Page 38

My lungs burned. My body screamed. I didn’t stop until I was deep into the backstreets—halfway between adrenaline and breakdown.

Yanking the balaclava off, I hunched behind a crumbling stone wall, gulping air. My fingers trembled around my pistol.

That could’ve gone so wrong.

One bullet off, one wrong glance, and I could’ve been the one pulling their bodies out of the dirt.

I pressed my head back against the wall, exhaling hard.

That’s when I heard it.

Footsteps .

I froze.

Soft. Deliberate. Close.

Too close.

My hand crept toward my sidearm again.

I didn’t breathe.

Did Dragon follow me?

Fuck.

I turned, every nerve ready to fire—but the breath caught in my chest when I saw who it was.

Dylan.

Relief rushed in for a single, fleeting second—until I saw his face.

And the gun.

He had his helmet off, balaclava pulled down, his expression completely bare—and completely wrecked.

Anguish. Conflict. Rage.

All carved deep into his features.

“Dyl—” I started, but the word died in my throat.

He was pointing the muzzle straight at my chest.

I lifted my hands instinctively, palms up, fingers spread.

“Brother—”

“No,” he snapped, his voice sharp as a blade.

Behind him, I saw movement—Zane and Ghost stepping into the mouth of the alley. Both froze as soon as they saw what was happening.

“Dylan…” I tried again, voice low, steady. “Brother, listen—”

But this time, it wasn’t his words that cut me off.

It was the sound.

A harsh, guttural roar tore from Dylan’s throat, unfiltered and animal.

His eyes were wild—frantic. Like he wasn’t fully there. Like he was unraveling in real time.

He looked feral.

My heart pounded. Not from fear of dying—but from knowing how close he was to breaking completely.

“Dylan,” Ghost’s voice came, quiet, almost a whisper. “Stand down.”

I didn’t take my eyes off Dylan.

But I was grateful.

Grateful that Ghost hadn’t drawn his weapon. That he wasn’t barking orders. That, at least for now, he wasn’t believing I was a traitor.

I just hoped that would still be true in the next thirty seconds.

Because Dylan looked ready to end this—one way or another.

“I’m not rogue,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

The gun didn’t move.

Dylan’s eyes stayed locked on me, unblinking, hollow. His finger didn’t even twitch on the trigger—it was already resting there. Solid. Sure.

“Dyl,” I said again, stepping slightly closer. “I never betrayed you. I never betrayed any of you.”

Nothing. Not a flinch. Not a word.

“Look at me, brother,” I pleaded, desperation cutting into my voice. “You know me. You know me.”

Still nothing. His jaw was locked, his breathing ragged, chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold something in—or force something out.

I took another slow step, eyes flicking briefly to Zarek and Zane. No movement from them. Waiting. Watching. Trusting me to de-escalate this.

I turned back to Dylan, lowering my voice, trying to reach him through whatever fog he was drowning in.

“I didn’t turn. I am playing their game to protect you. To protect Amelia. Zarek. Logan. Everyone. I didn’t have a choice. Please—”

And then, finally, he spoke—a breath more than a voice, his face twisted in something between anguish and surrender.

Just a broken whisper.

“What have they done to us?”

I didn’t even have time to answer.

Crack.

The gunshot echoed down the alley like a thunderclap.

Something exploded in my chest.

I staggered back, a strangled sound leaving my throat as white-hot pain ripped through my shoulder—just beneath the collarbone.

The bullet missed the vest.

Fuck.

Blood immediately poured through the layers of my shirt, soaking fabric in seconds. My vision went hazy as I dropped to one knee, trying to catch myself.

I looked up.

Dylan was frozen, still pointing the gun—but his face was empty. Eyes wide, glassy. Catatonic.

Zarek rushed forward, grabbing Dylan’s weapon and wrenching it out of his hands before he could even blink. Dylan didn’t resist. Just stood there, dazed, like he wasn’t even in his body.

“Kabir!” Zane was already beside me, dropping to his knees.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding bad—hold on,” he said, tearing a compression pack from his vest and slamming it against the wound.

I sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, the pain radiating like fire.

Zane’s hands were quick, firm, practiced—but I couldn’t stop staring at Dylan.

He still hadn’t moved.

And I… I couldn’t believe it.

Dylan had shot me.

He’d shot me.

I was still staring at Dylan while Zarek tried to coax him out of his daze, gripping his shoulders, whispering his name like it could anchor him.

Then my earpiece crackled.

Dragon .

“Cipher, you were out of range. What’s your six?”

Panic spiked through me. I looked at Zane, shaking my head urgently. My fingers scrambled for the mute.

“I’m muted,” I whispered. “You need to go. Now.”

Zane’s jaw clenched. “No.”

“They’re coming,” I hissed. “I’ll be fine. Just leave.”

“Kabir…” His voice cracked. His eyes glistened—anger, guilt, and something softer beneath it. Fuck.

“Please.”

I barely managed the word.

Then I squeezed my eyes shut, braced for the lie, and unmuted.

“Dragon,” I said, voice strained, shaky, broken, “I’ve been shot. Blackthorn tried to extract me. They’re gone. I’m bleeding out. Call for rescue.”

Zane stared at me, chest rising and falling too fast. Then… a slow nod. Silent.

Hope. Regret. Pride. All bleeding together in his eyes.

I mouthed ‘ go’ one last time.

And then everything tilted.

My vision blurred, the edges dimming like a dying screen.

My eyes fluttered shut—just as I heard the boots.

Heavy. Reluctant. Retreating.

All I had to do was wait.

Bleeding.

Breathing.

Alone.

While my family left me behind—to be saved by the enemy.