Page 56

Myall

The first slivers of dawn creep through the cracked factory windows, casting pale golden light across the dust-laden air.

It settles on Ziva’s sleeping face, her skin soft and warm against the chill that still lingers in the concrete.

Her hair, tangled from the night, brushes against my cheek as I hold her, the scent of her bergamot soap mixes with the remnants of sweat and earth.

For just a moment, I let myself savor the warmth of her body, the gentle rise and fall of her chest against mine.

But reality crashes in like a tidal wave.

The air smells of stale metal and the lingering stench of sweat and grime, and I can feel the dampness in the floor creeping into my bones.

For a heartbeat, I wish we could just stay here forever—trapped in this brief moment of peace.

But we aren’t safe here. Not with what’s coming.

Can we really pull this off? Overthrow The Authority? Disable the NeuroMods and break the chains that bind this city to its iron grip? Or are we marching to our doom, the way my parents did?

I’ve often wondered what happened to them after they were dragged away. Are they still alive? Are they out there, waiting for me to fail? Their faces flash before me—so young, so full of hope. It feels like we’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to fall into the void.

I steady my breathing, reluctant to wake her just yet. She deserves this brief moment of peace before everything changes. My fingers trace idle patterns on her back as my mind runs through our plans, searching for any flaw, any weakness that could bring it all crashing down.

Finally, knowing we can’t delay any longer, I press a soft kiss to Ziva’s temple. She stirs in my arms, hazel eyes fluttering open to meet mine.

“Morning, beautiful,” I say, trying to keep the tension from my voice.

A sleepy smile tugs at the corners of Ziva’s lips as she shifts. “Morning,” she replies, nestling closer, shifting the threadbare blanket we’re both wrapped in, making me itch. “Is it time?”

Reluctant to break the moment, I nod. “Yeah. The others will be up soon.”

She sighs, her fingers trailing along my jawline. “Just five more minutes?”

I chuckle softly, even as anxiety gnaws at my insides. “You know we can’t. But when this is all over—”

“When we’re free,” Ziva corrects, her eyes sparking with that familiar defiance that can only be described as simply, Ziva.

“When we’re free,” I echo, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “We’ll have all the time in the world to simply….be.”

We lay there for a heartbeat longer, forehead to forehead, breath mingling in the cool morning air. Then, with visible effort, Ziva throws off the worn blanket and pushes herself up. I’m immediately cold without the warmth of her beside me, goosebumps spreading over my skin in her absence.

“Let’s get this done then,” she mutters, her voice hardening with resolve.

As we rise and start gathering our gear, dressing in our usual drab, gray work uniforms, I can’t help but marvel at her strength.

Where does she find such unwavering conviction?

She’s been through as much as I have, yet she stands tall, like the flames of resistance burn brighter in her than they do in me.

And me? I’m just waiting for the ground to crumble beneath us. The mere thought of something happening to her—makes my stomach churn. It’s like a weight pressing down on my chest, and no matter how deep I breathe, it won’t lift.

“Ziva,” I say softly, catching her hand. “There’s still time to back out, to—”

She silences me with a fierce kiss, her warm body presses against mine as she kisses me hungrily. When she pulls back, her eyes are flashing with a fire I know too well. “Don’t you dare, Myall. We’re in this together, remember? To the very end.”

“To the very end,” I echo, my throat tight with the weight of unspoken doubts. We’re walking into a trap, but we have no choice now.

Please, don’t let it come true.

The weight of what we’re about to do settles over us like a shroud, pressing in on us. But Ziva’s hand finds mine, squeezing tight, and I draw strength from her touch. Whatever happens today, at least we’re facing it side by side.

Together.

The storage room buzzes with tense anticipation as we wake the others and gather our gear. Arden stretches in her pile of blankets, bones popping. Marcus’s bloodshot eyes tell me he didn’t sleep at all.

Ziva’s fingers move quickly over a communication device, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Frequency’s clear,” she mutters, more to herself than anyone else as she packs it into one of the bags. “No sign of unexpected chatter.”

Nodding, I heft a heavy backpack filled with the tools we’ll need to break into the Compliance Monitoring Division. The goal: disable the mainframe.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” I ask, scanning the faces of our fellow rebels.

“Yes.” Arden sighs, rolling her eyes. “Please, stop asking. You’re making everyone nervous.”

As if for emphasis, Liora fumbles with a screwdriver, and it clatters to the floor. Tariq grabs it first. “Sorry,” she says, snatching it back and shoving it into the bag.

Jorel, our maintenance insider, gives a terse nod. “I’ve memorized every twist and turn of those tunnels. I’ll get us where we need to go.”

We file out of the storage room, and I catch Ziva’s eye. There’s a flicker of something—fear, maybe?—before it’s replaced by steely determination. I want to reach out, to offer some words of comfort, but now isn’t the time for sentimentality.

We slip out of the factory, the pre-dawn air crisp against our faces as we make our way down the alleyway. The maintenance tunnel entrance looms before us, a gaping maw ready to swallow us whole. I take a deep breath, steeling myself to enter into the stale, musty tunnels beneath the city.

“Alright, let’s do this.”

As we descend into the tunnels, the dim emergency lighting casts everything in an eerie blue glow.

The faint dripping of water from a pipe punctuates the silence, its irregular rhythm a constant reminder that we’re not alone down here.

The air grows thick with dampness, clinging to my skin like a second layer.

With every step, the tunnel seems to close in on us, the walls pressing tighter, the air growing heavier. Every footfall echoes too loudly, every breath too sharp, too alive. I try to swallow the knot in my throat, but it only tightens, a warning I can’t ignore.

“Left here,” Jorel says. “Watch your step—there’s a grate coming up.”

Ziva’s hand brushes against mine in the darkness.

“You okay?” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the constant dripping of the pipes.

I nod, not trusting my voice. The weight of our mission—the risks, the stakes—threatens to crush me. I attempt to distract myself by thinking about the world Ziva painted for me—a place where we could have a home with a flourishing garden, filled with sounds of our children playing and laughing.

That’s the future I am determined to fight for.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I whisper back, as much to convince myself as her. “Just thinking about where we’re going to build that house you wanted.”

Ziva’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Don’t forget the garden,” she whispers back.

I suppress a chuckle. “I won’t forget to build you your garden,” I murmur, feeling a comforting warmth radiate through my chest as Ziva effortlessly soothes my frayed nerves.

The tunnels stretch endlessly before us, a labyrinth of shadows and echoes. Every footstep feels like a thunderclap, every breath a siren. I can sense the nervous energy radiating from our group, a palpable tension that threatens to choke us.

“Hold up,” Jorel hisses suddenly, his hand shooting out to stop us.

We freeze, hearts pounding, the air suddenly thick with the scent of sweat and fear.

I feel the prickling sting of moisture on my upper lip as the first bead of sweat forms, slipping down my face.

In the distance, heavy boots click sharply against the metal grating, deliberate and methodical.

“Security patrol,” Ziva breathes, her eyes wide in the dim light. “We need to hide.”

Scanning our surroundings frantically, I spot a narrow maintenance alcove. “There,” I whisper, gesturing urgently. We squeeze into the tight space, pressed against each other, barely daring to breathe.

The heavy footsteps grow louder, voices drifting toward us.

“…increased security…”

“…Regent Colvin’s orders…”

Increased security?

Did they suspect something? Or was this just The Authority’s response to our data leak?

Ziva tenses against me, and I know she’s thinking the same thing.

As the patrol passes, I catch a glimpse of their uniforms through a gap in the pipes.

Standard Authority Enforcers, but their weapons look upgraded. My stomach twists in a knot.

Do the upgraded weapons mean they’re after us?

Once the danger has passed, we emerge from our hiding spot.

“Fuck that was close,” I mutter, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice and failing, badly.

Ziva’s hand seeks mine in the darkness. “We knew it wouldn’t be easy,” she whispers. “But we’re almost there.”

After what feels like hours of creeping through the tunnels, avoiding patrols, and battling our own mounting fear, we finally reach our destination.

The access point to the Compliance Monitoring Division’s sub-basement looms before us, a heavily reinforced hatch that represents both our greatest hope and our greatest danger.

“This is it,” I say, keeping my voice hushed as we gather around the hatch. “Once we’re through, we can’t turn back.”

I meet each of their gazes—determination and fear in their eyes. Ziva’s eyes lock with mine, a silent understanding passing between us. Whatever happens next, we’re in this together, until the very end.

“Ready?” I ask, my hand hovering over the access panel.

The moment stretches, taut with possibility and peril. Then, as one, we nod.

With trembling fingers, I insert Jorel’s stolen key into the access panel. The mechanism whirs softly, then, with a satisfying click, the hatch unlocks.

“We’re in,” I murmur, disbelief and exhilaration blending in my voice.

As we crawl through the hatch and pile out into the sub-basement, the reality of our situation hits me like a physical blow. We’re inside the very heart of The Authority’s stronghold in our city. Adrenaline surges through me, the salty tang of sweat stinging my lip.

This lower level brings back memories of the detention center’s sub-basement—the cold, hard cement floors and the assorted pipes hanging from the cracked ceiling.

“Remember,” I caution, my eyes scanning the dim room, searching for the stairwell access door, “we know this place, but we can’t afford to get cocky. No one do anything stupid.”

Ziva nods, her expression focused. “I’ve memorized the patrol schedules, but we should assume they’ve changed some routines.”

Murmuring Ziva’s name, my eyes finally catch sight of the access door we need to pass through. “You’re up first,” I tell her.

Ziva turns her head in the direction of my gaze and gulps.

“Okay,” she breathes, walking towards the door on the opposite end of the sub-basement. She runs her fingers along the access panel beside the door, its small screen casting a dim red light.

She yanks off her backpack, plugs in the dataport, and her fingers fly over the screen as code flashes to life. The access panel emits a faint beeping sound moments before the door clicks open.

Jarek quietly mutters a curse as the rest of us let out sighs in relief.

Glancing at the others, I note their tense shoulders. “Are we all set?”

Several nod in response, while others confirm with murmurs.

We slip through the doorway, moving like ghosts through the facility—our footsteps barely audible on the white polished floors.

Every shadow seems to hide a potential threat, every distant sound a harbinger of discovery.

I lead the way, drawing on my intimate knowledge of the building’s layout.

As we approach a junction, I hold up a hand, signaling the others to stop. A security camera sweeps back and forth at the end of the corridor. I close my eyes, counting the seconds of its rotation in my head.

“Two more seconds and it will be pointing the other way,” Marcus’s gravelly voice says through my earpiece.

“Now,” I whisper, and we dart across the open space during the camera’s blind spot.

My heart hammers in my chest, loud in the stillness. It feels like we’re walking into a trap, that at any moment alarms will blare and we’ll be surrounded. But we’ve come too far to turn back now.

Ziva squeezes my hand, her touch steadies me and reminds me why we’re here.

Marcus’s next reply comes, “You’re good.” He continues, “I’m currently working on setting up the feedback loop that will make you invisible to their cameras.”

“Thanks Marcus,” I say, nodding to the others. We press on, my heart racing so fast that I fear it will escape from my chest. With Ziva’s help, we enter the stairwell and hurry up two flights of stairs, emerging into another sterile looking corridor.

“This is the floor,” Ziva whispers from behind me as we quietly make our way down the long corridor.

Someone’s boot squeaks on the polished floor, making me grit my teeth at the small noise.

The control room door looms ahead at an intersection, a fortress of technology guarding the heart of our oppression.

The control room is off-limits to everyone except those with the highest level of security clearance. It’s a place none of us have ever been allowed to enter before, tucked away in a secluded area of the facility that is strictly reserved for authorized personnel.

My pulse quickens as we approach the heavy metal door, a mix of excitement and dread coursing through my veins. This is it. The culmination of all our planning, all our risks.

“There,” I whisper, pointing to the sleek panel beside the reinforced door. “The biometric lock.”

Arden steps forward, her eyes glinting with that defiant spark, the one that always says she’s got this. “My time to shine,” she murmurs, before suddenly halting.

The scuff of a boot on the polished floor reaches my ears seconds before an Enforcer comes into view. His black uniform and visor stand out harshly against the white walls of the corridor as he continues his steady pace.

Shit, what to we do now?