Page 237 of Fractured Allegiance

I shift a little on the seat, tugging my now changed shirt tighter. He notices. Something flickers in his eyes, and he looks back to the window. Nothing is said, but it sits between us anyway.

The city outside fades into abandoned warehouses and industrial skeletons. The further we go, the fewer cars on the road, the more graffiti crawling across walls, old paint peelinglike burned skin. Broken windows stare down at us, hollow and blind.

No one speaks. No one cracks a joke. The only thing moving faster than the SUV is suspicion itself.

The SUV pulls off the main road into an industrial graveyard. Rows of rusted containers lean like toppled dominoes, weeds splitting cracked concrete.

Bellamy looks dead.

The kind of dead that makes your skin itch, like something’s waiting underneath the silence. The warehouse squats against the cracked pavement, its windows blacked out, the steel door welded over with a newer lock.

Rust runs down the sides of the building like dried blood. No lights. No hum of machines. No signs of anyone alive inside. Just a building that looks like it’s been abandoned for decades.

That’s the trick.

Elias kills the engine, the silence slamming harder than the brakes. For a moment no one moves, like we’re waiting for something to announce itself.

“Spread out,” Elias says finally, his voice even. “Two angles. Jax, Ren, you circle left. Jori, you’re with me on the right. Ward—” his eyes cut toward Silas “—you keep her breathing.”

My teeth grit at that. I don’t need babysitting, for fuck’s sake. Yet I don’t argue, not with all their eyes flicking to me… not with Drazen’s shadow hanging over this place like a blade.

The doors creak when we open them. The air outside tastes like rust and old oil, heavy enough that it sticks to the back of my throat. Our boots crunch over gravel as we fan out. Jax and Ren lumber left, already muttering to each other.

Elias stops beside me as the others fan out, pressing something cold and heavy into my palm. A Glock, compact, the grip worn smooth from use.

My fingers close around it automatically, muscle memory older than my time with Drazen. "Thanks."

" Don't hesitate." He moves off before I can respond.

Silas's eyes track the exchange, his jaw tight, but he doesn't comment. The weight of the gun feels both foreign and familiar—like slipping back into skin I'd tried to shed.

I slide the Glock into the waistband at the small of my back, the metal cold against my skin. My hand rests there for just a moment, memorizing the weight, the angle.

This time, I'm not going to be helpless.

Elias keeps right with Jori at his flank, both of them quiet, deliberate. That leaves Silas and I walking the center line.

His hand hovers near his weapon, but his eyes stay sweeping—roof, windows, corners. Mine do too. Years with Elias taught me the same habits. We don’t talk, not until we reach the edge of the building.

“This stinks of something fishy,” I mutter, my discomfort palpable. My stomach is in knots.

“Everything Drazen touches stinks,” Silas says. He glances down at me, just a flick, but it’s enough to catch the hard line of his jaw. “Stay behind me.”

The words scrape. “I don’t do behinds.”

He almost smiles—almost. “I will, if you don’t get shot, sweetheart.”

I want to bite back at him for the moment he chooses to flirt with me, but Elias’s voice cuts over the comm before I get a word out, static rough in my earpiece. “Clear right. Nothing yet.”

“Same left,” Jax adds, breath loud enough to sound like he’s sprinting, though we’ve barely started.

“Keep your eyes up,” Elias orders. “We’ll sweep to the front and regroup.”

We move closer to the steel doors, the building looming larger with every step. My skin prickles. Too still. No birds, no traffic hum. Just the wind scraping rust against metal.

Silas pauses, crouches, presses two fingers to the dirt near the door. When he straightens, his eyes are cold. “Tracks. Fresh ones. Big vehicle. A couple sets of boots.”

“How fresh?” I ask.