take his place. Drazen’s soldiers move like they’ve drilled this before—systematic, sweeping lines, each man covering the other’s blind spot.
More vehicles arrive without warning, engines roaring in from the access road beyond the gate. Headlights split the dark, tires grind against gravel, and the first truck slams through the chain link fence like it’s paper. Men spill out—black gear, rifles raised.
Eidolon, the man leading them, calls out, Elias and his men exchange looks with the new reinforcements in recognition as they all join us in the fight.
The balance shifts instantly.
“Push forward!” Elias’s voice cuts through the chaos, clear and hard. He’s moving already, a blur of precision and rage, taking shots with unerring calm. Every bullet he fires lands. Every move means death for someone else.
I move with him, staying close enough that I can track Lydia in my periphery. She’s fast—too fast for the chaos. Her blade catches the light again and again, carving through the mess like she was born inside it. She moves like she’s conducting the storm, not surviving it.
Jax is behind Mara now, keeping her covered. The kid’s trembling, but he holds the line. His shots are messy, erratic, but they count. The sound of gunfire overlaps with shouted orders, the metallic crack of ricochet, the high whine of bullets clipping stone.
I reload. Slide. Snap. Breathe. Move.
Another soldier rushes me from the left, swinging a rifle like a club. I grab it mid-swing, twist, and drive my elbow into his throat. He gags, stumbles, and I shove the barrel under his jaw. One pull. Red mist. Gone.
I don’t even pause. My hand finds Lydia’s shoulder as she stumbles over a corpse. She glances back, and for half a second our eyes lock.
No words. No plan. Just understanding.
We pivot together, back-to-back. I fire at the catwalk above, dropping a man aiming for her. She ducks, slices through another, blood spraying across both of us. The air stinks of copper and burnt powder. My ears ring, but I can still hear her breathing—fast, controlled, alive.
A grenade arcs through the air.
“Down!” I grab her, dragging us both behind a broken slab of concrete. The explosion punches the ground like a hammer, shockwave slamming through my chest. Dirt and glass rain down.
When the ringing clears, Lydia is still under me, her hand gripping my shirt tight. Her mouth moves. There’s no sound at first, but then: “You good?”
I nod. “You?”
