Page 55 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Faron

T he lights flickered.

Once. Twice.

Kash and I locked eyes.

“That’s new,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder like it still hurt to move. We’d been down too long. Starving too long.

The hallway buzzed with radio static… and then—silence. Thick. Wrong.

Cyclone stood slowly, tense as a drawn bowstring. “Something’s happening.”

Even Grayson stirred in the corner, one eye still swollen shut. “You think it’s her?”

“Leila?” I asked.

Cyclone gave a tight nod. “She said, ‘When the lights go out.’”

So we waited.

Five minutes. Ten. My heart thudded so loud it felt like it might give us away.

Then—

BOOM.

The wall behind us shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling. Another explosion ripped through the corridor—closer. A scream echoed. Then another. Alarms shrieked, shorted, and fell silent.

“Move!” Kash barked, slamming his weight against the bars.

They held—until footsteps thundered down the hall.

One guard. Alone. Panicked.

He didn’t even see us until I reached through the bars and yanked him back by the collar. He slammed to the ground hard, head cracking against the floor. Cyclone reached through, yanked the ring of keys off his belt.

We were out seconds later.

No one said a word—we didn’t need to.

We moved. Fast. Low. Quiet.

Smoke clung to the halls like a living thing. Gunfire sounded in the distance, but not close—not yet.

“Armory’s this way,” Kash said, already sprinting.

When we reached it, the door was hanging open.

Inside: weapons, gear, radios. Boots. All of it. As if we’d been expected.

“Tell me that’s a coincidence,” Cyclone muttered, pulling on a vest.

“It’s not,” I said, already loading a rifle. “Leila’s helping us.”

“She better be,” Kash grunted. “If not, we’re dead men dressed for a war we won’t finish.”

A shadow filled the doorway.

Leila.

Blood streaked her scarf. A pistol in her hand.

“We have two minutes,” she said. “Follow me. No hesitation.”

We didn’t hesitate.

She led us through a blown-out wall, into a dry riverbed lined with concrete slabs and wire. We ducked beneath a rusted truck chassis, then down a narrow path half-covered by wreckage.

There it was: an old dirt bike. Covered in branches. And behind it, a battered Humvee.

“Take the truck,” she said, tossing Kash the keys. “Drive east until you hit the river. Someone will be waiting.”

Cyclone stopped. “What about you?”

Leila met his gaze. “I’ll find my own way out. Just don’t waste the time I bought you.”

I hesitated. “Why help us?”

She looked at me, eyes hollow and haunted. “Because once, I loved a man like you. And I never got to save him.”

Then she turned and disappeared into the smoke.

We climbed in.

The Humvee roared to life. The tires kicked up dirt and ash as we tore across the rugged terrain, hearts pounding, free for the first time in days.