Page 195 of Fractured Loyalties

Lydia slings her pack over one shoulder and jerks her chin toward the map still glowing on the console. “Freight elevator’s our best shot. South end, drops straight into the vehicle bay.”

I glance at Elias, reading the unspoken warning in his expression. This is going to get bad before it gets better.

Kinley checks his rifle and moves for the door first. The moment it opens, the heat from the corridor hits us. The air smells of metal and something sharper, like the walls themselves have been scorched. We fall in behind him, Elias in front of me, my fingers hooked into the back of his belt to keep from losing him in the dim.

The hall is narrow, every step carrying us deeper into the belly of the wing. When the first figure bursts from a side passage, the fight is sudden and close. I catch the glint of a blade before I even see his face. Jori freezes for half a second—too long. I slam my shoulder into the attacker, knocking him back against the wall. His arm swings wide, but my grip finds his wrist, twisting until the knife clatters to the floor. My knee drives into his ribs, once, twice, until he crumples. The sound he makes is wet and ugly.

Elias is already moving again, not slowing for the kill. “Stay with me, Mara.”

I kick the knife down the hall behind us and catch up, my pulse hammering. The heat builds with each turn, the low drone of machinery vibrating up through the floor. Ahead, the freight elevator waits, a hulking slab of steel set into the far wall.

Lydia is on it in seconds, her tools sparking against the panel. “Two minutes.”

We don’t have two minutes. The pounding behind us is closer now, echoing through the corridor. Kinley falls back to cover the approach, rifle raised. Jori presses himself against the wall, still breathing too fast.

The panel hisses and the elevator doors slide open. We push inside, weapons still trained on the hall until the doors grind shut. The air inside is close, smelling faintly of oil and dust. I stand near Elias, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes flick down to mine, and for just a second, the noise outside feels far away.

Then Volker’s voice cuts in, deep and unhurried, spilling from a speaker hidden somewhere above us. “Going somewhere, Eidolon?”

Elias doesn’t answer. His knuckles are white around his weapon.

Volker laughs, low and knowing. “You drove here, didn’t you? Thought you’d walk right in and out again. I should thank you for bringing the perfect getaway vehicle. My men will enjoy it.”

I feel Elias stiffen beside me. Our SUV is parked less than fifty meters from the bay. If Volker’s already got men on it, we’re walking into a noose.

The elevator jerks, descending deeper into the facility. My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. I don’t know if it’sdread or anticipation, but either way, it’s thick enough to choke on.

When the freight elevator doors grind open, the vehicle bay is there, waiting, revealing a dim, concrete-walled vehicle bay that smells of exhaust and rust.

The place is stocked with whatever Volker’s people used to shuttle cargo topside. Rows of older sedans and utility vans line one wall, dust coating their windshields, the air thick with stale fuel.

Elias’ gaze sweeps the line of vehicles, sharp and calculating. Kinley moves ahead toward a battered gray sedan, checking under the chassis before pulling the driver’s side door open. “Keys are in,” he calls. “The tank's not empty.”

Maybe it's not much, but hopefully, it’s enough to get us to our own SUV outside the perimeter, hidden beneath brush and rock on the old service road. The real escape is still there, waiting. This is just the bridge to reach it.

Jori hovers near the passenger side, his eyes fixed on the upper levels. Lydia stays close to the rear of the sedan, rifle angled toward the shadows. I keep my hand near the knife tucked into my jacket, my heartbeat drumming against my ribs.

Kinley pauses, scanning the catwalks above. That’s when I hear it—a faint shift of weight, the scrape of a boot against steel. My gaze lifts. A man steps into view on the far railing, broad-shouldered, smirking like he’s been waiting.

“Long way to come just to steal the wrong car,” he says.

Elias raises his chin toward him. “And who the hell are you?”

The man rests his forearms on the railing. “The one Volker sent to make sure you never make it back to yours.”

The echo of his voice clings to the steel and concrete, as if the walls want to remember him. Elias doesn’t flinch. His hand comes up, not toward his gun but in a small motion that sends Kinley circling toward the far stairwell. Lydia adjusts her stance, sighting upward.

“Funny,” Elias says, voice even. “Volker usually sends someone who can make me bleed.”

The man grins wider. “That’s the plan.”

A second shape shifts in the shadows above him, then another. Three in total. They fan out along the catwalk, rifles slung forward. The sedan is now boxed in by elevation and angle.

Elias takes one slow step back toward me. “Get in the car,” he says without looking.

“I’m not leaving you out here.”

His eyes cut to mine, sharp enough to pin me in place. “You won’t be. Drive when I say.”