Page 48 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

She nods, and we press on toward the far end of the walkway. There’s a service hatch there—if the schematics Lydia pulled are right, it leads into a ventilation run we can use to cut across the facility’s spine.

Gunfire still snaps behind us, but the distance grows. And with each step, I make a silent promise: Before this ends, Volker will learn what it means to build a trap for me and leave it standing.

Lydia reaches the hatch first, yanking the locking bar free.

The hinges squeal, and heat rolls out from the narrow passage beyond.

It’s a metal throat, ribbed with ductwork and cables, just wide enough for a single file.

I gesture for Mara to go, Kinley and Jori behind her.

Lydia slips in after them, leaving me to seal us in.

Rounds clang off the walkway’s railing as I shove the hatch closed and twist the locking bar back into place. The sounds from the chamber dull but don’t vanish; Volker’s voice carries faintly through the metal, sharp and certain.

The crawl is tight, forcing us low, each movement deliberate to keep from rattling the ductwork. The air tastes of dust, copper, and the ghost of heated machinery. I keep my focus on Mara’s back ahead of me, the steady rhythm of her crawl telling me she’s holding herself together.

We pass vents cut into the wall, each spilling fractured light from rooms below. At one, I catch a glimpse of Volker’s men sweeping through an auxiliary control space, weapons raised. They’re searching, but not here yet.

“Left turn coming,” Lydia calls back. “Leads to a drop shaft. If we get down it, we can cut them off from the south wing.”

“Do it,” I say.

The duct angles sharply, then opens into a vertical shaft lined with ladder rungs.

Heat rises from the depths, and somewhere far below, a turbine’s steady churn reverberates through the steel.

We start down, one at a time, the hollow clang of boots on rungs swallowed by the thrum of the facility’s core.

The shaft is a metal cylinder that smells of scorched wiring and old grease.

My palms slide over the cold rungs, my injured shoulder protesting every downward stretch.

Above me, Lydia keeps a steady pace, her boots clinking against the steel.

Below, Kinley’s voice urges Jori to keep moving.

Mara glances up at me once, the flicker of worry in her eyes cutting sharper than the pain in my ribs.

Halfway down, we pass an open grate, its mesh bent just enough to peer through. The view beyond is a dimly lit maintenance hall, empty for now. Lydia pauses long enough to listen, then keeps climbing.

When we reach the bottom, the shaft spits us out into a cramped service corridor. The walls are lined with insulated piping that hisses softly, radiating heat. It’s warmer here, the air heavier, as if the building itself is breathing on us.

“We push forward and hit the south control node,” Lydia says, checking her weapon. “From there, we can lock down part of the wing and isolate his men.”

“Let's move,” I tell them, falling in at the rear again.

We advance in a staggered formation, each step echoing off the narrow corridor’s metal skin.

Every turn feels like a coin toss—clear path or ambush.

My grip tightens on the weapon. I’m counting the distance, counting the time, knowing Volker’s not far behind, knowing he’s already anticipating our next step.

The corridor ends in a reinforced door with a biometric panel glowing faintly green.

Lydia steps forward, producing a bypass tool from her belt.

Her hands work fast, connecting leads, overriding the lock’s security loop.

Sparks jump once, twice, then the panel goes dark, and the door unlocks with a reluctant clunk.

Inside, the control node hums with power. Banks of consoles curve along the walls, each lit with rows of blinking indicators. A central table projects a faint topographic overlay of the facility. The air is thick with heat from the machinery, every breath tinged with the scent of burnt insulation.

Kinley moves to secure the corners while Mara stays close to me, her eyes scanning the displays. Jori lingers at the threshold, restless. Lydia heads for the primary console, fingers flying over the keys.

“Talk to me,” I say.

She doesn’t look up. “I can lock down three of the main corridors feeding this wing. Buy us maybe ten minutes before they start cutting through.”

“Do it,” I reply.

As the heavy doors to the adjoining corridors grind closed, the reality settles over us. This is a temporary cage, one we’ve built for ourselves to regroup. I keep my gaze on the readouts, noting movement markers—Volker’s men closing in, the gap shrinking.

“We’ll need another way out,” I say.

Lydia points to a service lift icon in the corner of the map. “Here. Freight elevator. If it still works, it’ll drop us into the vehicle bay.”

I meet Mara’s eyes. “Once we get there, we don’t stop.”

She nods, her jaw set. Kinley reloads, Jori steadies himself. Lydia finishes the lockdown, the last console beep echoing in the enclosed space.

Outside, faint at first, comes the unmistakable sound of boots on metal, growing closer.