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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Knight

The maintenance tunnels branch off in three different directions. My watch shows approximately three minutes left until Victor’s second countdown hits zero. Given how the first one ended, standing here debating options seems like a stellar way to end up dead.

“This way.” I guide her toward the east tunnel, keeping a firm grip on her arm.

Her skin is cold—shock, maybe, though the temperature drop down here probably isn’t helping. She follows without arguing, which means she’s either finally learning, or is too exhausted to fight. Given her track record so far, I’d put the seven million I earned from my last job on the latter.

The tunnel curves north along the building’s foundation. Our steps echo no matter how carefully we move, the sound bouncing off concrete in ways that make distance impossible to judge. I trail my hand along the pipes and conduits that feed the upper floors, using them as reference points. The fact I know these routes well enough to navigate blind is likely something Victor will have expected. He always did emphasize how important it was to know your chosen territory.

“How do you know which way to go?” Her voice is strained but steady.

“I memorized the layout when I bought the building. Personal hobby, right up there with not enjoying uninvited guests.”

She stumbles, and I catch her before she headbutts the wall.

“Try not to knock yourself out. I have no problem with leaving you here.”

Her only reply is a sigh.

The pipe configuration changes under my hand, marking our position.

Two minutes.

We need to move faster, but speed means noise, and noise means broadcasting our location through these wonderfully acoustic tunnels. I don’t think there’s anyone down here, but then I didn’t think I’d be spending my day with a prisoner and fighting a computer virus, either. My judgement cannot be trusted right now.

My fingers tighten on her arm as we press forward.

“When did you have time to memorize all of this, and why? ”

“Between tea parties and social events. I’m very popular.” The sarcasm flows easier than admitting I spent weeks down here mapping every possible escape route, just in case. “Another left here. Ceiling drops. Duck unless you enjoy concussions.”

The passage narrows, forcing us to crouch. Fingers clutch the back of my T-shirt, and the warmth of her body moves closer, as we inch forward. The darkness amplifies every sound. Her quiet breathing, the slight hitch whenever her injured wrists brush the wall.

One minute.

The first explosion drove us into the tunnels. If I’m right, the next one will hit just as we reach the parking structure. Victor has turned this whole thing into an elaborate dance, with us as his unwilling performers.

“Almost there.” I guide her around the final bend. “Try not to get too excited about the five-star accommodations.”

“Is there an off switch for the sarcasm?”

“No. It comes as standard with the whole homicidal hacker package. Very popular with the ladies.”

The access door materializes, lit up by the soft glow of the electronic lock keypad. I release a quiet sigh of relief at my decision all those years ago not to have it connected to the main power of the building. My fingers find the keypad through memory alone.

“Plus, it helps drown out the sound of terrible life choices. You know … things like trusting strangers on the internet.”

The keypad sequence flows automatically, each press marking another second gone. Victor will have calculated the exact amount of time this would take, right down to the last millisecond. He always did appreciate precision in his work.

Precision and pain. Usually in equal measures. Because apparently lessons are learned better when they hurt you.

The lock disengages with around thirty seconds left on the countdown clock. Not enough time to find alternate cover, not down here in the maintenance level. The door opens into the parking structure’s lower level, and we step through into a space that feels massive after the tunnels.

The explosion that hits from above sounds different from the others. More focused. More controlled. Steel barriers slam down across every exit, the sound of hydraulics punctuated by the heavy thud of metal meeting concrete.

Fuck.

The parking level’s emergency systems engage, flooding the space with harsh fluorescent light that makes my eyes burn while they fight to adjust to the brightness.

Perfect fucking timing. Because of course it is.

“He’s been playing me from the start.” I mutter the words while I scan the sealed exits, recognizing the brutality of our isolation. “Every move. Every decision. He knows exactly what I’m going to do before I do it.”

She takes a step away, but doesn’t stray too far. I’m sure it’s more out of necessity than choice.

“But how could he predict all this?”

“Because when he took me on, he trained me in everything, not just how to code. How to handle threats. This entire response pattern might as well have his name on it.” My jaw tightens, while my brain analyzes the position he’s put us in. “He’s using my own methods against me. Probably sitting at his computer, drinking tea and finding it fucking hilarious.”

Vibrations transfer through the concrete as more explosions detonate in the distance. I know without even checking that each blast will be eliminating another escape route. The pattern is becoming clearer with every impact. We’re being systematically cut off from any normal exit.

The parking structure’s ventilation system hums to life, pushing cool air from the space.

The whole setup reeks of careful planning. The parking structure is for the entire gated complex I live in, an area I have no control over. It has its own separate power supply, and independent control systems, everything designed to function in isolation … which makes it easier to hack into and control.

A ding breaks the silence, and the service elevator on the opposite wall opens. The sight sets off every warning instinct I’ve developed.

This is too obvious. Too clean. Everything about it is designed to make it look like it’s our only option.

When Glitch steps toward the elevator, my fingers wrap around her arm, and I pull her back.

“He’s herding us.” I can’t hide the annoyance from my voice. “Each explosion is pushing us in the direction he wants us to go.”

“But—”

“That elevator is bait.”

I move along the perimeter, studying the barriers sealing us inside. The execution has been flawless so far. Every potential weakness covered, every standard escape route blocked.

“He’s not testing my security anymore. This is something else.”

She follows me, keeping pace despite her obvious exhaustion. “What then?”

“He’s proving a point.” I run my fingers along one of the barriers. “Showing how well he knows me by using everything I know against me.”

Another explosion rocks the structure, closer than the others. The vibrations travel through the concrete differently this time. It’s more dispersed, like it’s targeting something specific rather than just creating barriers to stop me escaping.

The ventilation system cycles higher, responding to some automated command. This whole fucking level has been turned into a controlled environment. Every variable accounted for, every reaction anticipated.

“It’s obviously a trap, then.”

“Really? I would never have guessed.” She’s not wrong, though. My eyes shift back to the waiting elevator.

It’s too easy. Which means there’s something I’m not seeing.

I move to the center of the level, turning slowly to take in every detail. Victor’s lessons echo in my mind—about patterns, about looking past the obvious threat to find the real danger. About how the best trap isn’t the one you see coming.

The ventilation system kicks higher. The air moves differently now, currents shifting in ways that shouldn’t be possible with standard climate control. Another explosion hits, the dispersal pattern matching the air flow changes.

“He’s not just moving us through space, he’s changing the environment itself. He’s using the building’s systems to direct us.”

She wraps her arms around herself, wincing at the pressure against her wrists. “Toward what?”

I track air currents, matching them against the explosion pattern. “I haven’t figured that out yet. But I need to, and fast, before the next move takes away the choice entirely.”

Because that’s Victor’s real lesson. There’s always another layer to the game. Always another trap waiting behind the obvious one. He’s not just testing my security, or my ability to handle threats. He’s testing to see whether I’ve learned to see past the surface. Past the obvious trap of the elevator. Past even the subtle manipulation of the building’s systems.

I need to figure out what the real game is here, and how much it’s going to cost me to win it.