Page 280 of Fractured Allegiance
Elias reloads, the click of his magazine the only sound. “He’s close.”
Lydia looks toward the end of the hall. There’s a single steel door, heavier than the others. No label, no window. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “That’s him.”
I step closer, hand brushing her arm. “You sure?”
She nods. “He likes control. That’s the only room in this place that still has it.”
Elias glances between us. “We go together. He’s not walking out.”
We move toward the door. Every step feels heavier, as if the ground itself is warning us back. The door’s keypad is still lit, numbers flickering weakly. Elias gestures for Lydia. She cracks her knuckles, crouches, and works the panel open. Her handsmove quick, wires stripped, contacts crossed. Sparks spit out, and the lock clicks.
The door swings open.
The room beyond is clean. Too clean, one could say. No blood, no dust, no debris. A table sits in the center, a single chair behind it. On the wall opposite, monitors flicker with surveillance feeds from the yard.
Drazen stands in the corner, hands clasped behind his back, as if he’s been waiting. His suit is immaculate, his expression calm. A man built entirely from premeditation.
“Welcome,” he says. “You’ve made quite a mess of my house.”
Elias raises his gun. “We’ll redecorate with your blood.”
Drazen’s smile widens. “Predictable. You always were.”
He looks at Lydia then, and his tone softens. “And you. I expected more hesitation. It seems Elias’s brand of loyalty rubs off.”
Lydia’s knife catches the light again. “No, Drazen. I just finally learned where mine belongs.”
The air thickens.
For a heartbeat, no one moves. Then he laughs. “Good. Then let’s see if you’ve earned it.”
He raises his hand, snapping his fingers.
The wall behind him slides open, and what’s left of his men pour through—four, five, six of them, armored, automatic rifles raised.
Elias doesn’t wait. “Down!”
The room erupts.
Chapter 38 – Lydia - Burn the Archive
The air collapses into total chaos, and Elias caught it in time enough to give us the warning to duck.
The first bullet tears through the edge of the table, shattering wood into splinters that bite into my arm. The second whistles past my ear and punches into the wall. Drazen’s voice disappears under the roar of gunfire, replaced by the mechanical percussion of rifles and the echo of boots hammering against concrete.
Elias moves first. He’s a blur of motion: crouching, rolling, firing twice before I even find my aim. Both his shots hit home, two of Drazen’s men folding where they stand, their weapons clattering against the floor like punctuation marks on a death sentence.
I drop low behind the table, drag my knife from my thigh sheath and reach for the pistol tucked into the waistband of my jeans. My heart thunders so hard it almost drowns the rest of the noise. Beside me, Silas shoves a chair aside, his movements sharp and precise. His control is obscene. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. Every squeeze of the trigger is calculated violence.
A voice shouts from somewhere behind, voice cracking but steady enough to draw attention. “Left side! They’re circling!” Must be one of Elias’s reinforcements, covering us from behind.
Elias pivots instantly, his gun barking in rhythm. One more body hits the ground.
I duck under the edge of the table and sweep out, firing twice. The recoil punches through my arms, the smell of powder sharp in the back of my throat. A man drops to his knees in front of me, his weapon half-raised before Silas finishes him witha single headshot. Blood sprays across the monitors, painting Drazen’s immaculate world in the color it deserves.
He’s still standing in the corner, watching the slaughter like it’s theater. Calm. Detached. Hands still clasped behind his back. The bastard doesn’t even flinch when his last guard falls.
The silence that follows is worse than the gunfire. It hums in my bones, heavy and wrong. I keep my pistol trained on him, finger tight against the trigger.
