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Luke produces specialized equipment that creates a temporary null-space in the magical barrier—enough for us to slip through single-file, holding our breath as the cold energy of the ward brushes against our skin without triggering.

Finally, we reach the ridge overlooking our target.

The Syndicate Stronghold dominates the valley below, a modernist fortress of black glass and reinforced concrete that seems to absorb the surrounding darkness rather than reflect it.

No obvious guards patrol its perimeter—they don’t need them.

The real defenses are the layers of wards, surveillance tech, and magical barriers that make the Pentagon look like a playground.

Floodlights sweep the cleared ground surrounding the structure in precise, overlapping patterns, while what appears to be simple decorative stonework actually forms complex binding sigils visible only to those who know to look for them.

“There,” Iris whispers, indicating a maintenance entrance on the northeast side. “That’s our best chance.”

I study the facility through tactical binoculars, memories of my previous imprisonment there rising unbidden. Somewhere in that monolith of malevolent purpose, Vanya waits—either as victim or bait. Possibly both.

“Diversion team in position,” Dorian’s voice crackles through our communications.

“What’s the play?” I ask, tension tightening my grip on the tactical comm.

“Fire and fury,” comes the grim reply. “Northern perimeter, ninety seconds.”

On cue, a massive explosion rocks the facility, the distant thunder of it vibrating through the maintenance tunnel walls. Emergency klaxons wail as red warning lights begin to pulse through the complex.

“Surveillance loop activating in three… two…” Mara’s voice sounds strained through her comms link. “Seven minutes starting now. They’re scrambling to the north side—looks like Dorian and Caleb are putting on quite a show.”

A second explosion, closer this time. Through our tactical feed, I glimpse dragons—massive, scaled forms—circling the northern towers, breathing targeted streams of fire at exterior defenses. The Cravens risking exposure to create our window.

“Move,” I command, and we slip from our hiding place.

We ghost through the maintenance tunnels, Iris flowing between shadow and solid form with unsettling grace.

When a patrol of four guards rushes past an intersection, she dissolves into darkness, flowing along the ceiling as naturally as smoke.

Her abilities are remarkable—she doesn’t just move stealthily, she becomes part of the darkness itself.

“Two minutes elapsed,” Mara updates. “Guards converging on north quadrant. Security protocols initiating lockdown sequences, but I’m intercepting.”

The detention level feels different. Oppressive. The air itself seems heavy with despair and suppressed magic—a thickness that makes each breath labor, like drawing air through wool. The magical dampening fields prickle against my skin, subtle but persistent.

“Her energy signature is faint but present,” Nadia whispers, following her mystical compass. “This way. East corridor, third security door.”

We pass cells containing empty-eyed prisoners—magic users drained of will and power. Some watch us with vacant stares. Others don’t look up at all.

“Four minutes,” Mara warns. “System’s fighting me. Something’s wrong—they’re not responding to the diversion protocol I expected.”

As we approach the high-security cell block, something cold settles in my gut. The corridors are too empty. The guards too scarce. Strategic instincts honed through centuries of combat scream warnings I can’t ignore.

“It’s too easy,” I warn the others, drawing my secondary weapon. “Fall back now. It’s a—”

“Trap,” a voice finishes from speakers hidden in the walls. “Indeed, it is, Hargen Cole.”

The words barely leave my mouth when panels slide open in the walls and ceiling.

Guards emerge from concealed positions, surrounding Iris with weapons trained on her core.

She vanishes into shadow, reappearing behind them, but more pour from hidden alcoves.

A specialized containment field activates, preventing her from fully dissolving again.

“Five minutes,” Mara’s voice is frantic. “They knew we were coming—they’re tracing our signal!”

Nadia creates a distraction—wolf howls echo through the corridors as her magic amplifies and distorts sound, building to a cacophony that has the guards clutching their ears. She shifts partially, claws extending as she slashes through the nearest attacker’s body armor.

“The feed is compromised,” I shout over the chaos. “Abort all communications!”

Iris uses the confusion to break free, melting back into darkness like water seeping through cracks. She materializes beside Nadia, grabbing her arm. “This way!”

But I move in the opposite direction, toward Vanya’s cell.

I can feel her now—a faint pulse of familiar energy despite the dampening fields.

Three guards block my path. The first falls to a precision strike to the throat.

The second to a borrowed Syndicate weapon.

The third manages to trigger a magical barrier before my blade finds his heart.

The corridor ahead clears momentarily. But not for long.

Specialized Syndicate operatives converge from both ends—six of them, wearing the distinctive silver-threaded combat gear of the Magical Containment Division. One raises his hands, and the air between us thickens with visible power—binding sigils appearing in glowing formation.

I break through the first wave of magic, my own abilities flaring against the suppression field.

Two operatives down, a third staggering back.

But there are too many. The fourth launches a binding chain that wraps around my left arm, searing through fabric to the skin beneath.

The fifth creates a gravity well that drives me to one knee.

The sixth—clearly their leader—steps forward, hands moving in complex patterns as she weaves a containment spell I’ve never encountered. The magic hits like a fist, driving the air from my lungs as invisible bands constrict around my chest.

“Fuck!” I choke out as consciousness starts to slip, the binding magic dragging me under. I catch a glimpse of figures converging, before the magic overwhelms me and everything goes dark.

When awareness returns, guards are dragging me through the same corridors I’d tried to infiltrate. My weapons are gone, hands secured behind my back with the same suppression chains they use on their prisoners. The metal burns against my skin, specially crafted to neutralize supernatural abilities.

“I suspected she had accomplices,” a cold voice says. A burly male steps into the light, murky brown eyes gleaming with satisfaction beneath a high-ranking Syndicate insignia. “How convenient that you delivered yourself to us.”

“Careful,” I manage through the pain. “Last time your people had me, it didn’t end well for them.”

His smile never reaches his eyes. “Circumstances have changed. As you’re about to discover.”

They stop before a reinforced door. Vanya’s cell. The lock disengages with an ominous click, the sound of complex mechanical and magical systems releasing. Guards shove me inside with enough force to make my vision swim, and I stumble, barely keeping my feet as the door slams shut behind me.

She looks up from where she’s chained to the wall, hair falling across her face. The silver chains binding her wrists and ankles pulse with suppression magic. Disbelief and horror war in her ice-blue eyes as she stares at me.

“Hargen?” Her voice is rough, as if she hasn’t used it in days. “What have you done?”