Page 46 of Echos and Empires (After #3)

Chris moved beside him, always two steps ahead, directing their path with an unyielding focus.

They rounded a corner, and Bash’s heart clenched at the sight—the door labeled as William’s cell stood just paces away, thick with guards.

Fire blazed within him, every impulse screaming to get there. To his brother.

They were on them in seconds, a whirlwind of aggression and precision.

The men had barely turned at the sound of gunfire before Bash was on them, relentless and unrestrained.

His awareness dissolved into pure action, each shot fired pushing him closer to their goal.

The threat thinned, bodies hitting the ground in quick succession until none remained standing.

Physically bruised but nothing to what raged inside him, Bash surged toward the door.

Chris didn’t wait for instructions; he was already at the keypad, fingers working with cool efficiency. Bash covered him as more guards descended upon them—a last wave of resistance that tore through Bash with a furious intensity. The memory of losing William once already fueled his every move.

“You got it?” Bash’s voice was ragged but fierce over the carnage.

“Almost,” Chris replied without looking up, undeterred by the chaos surrounding them.

Bash fired again and again until the gun clicked empty in his hands. He ditched it and finished off the last few men with fists as unstoppable as bullets. Then there was silence—brief but heavy—before Chris shot at the lock, leaving them no backup if it shorted out and didn’t open.

The lock disengaged with a metallic clang.

Bash shoved past Chris to yank the door open.

And there he was.

William.

It hit Bash like a physical force, seeing him there in that small room, alive and breathing but so much like his own darkest memories that it twisted something deep inside him. William looked up at their entrance, surprise followed quickly by relief on his dirt-streaked face.

“Go!” Chris ordered as he pulled William roughly from his seat and ushered them both toward freedom.

But Bash wavered for a split second at William’s side, unsettled by how real this moment was after all they’d gone through—by how close they’d come to losing everything again.

A deep-seated fear tried to drag him back into its depths but couldn’t compete with the raw determination overtaking him now.

“We’re getting out,” Bash said fiercely to William, to himself—an ironclad promise—and sprinted into another hive of alarms and chaos and escape.

The alarms were a relentless wail that mingled with Bash’s pounding heart as he and Chris, with William in tow, fought their way toward the exit.

They were in the middle of the storm, every moment a battle against the flood of guards and the threat of failure.

The situation was brutal and unforgiving, but Bash didn’t falter.

His aggression fueled him, pushing him past the point of exhaustion, past the point of fear.

They had to get out, and they had to get out now.

The world narrowed to the urgent, terrifying push to escape.

Guards closed in from every direction, weapons drawn, eyes intent.

Bash’s breath came hard and fast, matching the frantic rhythm of the alarms. The noise was a constant, invasive presence, a reminder that they were outnumbered, outgunned, and out of time.

But Bash’s resolve was unyielding, his refusal to give in as fierce as the chaos surrounding them.

He fought with a desperate, primal intensity, every movement driven by the need to survive, the need to protect.

Each step was a gamble, each turn a new and perilous threat.

Bash could feel the fatigue creeping in, the heavy drag of his limbs, the raw ache in his chest. But he wouldn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop. His focus was unshakeable, a sharp and jagged edge that cut through the chaos, cut through the fear.

William was with them, bruised but alive, and that was all the fuel Bash needed to keep going.

The way out seemed impossibly far, impossibly out of reach, but Bash pushed forward, refusing to let the doubt take hold.

He didn’t look back, didn’t dare to see how close they were to being overwhelmed.

Instead, Bash let the adrenaline carry him, let it propel him through the fight.

His fists were raw and bloodied, his muscles screamed in protest, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t waver.

Violence was a familiar companion, one that he knew too well, one that left him unsettled and raw.

But it was also the thing that got him through, the thing that wouldn’t let him quit.

It drove him, haunted him, but above all, it kept him alive.

Bash’s anger and fear were a volatile mix, a fuel that burned through him with reckless abandon, but there was something else beneath it all, a determination that wouldn’t die, wouldn’t fade.

Chris’s presence was a steady, unwavering force beside him, a promise that they’d make it out.

They fought as one, a synchronized battle against the tide of guards that flooded the compound.

The odds were against them, but their commitment to each other was absolute, a bond that held fast in the chaos.

As they neared the exit, the alarms seemed to grow louder, more insistent.

A cruel taunt, a brutal reminder of the stakes.

But they didn’t stop. They couldn’t. Bash could taste the air, sharp and cold as it filled his lungs, a promise of freedom that was so close, so real.

The world around them blurred into a frenzy of noise and motion, a nightmare they couldn’t wake from, but one they refused to succumb to.

Their escape was narrow, harrowing, but it was an escape.

The compound erupted in chaos behind them, a cacophony of alarms and shouts and desperate, angry noise.

The sudden quiet of the night was disorienting, a shock to Bash’s system.

He staggered a step, the adrenaline leaving him shaky, breathless.

But his resolve never wavered. They had made it out, but the danger was far from over.

He looked at Chris and William, saw the exhaustion and relief and determination etched into their features.

They needed to regroup, needed to plan. Bash felt the turmoil inside him, a violent storm of emotions that left him unsettled, uneasy.

But his determination was as fierce as ever, an unyielding fire that pushed him past the doubt, past the fear.

“We need space between us and them,” Chris said, his voice rough but sure.

“Then we call Alex.” Bash nodded, felt the resolve solidify inside him.

The chaos and violence had taken their toll, but they hadn’t broken him.

Not this time. Not yet. He gave Chris a hard, determined look, and they set out, ready to face whatever came next.

Alex shoved another bag into the trunk, the sound echoing in the stillness like a gunshot.

The urgency was thick around him, pressing in, threatening to suffocate.

They had to move fast. There was no time to think, no time to plan.

Just act. The situation had gone from dangerous to impossible, and Alex could feel the weight of it settle like lead in his stomach.

Emma moved in a haze, her steps slow and uncertain, while Liam cursed louder and more often than Alex had ever heard before.

He was worried, and he wasn’t the only one.

It was bad enough he’d hotwired a truck meant for medical emergencies. They were going to steal it, trash it, and hurt those who might otherwise need it.

Save ourselves. Worry about everyone else after.

The pressure mounted and Alex felt it in every rushed movement, every frantic breath.

They were leaving everything behind, everything they’d fought so hard to build.

His heart was a relentless, stuttering beat against his ribs, a constant reminder of how precarious things had become.

They weren’t just running, they were running scared.

The unknown was a dark and looming presence, one that threatened to swallow them whole.

And it was Alex’s fault. He knew it. He could feel it twist inside him, a guilty knot that refused to be untangled.

He should’ve skipped work instead of giving Will the instructions. Should have gone himself.

He watched Emma, the way she moved like she was underwater, slow and disoriented.

It set his nerves on edge. He should have been able to fix this, should have seen the danger coming.

Instead, they were fleeing, their carefully constructed lives unraveling with each passing second.

It was all wrong. Alex’s hands shook as he tossed another bag into the car, the fear and guilt and frustration combining into a volatile mix.

He needed to keep it together, needed to hold on until Chris and Bash returned with William.

Until they had a plan. until the world righted itself.

Liam’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and raw. “This is fucked,” he said, shoving gear into the back seat with more force than necessary.

Alex nodded, unable to find words that would ease the strain, ease the pressure.

It was a shared frustration, a shared fear.

The tension between them was palpable, electric.

It threatened to break them, to split them apart at the seams. But they didn’t have a choice.

The danger was real, and it was close. Too close for comfort.

“Emma,” Alex called, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to reach through the fog that seemed to surround her.