Page 29

F elix's eyes widened slightly at the sight of my gun, his expression flickering between surprise and something darker—a twisted satisfaction that made my blood run cold.

"So the vigilante's armed after all," he remarked, smoke curling around his words. "I thought you might break that rule."

The weight of the weapon felt like an extension of my arm, my finger steady against the trigger. Around us, the mill continued its metamorphosis from building to inferno. Support beams groaned overhead, metal expanding and contracting in the extreme heat. Every surface shimmered with heat distortion, blurring the edges of reality.

The familiar scent of burning wood and metal filled my lungs. Fire had always been my element, my weapon of choice, my ally in delivering justice. But here, surrounded by someone else's creation, I felt its alien nature. This fire wasn't mine. It moved according to someone else's design, consuming without discrimination, without purpose beyond destruction.

"This ends now," I said, my voice rough from the smoke.

Felix's smile stretched wider. "Oh, I couldn't agree more."

We circled each other, predators in a ring of fire.

"Where's Algerone?" I demanded, shifting my stance to maintain balance as the floor trembled beneath us.

Something flickered across Felix's face: amusement mixed with cruelty. "Still so concerned about dear old dad? The man who's been manipulating your life from the shadows for years?" He gestured vaguely toward a corridor behind him, nearly invisible through the thickening smoke. "Locked in what used to be the manager's office. I gave him a front-row seat to our little reunion."

My heart stuttered against my ribs. Algerone was still alive, still in this burning hell. The reality of it struck harder than I expected, a tightness in my chest that had nothing to do with the toxic air.

"You won't make it to him," Felix continued, reading my thoughts with disturbing accuracy. "This place will be rubble in minutes. I've been preparing this for years. The accelerant patterns throughout the building are my own design. They follow the structural weaknesses, creating burn patterns that ensure maximum damage with minimal waste."

"Then you'll die too," I pointed out, eyes narrowing as I searched for an opening, any vulnerability I could exploit.

Felix's smile returned, serene and terrible. "Of course. That's the point, Xavier. A father for a father. A son for a son. Perfect symmetry." He spread his arms wide, the gun still gripped firmly in his right hand. "This is where our story ends. Where justice is finally served."

The gesture, so theatrical and exposed, gave me the opening I needed. I fired without hesitation, the shot echoing through the cavernous space. Felix jerked back, surprise blooming across his face as the bullet struck his shoulder. His gun discharged wildly, the shot going wide as his arm spasmed.

"Fuck!" Felix stumbled, his left hand clutching at the wound, blood seeping between his fingers. His face paled instantly, the color draining away as shock set in. He staggered backward, colliding with a metal support column. His legs gave way, forcing him to slump against it just to remain upright. "You fucking shot me!"

"Be grateful I'm not my father," I replied coldly, advancing on him. "He would have gone for your head."

A thunderous crack split the air as a support beam gave way above us, crashing down in a shower of sparks and debris. I dove to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed. Pain lanced through my leg as a jagged piece of metal tore through my tactical pants, slicing deep into my thigh. The warm rush of blood followed immediately, soaking the fabric.

Fire bloomed from the freshly fallen beam, cutting off my direct path to Felix. Through the flames, I could see him struggling to stay conscious, his face ashen, breath coming in shallow pants. The shoulder wound was bleeding heavily, the bullet having likely hit something vital. Without medical attention, he'd be dead within the hour, maybe less, given the rate of blood loss and the smoke filling his lungs.

"This isn't over!" he shouted, his voice significantly weaker now, slurring at the edges. "This place is coming down... with all of us in it."

"It is for you," I called back, wincing as I tested my injured leg. The cut was deep but had missed the artery. I could still move, still function.

I left him there, hoping he was too injured to pose any further threat. He'd either find a way out or die where he lay. His choice, his consequences.

My leg throbbed as I picked my way toward the corridor where Felix had indicated Algerone was being held. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up my thigh, but I pushed it aside, focusing solely on the mission ahead. Find Algerone. Get out. Deal with Felix if the opportunity presented itself.

The corridor was partially blocked by fallen debris, forcing me to climb over twisted metal and broken concrete. The heat intensified as I progressed deeper into the building, sweat evaporating from my skin almost instantly. My tactical gear, designed to withstand extreme conditions, was already reaching its limits.

A noise from my earpiece startled me—static, then a fragmented voice trying to break through the jamming signal. Leo. I recognized the cadence even though I couldn't make out the words. The familiar rhythm of his speech patterns unmistakable even through the electronic distortion.

"Leo," I tried, knowing he probably couldn't hear me through the interference. "The building's coming down. Stay back. I repeat, stay back."

Only static answered me, punctuated by occasional fragments that might have been words. The connection was too degraded to be useful. I was on my own.

The corridor opened into what had once been an administrative area. Office doors lined both sides, most hanging from broken hinges or missing entirely. At the end of the hall, a heavy steel door stood closed. Unlike the others, this one appeared intact, with a digital keypad lock that still glowed with power.

The manager's office.

My pace quickened despite the pain in my leg. I scanned for traps or triggers as I approached. The keypad looked standard, but I knew better than to trust appearances. A closer inspection revealed subtle modifications: additional wiring, a secondary power source, tiny pressure sensors at the edges. This wasn't just a lock. It was a trigger mechanism.

I reached for my phone, intending to connect it to the keypad and run a bypass algorithm, only to find the screen cracked and unresponsive.

With no tech solution available, I resorted to more primitive methods. I examined the door frame, looking for weaknesses, any point that might yield to direct force. The hinges were on the inside, inaccessible. The frame itself was reinforced steel, designed to withstand industrial accidents.

But the wall around it... that was different. The drywall had already been weakened by heat and structural stress. Patches had begun to crumble, revealing the framework beneath. With enough force applied at the right point, I might be able to create an opening.

I stepped back, calculating angles and pressure points with the same cold skill I applied to my hunts. Then I launched myself at the section of wall beside the door, shoulder first, putting my full weight behind the impact.

Pain exploded through my shoulder, but the wall gave way more easily than expected, crumbling inward in a shower of dust and debris. I stumbled through the opening, catching myself against a desk to avoid falling.

The office beyond was surprisingly intact, protected from the worst of the fire by its reinforced walls and door. The air here was marginally clearer, though smoke still curled along the ceiling in lazy tendrils. Emergency lighting cast everything in a sickly yellow glow.

And there, strapped to a chair in the center of the room, was Algerone Caisse-Etremont.

My biological father looked nothing like the composed, powerful figure who had dominated boardrooms and battlefields for decades. His expensive suit was torn and bloodied, his silver-streaked hair matted with sweat and grime. Monitors and IV lines connected him to medical equipment that beeped with irregular rhythms. His skin held an unhealthy pallor, eyes sunken in their sockets from pain and exhaustion.

But his eyes were sharp with awareness as they fixed on me. "I told you not to come back for me."

Even now, restrained and injured, he projected authority. The tone of a man accustomed to being obeyed without question. I might have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire.

"Plans changed," I replied tersely, moving to examine his restraints. Heavy-duty zip ties secured his wrists and ankles to the chair, which itself was bolted to the floor. "We need to get you out of here. The building is coming down."

"So I gathered." His gaze shifted to the doorway, where flames had begun to lick at the frame. The fire was advancing faster than I'd anticipated, eating through the building's structure. "But I'm afraid that's going to be more challenging than you might expect."

I followed his line of sight, a curse catching in my throat as I realized our predicament. The flames were already consuming the corridor I'd used to enter, cutting off our primary escape route.

I examined the room's perimeter, looking for any weakness, any potential escape route. The walls were reinforced concrete, the window too small for even Leo to squeeze through, let alone Algerone or myself. The only exit was the way I'd come in, and that path was rapidly becoming impassable.

My jaw tightened as I moved to examine the restraints more carefully. The chair wasn't just a place to secure him; it was also supporting him, keeping him upright when his injured body couldn't.

"You should go," Algerone said, the words so unexpected I turned to stare at him. His expression remained neutral, but something shifted in his eyes. "There's no sense in both of us dying here. Felix has his symbolism either way."

"Shut up," I muttered, examining the restraints more carefully. There had to be a solution, some angle I hadn't considered yet.

"Xavier." His voice took on that commanding tone I'd always resented. "This isn't a negotiation. The building is falling apart. You have an opportunity to escape, and you should take it."

I ignored him, methodically checking the chair's mounting points, looking for weaknesses. The bolts securing it to the floor were heavy-duty, industrial strength, but the concrete around them had already begun to crack from the building's ongoing deterioration.

"You need to go," Algerone insisted again, urgency creeping into his tone. "Now, Xavier. This isn't worth your life."

"That's not your decision to make."

His eyes widened slightly at having his words thrown back at him. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a short, rough sound devoid of humor but carrying genuine appreciation. "You're more like me than either of us wants to admit."

I didn't answer, returning my focus to the chair. There had to be a way to get him free. I just had to find it. Think, Xavier. Think!

Footsteps sounded from the corridor outside. Uneven, stumbling, but purposeful. I reached for my gun just as Felix appeared in the opening I'd created in the wall, blood still seeping from his shoulder wound, eyes wild with a mixture of pain and manic determination.

He looked like a dying man—face gray with blood loss, body swaying with the effort of remaining upright. His breathing came in shallow, labored gasps, but his eyes burned with feverish intensity.

"Touching," he said, gesturing with his gun toward the flames advancing behind him. The weapon trembled visibly in his grip, heavy with the effort his weakened body could barely sustain. "The prodigal son risking everything for the father who abandoned him. It's almost poetic."

"It's over, Felix," I said, keeping my voice level. "The building's coming down. The fire is consuming everything. You've made your point."

"My point?" Felix laughed, the sound high and broken, ending in a wet cough that spattered blood across his lips. "My point was supposed to be watching you burn alive! Watching you suffer like my father suffered!" He gestured wildly with the gun, his control visibly slipping, movements growing increasingly erratic. "But you just won't die like you're supposed to! You just keep fighting, keep surviving!"

"That's what Laskins do," I replied, shifting my stance to keep myself between him and Algerone. "We survive."

The ceiling groaned ominously above us, dust and small debris raining down as support beams warped in the intense heat. The fire had nearly encircled the room now, hungrily consuming everything in its path. Felix's eyes kept losing focus, his concentration slipping as blood loss took its inevitable toll.

"You'll never get him out in time," he slurred, blinking hard to clear his vision. "Even if you shoot me, even if you somehow get him free of those restraints, you'll never make it past the fire. The building will collapse before you reach any exit." His legs buckled, forcing him to brace against the doorframe to remain standing.

He was right. The cold, analytical part of my mind had already run the calculations. None of them ended with both Algerone and me walking out alive.

"You've thought of everything," I acknowledged, taking a careful step forward. "Planned for every contingency. Calculated every angle. Except one."

Felix's eyes narrowed, suspicion replacing some of the manic satisfaction. "What's that?"

"You're still counting on me following rules."

Felix staggered to his feet, gun wavering in his unsteady grip, determination burning in his eyes despite his weakened state.

I didn't hesitate. One fluid motion and my gun was level and steady in my hand. I pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed through the burning office, clean and final. The bullet struck him directly between the eyes, his expression frozen in momentary surprise before his body crumpled to the floor.

There was no satisfaction in the kill, just cold necessity. And perhaps a certain justice in denying him the death he'd planned. Felix had wanted the baptism of fire, the purifying transformation of his body through flame. Instead, he'd die like any ordinary person—from a bullet, common and mundane. No poetry. No symmetry. No fire-born transcendence. Just the cold finality of lead and gunpowder.

I turned immediately back to Algerone.

"I need to get you out of this chair," I said, examining the zip ties again. "Once I free you, I'll have to carry you."

Algerone nodded tersely, understanding the reality of our situation. His damaged spine and the injuries he'd sustained at the warehouse meant there was no chance of him walking out on his own.

As I worked on the restraints, the ceiling above groaned ominously. More debris rained down around us, a prelude to the imminent collapse. I managed to snap one of the zip ties on his wrist, but the rest were proving stubborn without proper tools.

"Xavier!" a voice called from beyond the doorway, barely audible over the roaring flames.

I froze, certain I was hallucinating. It couldn't be.

"XAVIER!" The voice came again, stronger this time, and unmistakable.

"Leo?" I shouted back, disbelief warring with a surge of desperate hope. "Leo, we're in here!"

Through the flames that now partially blocked the doorway came a figure in full tactical gear, face covered by a smoke mask. Leo’s eyes widened behind his mask as he took in the scene: Felix's body, Algerone still partially restrained, and me working frantically to free him.

"I told you to stay back," I growled, anger and relief warring within me.

"You're welcome," Leo replied, immediately moving to help with the restraints. He pulled a knife from his belt and began sawing through the remaining zip ties. "The whole east wing is about to come down. We have maybe two minutes."

"His spine's damaged," I explained as we worked together. "We need to be extremely careful moving him."

Leo nodded, his face grim but determined. "I had basic spinal injury training in the Army. We need to minimize the movement of his spine at all costs."

With the final restraint cut, Algerone sagged forward, unable to support himself. Leo quickly removed his tactical jacket and rolled it into a makeshift cervical collar, placing it carefully around Algerone's neck.

"We need something flat." Leo scanned the room. His eyes landed on a large section of drywall that had fallen from the ceiling, relatively intact. "That'll work."

Together, we gently eased Algerone onto his side, maintaining the alignment of his head and spine. The heat was growing unbearable now, the air so thick with smoke it was like breathing liquid fire. My lungs burned with each breath, eyes watering constantly despite my efforts to clear them.

"This is going to hurt," I warned Algerone as we positioned the flat piece of debris beneath him.

"Just get me out of here," Algerone replied through gritted teeth, his usual composure fracturing under the pain.

We rolled him onto the improvised backboard. Leo quickly removed his belt and mine, using them to secure Algerone's torso and legs to the makeshift transport.

"On three," Leo said, positioning himself at Algerone's head. "You take the feet. We lift together, keeping it absolutely level. One, two, three!"

We lifted in unison, the weight distributed between us. The makeshift stretcher wasn't ideal, but it was far better than dragging him or attempting to carry him between us. Algerone's face was tight with pain, but he remained silent as we began our careful journey toward the door.

The path Leo had come through was already deteriorating, flames eating away at the edges of a narrow corridor. Heat blasted against us as we navigated through, struggling to keep the makeshift stretcher level despite the unstable footing and falling debris. Each step was an act of will, muscles screaming with the strain, lungs fighting for oxygen in the toxic air.

The fire around us took on a strange, almost sentient quality. It wasn't just consuming; it was hunting, reaching for us with hungry tendrils, testing barriers, seeking weaknesses. I'd always seen fire as an extension of my will, a tool to be directed. Now, I felt its true nature—chaotic, indifferent, neither ally nor enemy, but simply a force of transformation.

"Almost there," Leo encouraged, his voice strained from the effort and the thinning air. "Just a little further."

A support beam crashed down behind us, cutting off our retreat. There was only forward now, through the gauntlet of fire and collapsing structure. The building itself seemed to be fighting us, creaking and shifting with malevolent intent.

"If we don't make it," I started to say, but Leo cut me off.

"We will," he insisted, his grip tightening on the improvised stretcher. "I didn't walk into this inferno to die in it."

The steel in his voice, the absolute refusal to accept defeat, made me proud. This was the Leo few people ever saw. Not just the gentle tech expert, but the survivor. The fighter. The man who had walked through fire for me.

Together, we pushed forward, step by agonizing step, the weight of Algerone and our makeshift transport growing heavier as the air became thinner. My muscles burned with fatigue, the cut on my leg throbbing with each step, but I forced myself onward. Through the smoke, I caught glimpses of flashlights ahead, heard voices calling, directing us toward safety.

And then suddenly we were through, stumbling out into the night air that felt impossibly sweet after the toxic fumes inside. Rain poured from the dark sky, cool droplets hissing as they struck our overheated skin and gear. Commander Reid and his team rushed forward to help, taking over the stretcher as Leo and I collapsed to our knees in the mud, gasping for breath, the downpour soaking us to the bone in seconds.

Behind us, the building gave way with a deafening roar, the main structure finally surrendering to the fire that had been consuming it from within. The collapse sent a wave of heat washing over us, followed by a shower of embers and ash that mingled with the rain, sizzling as they fell around us like some apocalyptic storm.

I turned to Leo, who had removed his smoke mask and was coughing violently, bent over as his lungs fought to expel the smoke he'd inhaled. Rainwater streamed down his face, cutting clean paths through the soot and grime. Without thinking, I pulled him into my arms, holding him tightly against me as we both trembled with adrenaline and exertion and relief, the rain washing over us in sheets.

"You idiot," I murmured against his hair. "You absolute reckless idiot."

Leo's arms tightened around me, his fingers digging into my back. "I told you," he gasped between coughs. "I knew you wouldn't stay behind if it were me. Did you really think I would?"

I pulled back just enough to look at his face, taking in the soot-streaked features now being washed clean by the rain, the reddened eyes, the exhaustion. And the sheer stubborn determination that had brought him into that burning building after me. In that moment, with the heat of Felix's creation still searing my skin and rain cooling my burns, I saw Leo with a clarity I'd never had before. Not just as someone to possess, to control, to protect—but as my equal. My partner. The missing element that transformed me from a solitary hunter to something more.

Behind us, the mill collapsed completely, sending a plume of embers and smoke billowing into the night sky. The final death throes of Felix's grand design, his perfect trap that had failed to claim its intended victims.

Not because I'd outsmarted him. Not because I'd been stronger or faster or more skilled. But because I hadn't been alone.

"We need to get you all checked out," Reid said, approaching with medical personnel in tow. "Especially Mr. Etremont. His injuries appear severe."

I glanced over at Algerone, now surrounded by paramedics preparing him for transport. His eyes found mine across the distance, and something unspoken passed between us. Not forgiveness, not yet. But recognition. Acknowledgment of the bond that had driven me back into that burning building for him.

"Come on," Leo said softly, his hand finding mine. "Let's get you looked at. That cut on your leg needs stitches."

As we walked toward the waiting ambulance, I noticed Maxime sprinting across the perimeter, his usual composed demeanor shattered as he rushed toward the stretcher where Algerone lay. The raw emotion on his face, the desperate need to confirm with his own eyes that Algerone still lived—it was a side of Maxime I'd never seen. A glimpse of the man behind the perfectly polished facade, the depths of feeling he'd hidden for decades.

The truth about what Maxime had done would come out, but not tonight.

What mattered was that we'd survived. All of us. We'd faced Felix's fire and emerged scarred but alive. The burns would heal. The memories would fade. And what remained would be stronger for having been tested.

Leo's hand was warm in mine, his fingers interlacing with my own in a way that felt both new and familiar. I could feel his pulse against my skin, steady and reassuring. Present. Alive.

And whatever came next, whatever healing or confrontation or reconciliation waited on the horizon, we would face it together. That wasn't just a promise or a plan. It was a certainty as fundamental as the laws of combustion. As inevitable as the transformation that follows fire.