Page 41 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

"Go," I command, low and final.

The word shreds the last thin veil of hesitation clinging to any of us.

I push forward, shoulder brushing the edge of the crate, and the corridor beyond swells into a narrow artery of metal and flickering light.

Footsteps hammer behind me: Kinley, quick and calculated.

Mara, lighter, less certain. I don’t look back.

If I do, I will slow down. And if I slow down, we die.

The corridor veers hard left, and I press my back to the wall just as the distant echo of boots multiplies ahead. No eyes on us yet. I gesture once. Kinley takes the corner with his weapon raised. He leans and fires. A man screams. I count two seconds, then dive forward.

The first guard is still upright, staggering. I grab his collar, yank him into the wall, and crush his windpipe with a brutal blow with my elbow. His body folds with a pathetic groan. I don’t stop.

The second one, too slow to raise his gun, catches the heel of my boot in his jaw. He drops. I drag him by the vest, throw him into the doorway, and wedge the edge of a nearby crate into the access panel. A makeshift barricade. It won't hold long.

Mara reaches me, breath ragged, cheeks flushed with panic. I see the whites of her eyes. Not fear. Calculation. She’s adapting faster than she realizes.

"They’re sweeping in from both sides," Kinley reports, tapping his wristpad. "We have maybe ninety seconds before we’re pinched."

I nod once, grab Mara’s arm, not gently, and pull her down the branching corridor.

"Trust me?"

She exhales like a blade pulled from a sheath. "I already do."

We run.

Metal flooring rattles beneath us, each footfall too loud, each breath an audible flare in the silence. Overhead, the facility hums like something alive and hostile, its belly twisting around us. This isn't just architecture. It's a maze designed to manipulate panic.

I chose the purge facility for its size, its brutality, and its symbolic weight. But now it knows we’re inside, and Volker is smiling somewhere, watching.

We reach the junction. Kinley slaps a code into the wall. The door doesn't open.

"It’s locked out," he hisses. "Manual override only. We need to cut the seal."

"Cover us," I say. He peels back, weapon raised.

I drop to my knees, pry open the panel, and start slicing wires. Mara crouches beside me, silent, holding a flashlight steady with trembling fingers.

"What happens if you cut the wrong one?" she asks softly.

"The door doesn't open. Or everything on the other side explodes."

She doesn't flinch, she just watches me. I hear the beat of her fear but also the rhythm of her trust. It's not obedience. It’s defiance wrapped in quiet loyalty. It's the thing I feared the most: she’s still thinking for herself.

The last wire sparks. The door groans.

Then it slides open.

The hallway beyond is darker. Thicker air. Fewer exits. I know this section. Maintenance wing. Less surveillance. But fewer places to vanish if we’re caught.

I sweep in first, clearing corners, stepping over old detritus left behind from some abandoned upgrade. Broken lights dangle from the ceiling like snapped teeth. Kinley closes the door behind us and tosses a shock mine at the base.

"That won’t hold long," he mutters.

I tap into the central node again. The whole grid is shifting. They're not chasing us randomly. They're shifting heat signatures. Herding us.

Mara steps beside me. "He knows you."

I nod.

"Then why hasn’t he killed us already?"

I study her. The blue glare from the screen throws sharp lines across her face. "Because it wouldn’t hurt enough."

She stiffens.

"He wants you alive, Elias. To watch. To doubt yourself."

Her voice is steel. Quiet, brittle steel. And I know she’s right. Volker wants to erode me. Not destroy. Not yet.

I tighten my jaw. "There’s a bypass stairwell to the old security floor. I installed it years ago. He won’t be able to lock it remotely. If we make it there, we can get topside access. But it’s narrow. We can’t go three-wide."

Kinley shrugs. "Then don’t get shot."

"That’s the plan," I deadpan. Then to Mara: "Stay directly behind me. If I go down, don’t stop."

She meets my gaze with something colder than fear.

"If you go down, I don’t keep going."

The words strike deeper than she knows.

The stairwell groans under our weight. The concrete feels damp. Old. Forgotten by every system except time. The overhead bulbs flicker weakly, casting sickly pools of light.

Halfway down, my knee screams from an old fracture.

I don’t slow, but my breath catches. A jagged line of pain lances across my upper arm, warm liquid soaking through the fabric of my sleeve.

A round must’ve clipped me back in the corridor—I’d felt the pressure, but not the heat until now. Mara notices. Of course she does.

"You’re bleeding."

"Later."

"Elias."

"Keep moving."

She doesn’t argue. But I feel the change in her. The tension isn't fear now. It’s control slipping through fingers.

We reach the bottom. Kinley edges forward, gun raised. He checks the next corridor. Empty.

"Clear. For now."

I lean against the wall. Briefly. Just to get my balance. My vision narrows for a second. I blink hard.

Mara steps in front of me, places a hand on my chest.

"You can't break now. Not here."

Her palm is warm.

"I won’t."

"Liar."

I grab her wrist, not hard. Just enough to feel her pulse. It’s fast. But steady.

"I’m not the one who’s changing."

Her breath catches.

"You don’t belong in this," I say. "You never did."

"You don’t get to decide what I belong in."

That stops me. A beat of silence between us, thick with things neither of us dares to admit.

Then Kinley calls back: "Ready. We move now."

We push forward again, into a corridor lined with steel-paneled walls. Overhead, a vent hums with artificial air, stale and metallic. At the far end, a large access door marked with an old clearance code. Two guards posted. Another four nearby. They haven’t seen us.

"We’re fucked," Kinley mutters.

"No," I say. "We divide their focus. I draw fire. You circle left with Mara."

"That’s suicide."

"I’m fast. You’re smarter. Use it."

I move before he can object.

I step out from cover, gun raised. I fire first. Two go down before they fully register.

Then the hallway erupts.

Bullets snap past. Alarms flare. I roll into a side niche as return fire scorches the air. Kinley grabs Mara, pulls her left through a low service tunnel. One guard follows. I track him through the vents and fire again. Blood paints the wall.

Then pain. White-hot. My shoulder burns.

I hit the floor, clutching the wound. Not deep. But messy. The blood makes my grip slippery.

Then I hear her.

"Elias!"

Mara.

She's running back. Kinley shouts behind her, but she doesn't stop.

She slides beside me, hands on my face.

"We have to go," she whispers.

"Not yet."

"Elias, please."

Her voice breaks. And something in me does too.

I get up and we stagger to the door together. I slam the override code. The steel barrier opens.

An elevator shaft. Old, narrow, barely functional. I shove Mara inside. Kinley follows. I hit the panel. It groans to life.

The doors seal.

Silence.

Only the distant echo of gunfire fading.

My knees buckle. I hit the floor.

Mara kneels beside me, both hands bloody. Her voice is shaking.

"You idiot."

I manage a smirk. "Takes one to love one."

Her eyes brim, but she doesn’t look away.

I reach up, fingers grazing her jaw.

"You should've left me."

"Too late."

The elevator shudders upward, each floor passing like a beat of some slow, inevitable heart.

Above us: temporary safety.

Below us: Volker’s trap still bleeding in the dark.

Beside me: the only thing I can't protect from myself.

Mara.

And I’m not sure if I’m rescuing her.

Or dragging her further into the place I belong.

Where the ties don’t just bind.

They burn.

A burst of static crackles in my ear, sharp and sudden. My comm earpiece flares to life. Mara tenses beside me. Kinley stiffens.

"Elias," comes the voice. Crisp. Dry. Lydia.

I press a blood-slicked finger to the side of my head. "We’re en route. Minor injury. Exit compromised. Give me status."

"Heard gunfire from my post. Your comms went silent. I considered extraction." Her voice is calm but lined with judgment. "Did you forget you had backup, or were you just too busy bleeding?"

"Focus, Lydia. What’s outside?"

"Minimal patrols at the south lot. Two vans. One rover circling every six minutes. I assume Volker thinks you're still enjoying the hospitality suite."

"He knows we're moving. He's toying with the pace."

"Then you’ll need me to clear the rear field." A pause. "How bad is the injury?"

"Manageable. Get into position. We’ll be topside in four."

Lydia clicks her tongue. "Understood. But next time, Elias, don’t pretend you don’t need saving. It’s getting predictable."

The line cuts.

Mara looks at me, unreadable.

"She’s still here?"

I nod. "She’ll cover our exit."

"She doesn’t like me."

"She doesn’t like anyone."

"She must be...worried."

I almost smile. "That’s just how she says ‘hurry up.’"

Kinley snorts softly. The elevator dings.

We brace.

And whatever’s waiting at the top—we meet it together.

The elevator doors part with a sluggish whine, revealing a corridor lit in harsh fluorescents that flicker overhead like failing nerves.

The antiseptic brightness is jarring after the dim corridors below. I blink fast, adjusting. It’s not quiet up here. The muffled chaos has followed us—boots pounding somewhere close, the shrill crackle of radios distorted by concrete and steel.

Kinley steps out first, gun raised. He gestures left, then right, clearing the space in swift, trained arcs. I haul myself upright, ignoring the fiery rip in my shoulder, and guide Mara with one arm around her waist as we move.

This level is colder. Empty. There are no bodies here, but everything feels touched—searched, sorted, staged. A faint, artificial scent lingers in the air. Not quite bleach. Not quite blood. A smell I know too well.

"This way," Kinley says, urgency low and vibrating.

We push through another door, entering a wide service hall. Here, crates line the walls—sealed boxes labeled for chemical transport and biohazard containment. Most are likely just props now. Psychological warfare, wrapped in cardboard.

A sharp crack echoes behind us.

Mara flinches. My gun is up before I breathe again.

From the far end of the hallway, a voice cuts through the sterile air. Smooth. I know it.

"You always had a flair for the dramatic, Elias."

Volker.

He steps out from a side corridor, unarmed, hands in the pockets of a tailored coat that doesn’t belong in a place like this. His hair is neatly slicked back. Unbothered. Like he walked off a boardroom floor and into his own personal hunting ground.

"You brought her here," he says softly, almost with reverence. "I thought you might keep her caged a bit longer."

Mara’s breath is sharp beside me.

"Don't speak to her," I say.

He chuckles. “Still so possessive. It was always your flaw.”

Kinley’s weapon shifts half a degree, his eyes narrowing on Volker. For a moment, the air thickens between them—betrayal hanging like smoke.

"Kinley," Volker says, his voice dipping low, laced with dark amusement. "I see you've chosen your side. How...disappointing."

Kinley meets his gaze, unflinching. "It was never a choice. You were always the monster here."

Volker's smile is a blade. "We'll see about that."

"There are more guards coming," I warn. "It's going to be bloody, messy. You should be elsewhere; you don't want your fancy suit ruined."

Volker tilts his head. "I am exactly where I need to be. And so are you. You’re inside the box now. I don’t need to lock the doors. You closed them for me."

Something shifts behind him. A subtle movement—two figures rounding a hallway, just shadows for now.

I pull Mara behind a crate. Kinley fires first, dropping one. I take the second. A third appears, gun raised. My shot catches him in the throat. He collapses against the wall with a wet thud.

Volker hasn’t moved.

"Run," I tell Mara.

She hesitates. Eyes locked on Volker. Then she bolts, Kinley close behind her, covering her retreat.

As Kinley vanishes down the corridor with her, Volker calls after him, his voice echoing like a promise in the dim light: "We will meet again, Kinley."

I stay.

Volker doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink.

"She’s already halfway ruined," he murmurs. "You're just finishing what Caleb started."

That breaks something clean in me.

I surge forward. He retreats only one step, raising a hand not in defense but in command.

"No," I snarl. "Not this time. We're not playing your games. You’ve already taken too much."

His smile is small. Pleased. “Then ask, Elias. Whatever it is, you’ve earned the answers.”

"Why Vale? Why Toma? Why dig through my entire life just to put me on your leash? Surveillance, leaks, data drops—what’s the endgame here?"

His eyes glitter, but there's no warmth in them. "You already know. You just haven't accepted it. You're not a liability to erase, Elias. You're a legacy to reclaim."

"You used Jori. Is he even aware of what you’ve turned him into? Does Vale know he’s still alive?"

He shrugs. "Vale knows only what he needs to. Jori’s loyalty is absolute now. As yours once was, Eidolon."

My jaw tightens. "Don’t call me that name."

"Eidolon," he says softly. Like a prayer. "Do you think you can outrun what you were made to be? All I’ve done is light the path back to it."

More guards spill in, armed. I raise my gun, firing. One down. Two. The hallway turns red.

Volker steps back into the smoke. "You can't kill the mirror, Elias. Only delay the reflection."

I shoot again, but he’s gone.

Then I’m running. Back the way Mara and Kinley went.

Through smoke and screaming metal. Through blood. Through my own hate.

I find them at the loading dock door. Lydia’s voice in my ear.

"I’m above you. Rooftop angle. Covering the exit. Tell Kinley to blow the charge."

I bark the command. He plants the device.

Mara yanks the dock lever. The massive door rumbles upward.

I grab her hand as the evening air pours in, cold and wet and alive.

And we run.

Behind us, the charge ignites.

Volker’s trap collapses inward, smoke and fire spitting from the mouth of the facility like it’s choking on its own teeth.

We vanish into the evening.