Page 106 of Rescuing Rebel

“Copy that.” Walt ushers the Angels down the hall toward freedom while I scurry to my feet.

“Lead the way. Quickly.” With a terse nod, Ethan gestures down the hall.

Relief sweeps through me. I take off with Ethan close behind me. After years of searching, Violet’s trail is finally within reach.

I hope.

Rooms blur past until we finally reachSurrogacy Intake & Assessment.The door hangs drunkenly off one hinge. Inside, file cabinets lay strewn everywhere.

Ethan stands guard at the door while I dig through the mess, shoving heavy cabinets aside and clawing through scattered papers. I don’t deserve his compassion, but I’ve never needed it more than I do now.

I scramble through the overturned file cabinets, tossing drawers and rifling through the jumbled papers. Most are burned or water-damaged beyond recognition. The room spins as panic rises in my throat.

It has to be here.

Frantically, I claw across the floor, shards of glass and metal cut into my palms and knees. Ethan calls my name, voice taut with urgency, but I barely hear him over the roaring in my ears. Only one thing matters now.

When I’m ready to scream with frustration, my fingers close around a partially charred folder, edges curled from a nearby fire. With trembling hands, I pry it open, hardly daring to breathe.

The top page is intact enough to make out key details.

Intake assessment...Violet.

“Oh, thank god,” I gasp raggedly. The rest is burned away, denying me answers about where exactly she was taken, but this crumpled, smoldering page is tangible proof that Violet once walked these wretched halls.

My vision blurs with tears. After years of tormenting dead ends, I hold a piece of my sister in my hands. I press the precious, fragile page to my heart with shaking hands.

“We have to go. Now.” Ethan’s hand on my shoulder pulls me back. His voice holds deep empathy, but rings with urgency.

Blinking away tears, I tuck the file inside my dress and let Ethan pull me to my feet. His hand on my shoulder grounds me through the dizzying storm of emotion. He pulls me up and toward the exit. Toward a future Violet might be proud of.

Toward her child, my niece, or nephew.

THIRTY-NINE

Rebel

The walls pressin on all sides as Ethan and I race through the maze of Haven’s lower levels. It’s a terrifying labyrinth down here—cold concrete corridors with endless identical doors. The air hangs heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid sting of gunpowder.

Up ahead, the muffled sounds of battle echo through the twisting passageways. Ethan’s team must still be embroiled in fierce fighting, judging by the cacophony of automatic fire, screams, and explosions reaching us.

Ethan moves with confident familiarity through the sterile halls, hyper-alert and scanning continuously for threats. I trust him to guide us—he knows Haven’s layout just as well, if not better than I do. Wherever the fighting rages fiercest above, he steers us away into safer territory.

We round a corner, and the overhead lights flicker wildly, threatening to plunge us into darkness. The sounds of slaughter seem to grow louder, creeping closer. My heart hammers against my ribs.

Sensing my fear, Ethan touches my shoulder. “Stay close. I’ll get us out of here.” His steady voice calms my racing pulse. However chaotic the world becomes, Ethan remains unshakeable beside me.

He’swithme.

Hechoseme.

We continue downward, through corroding passages into older, more dilapidated sectors beneath Haven’s sleeker facades. Here, the walls exude menace, stained with dark splotches that look suspiciously like old blood.

A thunderous boom shakes the ground beneath our feet. Cracks race along the grimy surfaces. The stale air fills with smoke and the acrid tang of explosives. Sounds of a raging firefight filter down through the aging concrete above us as if it’s seeping steadily downward.

“They’re bringing this whole place down around the bastard’s ears,” Ethan mutters. “If we don’t hurry, we’ll be buried down here too.”

At last, we reach a sagging metal door secured by a rusty padlock. Ethan shoots it off and yanks the screeching door open, gesturing for me to proceed. “Old drainage tunnels,” he says tersely. “They’ll take us out of here.”

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