Page 42 of Storm of Stars (Pride of Praxis #2)

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

Bex

How are you supposed to feel when you realize you're living through history?

That thought echoed in my head as we approached the empty, quiet Show Center. Now nothing more than a hollow shell haunted by the lies it helped shape.

I couldn’t stop thinking about how my name would be remembered in Nexum, long after this was over. Because one way or another, it would be remembered. The only question was how.

Would I be known as the Runaway who helped ignite the fire that finally burned Praxis to the ground? The one who helped drag the truth into the light and gave this fractured place a real chance at freedom?

Or would I go down as a failed rebel with too much heart and not enough foresight, a cautionary tale about what happens when you challenge a system built on blood and gold without enough force to back it up?

A reckless idealist. A tragic footnote.

I didn’t feel heroic. I didn’t feel brave.

I felt numb. Frightened.

But most of all, I felt angry.

Furious at the lies that raised me. Furious at the people still too blind or too scared to question them. Furious at the way Praxis turned pain into entertainment and called it justice. Furious that it had taken me this long to see it all clearly.

Zaffir led us around the back of the Show Center, staying close to the building’s wall with cautious steps. From the outside, the place looked abandoned, lights out, no movement in the windows, not even a whisper of sound. But none of us were willing to assume safety.

“They’ve most likely pulled my access. Veritas saw me. So be ready to break the door down,” Zaffir whispered.

When we reached the service entrance, Zaffir held up his credentials to the scanner. There was a tense second of silence before the light turned green with a soft click. The door unlocked.

We all froze.

Why hadn’t they revoked his access?

That single question passed silently between us, an electric charge snapping through the air. Praxis was many things, but careless wasn’t usually one of them. Which meant one thing.

She knew he would come back.

Zaffir’s voice dropped to a whisper as he slowly reached for the handle. “We need to be ready for the possibility that this is a trap. If they know we’re coming, they could be waiting.”

We nodded. No questions.

Briar and Thorne immediately shifted into defense mode, weapons drawn and eyes sharp.

Thorne knocked an arrow. Ezra and I moved our rifles to the front, even though we both knew they were empty.

But appearances mattered, especially in a place built on illusions.

Maybe if we looked armed, we’d buy ourselves a few precious seconds.

Seconds we’d need if this went sideways.

I tightened my grip around the cold metal and tried to steady my breathing.

My fear was a physical thing now, curled in my chest like a fist, squeezing tight.

But I couldn’t let it win. I turned my head just enough to meet the eyes of the people beside me, my Wildguard, my family, and offered a silent exchange of love, of gratitude, of strength.

We had made it this far together.

And maybe, if we were lucky, this would be the place where it finally ended.

The door creaked open, and we slipped inside.

It was dark. Colder than I expected. The kind of cold that sinks into your teeth and makes your spine ache. The hallway ahead of us was narrow and stark white, but it didn’t help. The darkness still clung to everything.

When the door shut behind us, it left only a faint red glow spilling from an emergency light above the exit sign. Our footsteps were too loud in the silence. Sharp. Each one cracked against the tile like a warning shot.

It felt empty. But certainly not safe. Not by any definition of the word.

The hallway spit us out into a wide-open chamber. A sunken pit sat at the center, wrapped in terminals and black metal tables. Screens hung from the ceiling above it. Thick cables ran across the floor in every direction, pulsing with quiet electricity.

To the right, a glass-walled room was packed with gear, cameras, headsets, and who knows what else.

And so far, we didn’t see anyone else.

Briar and Thorne exchanged a silent look, then split off, sweeping the outer rooms. Zaffir and Ezra flanked me, close, steady, watchful. Their eyes kept moving, scanning every shadow like it might blink.

And me? I stood still. My pulse in my ears. The breath caught in my throat.

This place was supposed to be the heart of it all. And all I could think was, maybe hearts were made to break.

Zaffir crept forward, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on the cluster of terminals ahead.

His fingers hovered just above the hard drive at his belt.

If he could get to those terminals, if he could connect, it would all be there.

Every minute of footage that had been erased.

Every bloodied second of truth. The proof Praxis had spent nearly a century burying.

All he had to do was plug it in.

Behind him, Briar and Thorne moved with precision, scanning corners, checking blind spots, their bodies slipping into the roles they showed me so naturally in the Wilds. It had been weeks since then, but they looked exactly the same now, lean, alert, lethal.

I already thought their skills were impressive. Now, I thanked every star in the sky that they had them.

Zaffir was almost there. Just a few more steps.

I adjusted my grip on the useless rifle slung in my arms. My palms were slick with sweat, making it hard to tell if I was trembling or just melting into the floor.

Ezra stood beside me, solid but tense, his breath loud and uneven in the quiet.

I was glad to know that I wasn’t alone in this sinking unnerved feeling.

The moment Zaffir's hand touched the console, the screen flared to life.

A soft click and the whole wall blinked awake, flooding the room with a harsh, sterile glow. It wasn’t just the terminals either, but the wall of screens sparked on in a slow, deliberate hum, washing everything in cold, blue-white light.

I sucked in a breath through my teeth.

It felt like we’d just fired a flare into the sky.

No more shadows to hide in. No more cover of darkness. Just five Runaways in a spotlight, standing in the belly of the beast.

I saw the moment Zaffir realized it too, his posture stiffened, just a fraction. But he didn’t stop. He reached down, pulled the drive from his belt, and looked at us over his shoulder.

He offered us a quick nod. Then turned back to connect the drive to the waiting terminal.

That’s when the shot rang out.

Time didn’t stop, but it staggered. Everything lurched into slow motion.

I heard the sharp crack of the bullet, the shattering of glass somewhere above, and then the echo bouncing off the walls in endless ricochet.

Before I could even register where it came from, Ezra’s body collided with mine, shielding me as we hit the ground in a tangled heap.

Briar shouted something, maybe my name, maybe a command, but it was swallowed by the chaos as she fired a return shot. My fingers scrambled for the daggers at my belt. Cold steel, warm grip. I clutched them like lifelines.

More glass rained down, and my heart kicked into overdrive. Boots hit the floor in all directions and Ezra shot up beside me, gripping his pickaxe like a man ready to stand against the world.

I turned my head, trying to orient myself and that’s when I saw him.

Zaffir was on the ground, facedown. Blood was pooling beneath his outstretched hand, dark and steady. My stomach dropped, until his eyes found mine. He was alive. Hurting, but alive. Fury burned behind his pain.

Then the world snapped back to full speed.

I launched to my feet and bolted toward him, ducking low, dodging shadows, my only thought was ‘ get to Zaffir. Protect him.’

At least ten, or maybe more, Praxis guards had stormed the chamber. Their uniforms were scorched, torn, splattered in old and fresh blood. They looked like war torn ghosts of the people they used to be. So did we.

One of them rushed me. Ezra stepped between us like a wall of rage, driving the blunt end of his pickaxe into the man’s gut. There was a sickening crunch, and the guard crumpled.

I didn’t stop running. Zaffir was trying to get up, struggling.

Another guard was bearing down on him fast. I didn’t think, I just moved.

I sprinted and dove, clearing Zaffir’s body and slamming both daggers into the guard’s chest plate.

They didn’t pierce deep enough to kill, but the hit was solid, jarring, and it knocked him off balance long enough for Thorne to send an arrow clean into his throat. The guard gurgled, then fell.

I looked up, just long enough to nod at Thorne. He was already turning, aiming at his next target.

I dropped beside Zaffir. His hand was a mess. Blood streamed from a hole torn straight through the center of his palm. He cradled it against his chest, breathing in short, shallow bursts.

“Zaffir,” I whispered, my eyes scanning for the next threat.

Another guard was heading our way. I stood, putting myself between him and Zaffir. He didn’t hesitate as he slammed the butt of his rifle straight into the side of my head.

Pain burst across my skull in a flash of white. I dropped to my knees, blinking through the haze as the guard stepped toward Zaffir, rifle raised.

I kicked out, sweeping his legs from under him. He hit the ground hard, and Zaffir, gods, even injured, pulled a dagger with his good hand and drove it into the exposed flesh of the guard’s throat.

The man thrashed, screamed, then stilled.

I turned to Zaffir, and his gaze drifted past me, to the terminal. To the hard drive lying there, shattered. One single perfect, precise shot had destroyed everything.

The footage. The truth. Gone.

That had been the plan all along. They wanted us to get to the Show Center. They wanted for us to feel a sense of security. Then they’d take out the evidence.