Page 75 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

Later, when the guard patrol passes and the others have fallen into exhausted sleep, Jenna’s whisper finds me through the bars.

“Ally.” Her voice barely carries the short distance between our cells. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Two fingers.” The words catch in my throat. “You lost two fingers because of me.”

“Your sabotage might have bought Guardian HQ more time.” Her pragmatism shocks me. “Might have delayed whatever he’s planning. It was worth the cost. You and Stitch did what any one of us would’ve done. We all would’ve taken a chance to disrupt his plans. None of this is your fault.”

“I still feel terrible.”

“And I’ll still give you the biggest, strongest hug when we get out of here. Malfor wants to hurt us. He wants to drive a wedge between us. We don’t let him. No matter what he does…”

She means well. Jenna means to absolve me of my actions, but it will take time to forgive myself.

Sleep refuses to come. I lie awake watching the faint outline of Jenna’s breathing through the bars, the irregular rise and fall revealing the pain she endures despite her brave words.

Malfor’s strategy becomes clearer with each passing hour. He’s not just breaking our bodies—he’s breaking our bonds. Making resistance synonymous with another person’s suffering. Creating a prison where the walls exist in our minds more than in concrete and steel.

The worst realization comes in the darkest hour before dawn: he’s winning.

Not through the collars.

Not through beatings.

Not through psychological torture.

He’s winning by making me afraid to fight back. By making the cost of resistance too high to bear.

I stare at the ceiling, imagining Guardian HQ planning their rescue, unaware of the nanobots monitoring their every move. I imagine Hank and Gabe working together, preparing for an extraction that will fail before it begins.

I imagine the quantum network Malfor unleashed spreading through financial systems, government infrastructure, and defense networks—all controlled by a man who cuts off fingers to make a point.

Whatever resistance remains, it can’t be obvious. It must be subtle and invisible even to those closest to us.

Tomorrow I’ll return to the lab. I’ll fix the calibration. I’ll work diligently on Malfor’s quantum network. I’ll be the model prisoner, the broken asset, the compliant tool.

And somewhere beneath that performance, I’ll keep searching for the one thing Malfor doesn’t expect me to find.

A way to bring it all down.

TWENTY-SIX

The Signal

GABE

I lean backin the facility’s breakroom chair, watching Hank methodically clean his sidearm for the third time today. A week locked in this underground bunker has taught me things about Hank I never noticed before—like how he arranges his gear in perfect right angles when he’s processing complex information, or the way he hums barely audible classical music when he’s content.

Today it’s something that sounds like Mozart, which means he’s optimistic about our progress.

The air recycling system maintains perfect temperature and humidity, but it can’t replicate the salt tang of ocean wind or the sound of waves against rock. Seven days without natural light have left both of us pale as lab rats, but the work we’ve accomplished makes the confinement worthwhile.

“Blake and Walt should be here in an hour.” Hank slides the weapon back into its holster, smooth and automatic. His actions carry the easy confidence that comes from a week of our friendship healing itself through working together again.

“About time. I’m ready to see sunlight again.” I stretch, feeling vertebrae pop after too many hours hunched overmonitoring equipment. “Think they’ll handle being locked up better than we did?”

“Blake will go stir-crazy by day three. Walt will probably reorganize the entire lab by day two.” Hank’s mouth quirks up at the corner—the closest thing to a grin I’ve seen from him since Ally disappeared. “At least they’ll have results to keep them busy.”

The past week has been a masterclass in controlled scientific breakthroughs. Dr. Kim and her team worked eighteen-hour days reverse-engineering nanobot architecture while Hank and I maintained security protocols. But more than that, we found our rhythm again.