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CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Knight

The facility’s security drill provides perfect cover as we approach through the predawn darkness. Every guard is locked into their protocols, movements as predictable as clockwork. My tablet displays the cycling camera feeds—just as expected. Yet something feels off. Drills create routines, but they also sharpen awareness. One mistake, and this whole operation blows up in our faces.

“Drill team moving to sector four,” Bishop’s voice crackles in my earpiece. "Two guards are by the east entrance, three moving north.”

Eva's breathing is quiet but fast-paced behind me. Her presence complicates things, but I’d vouched for her to my brothers. There’s no point second-guessing now.

Sweat beads along my spine despite the chill. The facility looms ahead, its security lights casting jagged shadows across the grounds. Perfect cover—unless someone decides to get curious.

Rook signals from his position near the perimeter fence.

Three fingers.

Two.

One.

The north entrance cameras pivot away for their reset, giving us exactly three minutes. My fingers fly across the access panel, bypassing the lock while the guards stick to their drill. One wrong code, and every alarm in the facility screams. The soft click as the door yields feels deafening.

"Clear." I guide Eva inside, every step planned to avoid detection. The interior hallways stretch ahead, lit by bright overhead lighting strips. The air reeks of industrial cleaner and the artificial hum of electronics—a facility pretending to be legitimate.

A guard's radio crackles somewhere to our left, the sound bouncing off concrete walls. Eva tenses, but stays silent as we press against the wall. My pulse kicks up, blood roaring in my ears. Inside, sound bends in strange ways, twisting distance into something impossible to judge. The static fades, blending into the monotonous backdrop of the drill.

"Two ahead," Rook warns through comms. "Right on schedule. Taking position."

I check my tablet, scanning through security feeds. The facility's systems are good, but not impossible to bypass. Each checkpoint requires specific codes, but nothing I can't handle. What concerns me is how the security is layered. It’s designed to keep people contained rather than just out. The kind of setup that suggests they've done this before.

The guards pass without noticing us, their focus locked on their patterns. Rook handles them with brutal efficiency. Two thuds. Two groans. Then silence. Eva flinches at the sound but stays pressed to the wall.

"Clear to move." Rook's voice is calm and clear. "Next checkpoint in twenty seconds."

We slip deeper into the facility, every step a risk. Eva mirrors my movements without a word, sticking to our plan. The next lock is trickier, each second at the panel cranking the tension higher. When it finally unlocks, a new sound rises—the low hum of high-powered servers.

We’re close.

"Movement ahead." Bishop's warning comes just as my tablet highlights a guard breaking from his route. Not part of the drill. A random patrol that could blow everything.

“Perfect timing,” I mutter under my breath, grabbing Eva and pulling her into a shadowed alcove. Her heartbeat drums against my chest, loud enough to make me wonder if the guard can hear it too.

The guard slows, head tilting like he’s caught something. My hand moves toward my gun. I calculate the odds.

Shoot him and risk an immediate alert, or gamble that he’ll move on.

His radio squawks, the drill commanders barking for his location, and he shifts back to his route.

Eva lets out a shaky exhale. I lean down, lips brushing her ear. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing. And for the love of God, stop vibrating like a terrified rabbit.”

The faintest glare flickers in her eyes, but my words have the desired result, and she falls in behind me as we push forward.

The development area’s door is layered with security designed to keep people in, not out. Breaching it is slow, grueling work. Every second drags, each one amplifying the risk of discovery.

“Ready?” I glance back at Eva, her tension visible in every line of her body. She nods, and I finish the sequence. The lock disengages with a soft click.

Inside, the glow of multiple monitors illuminates two figures. My breath catches at the sight of Victor, bent over a keyboard with the kind of intensity I remember from my training. Beside him, another man sits, fingers moving across his own keyboard. Both are completely focused on the screens in front of them.

Victor’s head snaps up at the sound of our footsteps, his sharp gaze locking on me. The other man turns slower, disbelief etched into his face when he spots Eva.

Michael, then.

“Time to go.” I scan the feeds again as Eva rushes to her brother. “We’ve got three minutes before this place shifts into full lockdown.”

“You’ve cut it close, boy,” Victor says, his stiff movements betraying hours of confinement. “But then, you never did like a simple job.”

I flash him a quick smirk. “You know me. If it’s not complicated, I’m not interested.”

“Eva?” Michael’s voice is hoarse, like it hasn’t been used in days. “How did you …”

“Later,” I snap, already redirecting us. “Sentimental moments can wait until we’re not one screwup away from getting shot.”

The return route starts smooth, but the tension never fades. Each step feels like tempting fate. Then it happens.

An alarm blares in the distance. Part of the drill. Expected. But my shoulders tighten anyway.

We’re almost out. Almost clear when a second alarm goes off. A sharp, angry tone that slices through the air.

“Fuck.”

“Perimeter guard found his friends,” Rook’s voice is calm. “Full response incoming. Eight targets moving to secure exits.”

“Fantastic.” I push the group forward. “Just what I needed to make my morning complete.”

Gunfire erupts behind us—too far to hit but close enough to freeze everyone in place.

“Move!” I bark, shoving Eva forward. “Unless you want to make friends with a firing squad, let’s go!”

“They’re sealing the building,” Victor says, grim but steady.

“Of course they are.” I check the tablet. “Because nothing says secure like turning your facility into a fucking tomb.”

“Exit route compromised,” Bishop reports. “Main gate has been locked down. They’re deploying armed teams.”

“Moving to the secondary route.” I adjust the course. “Northwest corner, maintenance access. Rook, clear us a path.”

I never want to see a fucking maintenance tunnel again.

More gunfire erupts, closer this time. Boots pound against the concrete, their echoes bouncing wildly. It’s impossible to tell how far away they are.

“Three down.” Rook’s update is delivered in clipped words. “More incoming.”

The sharp, acrid scent of gunfire mingles with the sweat and adrenaline pounding through my veins. Time to find out if all our planning was enough, or if we've underestimated exactly what these people will do to keep their prisoners. Based on the approaching security response, I'm betting on the latter.

And I really fucking hate being right about shit like this.