Page 55

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Evangeline

"Left." Knight's command cuts through the chaos. "Stay against the wall."

My heart is pounding so hard it drowns out the updates crackling through the comms. Gunfire snaps in the distance, too close. Michael’s ragged breathing beside me sharpens my fear. Every step forward feels like it’s going to be our last.

Knight moves like this is routine for him, like sneaking through a facility under fire is just another day. His calm should reassure me, but it makes the knot in my chest twist tighter.

“Maintenance access ahead.” Knight doesn’t break stride as he checks something on his tablet. His voice is steady, giving me the impression that he’s already assessed every move we’ll need to survive.

“Clear for now,” Rook replies through comms. His calm tone carries a cold detachment that should scare me. “But they’re gathering by the main entrance. Getting organized.”

I glance at the older man, Victor, walking just ahead of me. He moves steadily, keeping pace with Knight. Michael, in contrast, leans heavily on me. His breaths are uneven, each step slower than the last. I shift under his weight, trying to give him as much support as I can, but I can feel his strength waning.

I don’t know if Victor is just better at hiding the toll this has taken or if he’s running on something else entirely—adrenaline, fear, pure willpower, maybe. Whatever it is, it keeps him moving while Michael looks like he’s running on fumes.

“Keep moving, Glitch.” Knight’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. Weirdly, the nickname settles my nerves a little. “We don’t have time to think. We’ll figure it all out later.”

The maintenance door beside us yields to Knight’s override sequence, and he shoves it open. The scent of bleach and motor oil stings my nose as we cram into the tight space, cleaning supplies pressing into my back. Michael sags against me, his weight threatening to drag us both down.

“They’re sealing off sections,” Victor whispers. His tone is calm, unnervingly calm, but every word carries a warning.

“What did you get into, old man?” Knight’s voice is low.

Victor shakes his head, and stays quiet, while through the door's small window, beams from flashlights dance across the walls. Voices approach—security teams coordinating their search. My lungs are burning from holding my breath. The lights fade, the voices moving on. My chest heaves as I exhale, my arms aching from holding Michael up.

"Bishop." Knight's voice is barely audible. "Status?"

"Transport secured." Bishop replies. "Northwest access point still clear. For now."

Knight eases the door open, and we follow him into the hallway. It’s empty for now, but for how long? The silence makes my skin crawl. Every shadow could hide a threat. Every corner could reveal armed security. My grip tightens on Michael’s arm as I force him forward, practically dragging him along with me.

"Stairs." Knight guides us toward a fire exit. "Two floors up."

Michael's exhaustion shows in every step as we climb. His hand trembles where it grips the railing. I want to check him properly, make sure he’s okay, but there's no time.

"Multiple targets converging." Rook's warning carries urgency now. "Time to move."

We emerge out of the stairwell and into another hallway. This one is wider, with higher ceilings. It makes me feel vulnerable, like we’ve stepped into a spotlight.

A door slams somewhere behind us, the sound bouncing off the walls. Voices echo, moving closer.

"Run." Knight snaps.

We sprint down the hallway, Michael somehow finding reserves of energy I didn't think he had left. My legs burn as we round another corner, then another.

"Contact." Rook's voice carries none of the panic I'm feeling. In fact, it’s terrifyingly calm.

The sound of fighting reaches us—short, brutal impacts followed by bodies hitting the ground. When we round the corner, Rook is already there. His eyes flick to me briefly, assessing, before locking back on the hallway behind us.

"Transport is in position." Bishop's update brings a surge of hope. "Thirty seconds."

Fresh air hits my face as we emerge into predawn darkness. A black SUV is parked in the shadows, its engine idling. Bishop stands ready to cover our escape, his focus absolute as he scans for threats.

"Go." Knight pushes us toward the vehicle. "Move!"

Bullets spark off concrete as security catches up. Michael dives into the vehicle, pulling me with him. Victor follows.

Knight and Rook remain outside, covering us with quick, sharp shots.

"Clear!" Rook's shout carries over the gunfire.

In the lull, they both dive into the car.

"Drive!" Knight barks.

Bishop doesn't hesitate. The SUV surges forward, tires throwing gravel as we accelerate away from the facility. Rook and Knight keep watch out of the windows, guns ready, but no pursuit materializes. I collapse back against the seat, my heart racing.

"They'll have their own vehicles," Victor says. "And resources we don't know about. They didn't build all this to let it slip away easily."

I glance at Michael. His head rests against the window, his face pale and gaunt. My fingers find his wrist, checking his pulse. It’s steady, but his skin is clammy.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, forcing a weak smile. “Just tired. They kept us working ... I don’t even know how long.”

"Three days straight, this last time." Victor's voice carries hints of anger. He’s not as calm as he’s trying to pretend. "They were getting desperate for results."

Lights flash behind us. Rook shifts, gun ready, but it’s just early morning traffic. We're far enough from the facility now to blend in with commuters. Bishop guides us through a series of turns that feel random but I’m sure they’re not.

"Two minutes to switch point." He checks the mirrors. "No signs of pursuit yet, but they'll have people in the city. Networks we don't know about."

The vehicle exchange happens in an empty parking structure. Another SUV, this one dark blue but just as unremarkable. We transfer quickly, though my legs are still shaking.

"Safehouse is thirty minutes out." Bishop takes the wheel again. "Secured location, fully stocked. No connections they can trace."

Michael's eyes drift closed. In the growing light of dawn, I can see how much weight he’s lost. I should be checking vital signs, assessing his condition, but exhaustion isn't something I can fix with the basic first aid knowledge I have.

Knight's hand finds mine in the darkness between seats, his grip firm. My shaking subsides a little, and I’m unprepared for the adrenaline crash that hits me seconds later.

"Rest." His voice is pitched low, just for me. "We're clear for now."

But we're not. Not really.

Whatever they wanted from Michael and Victor, they invested too much in this operation to just let them go. They'll keep searching. Keep hunting. Keep trying to recapture their prisoners.

My fingers tighten around Knight’s, fear like acid in my stomach. I try to ignore it. Pushing it down and away.

We’re alive. That’s what matters right now. We’re out of that facility.

I just hope whatever we're driving toward is actually safe, because right now, that concept feels as foreign as everything else about my life since walking into Knight's apartment with that stupid phone.