Page 85 of Victorious: Part 3

Every doorway is a question.

Every shadow could be the last thing we see.

Tripwires glinting faintly in the strobing gunfire, ankle height, vicious little vipers waiting to bite. Pressure plates lurk beneath rugs, daring us to step wrong. Kite’s voice is a lifeline in my ear, sharp warnings snapping seconds before the traps can take us. Even with her eyes on every corner, this place isbleeding us dry.

The path behind us is slick with blood, ours in streaks, theirs in pools. The soldiers here don’t protect this place. They worship it. Zealots with rifles, trading their lives for inches of ground. Every advance is a knife fight through this maze.

To our left, Peacock drops an enemy with a clean shot between the eyes, blood spraying across the window. She wipes the blood from the pane, then pulls out her lipstick from between her breasts, and begins to apply it as the fight continues around her. I chuckle, shooting a guard approaching behind her while she glances in the reflection to make sure she looks pristine. She gives me a little air kiss in thanks before she takes off.

To our right, Nighthawk buries a blade in a guard’s side, twisting until the man folds. Behind me, Magpie crushes a soldier’s windpipe against the wall, teeth bared in a grin that makes even me glad she’s on my side.

A shout goes up ahead, two soldiers break cover, rifles spitting rounds. We drop low and return fire. My shoulder jerks with each trigger pull, the recoil rattling through my bones. One soldier drops. The other charges, screaming something in Spanish about dying for the cause. Rosella steps into his path and meets him with a knife to the gut, shoving him back into the wall so hard his skull cracks on impact.

We round the next corner, and I see it.

A corridor rigged with directional explosives.

The world snaps into slow motion.

Kite’s warning in my ear.

The faint red blink of the sensor.

The sudden, absolute stillness of the air before everything goes to hell.

The blast rips through the passage with a sound like the earth splitting. A wall of fire punches out in a roaring shockwave,flattening us. My ears burst into a high-pitched scream while heat slams into my back so hard it steals my breath, shoving me face-first into the floor. Grit and the metallic taste of copper flood my mouth as my lungs claw for oxygen that isn’t there.

Sparks rain from the ceiling before chunks of wall clatter to the floor. A twisted doorframe screeches before collapsing. My vision swims, the edges trembling with static.

“Kestrel!” Nighthawk’s voice is raw.

She coughs, then splutters, “I’m good!” Though her tone is ragged.

The sprinklers kick in, hissing streams of water that mingle with the smoke into a choking fog. It’s not the clean, fresh smell of rain. It’s burned wiring, scorched paint, and the bitter tang of charred flesh.

I shove to my feet, vest scorched, chest heaving. My ribs ache, my head’s still ringing, but there’s no stopping now. We push forward, boots slapping through water.

Another soldier lunges out of the haze, swinging a rifle like a club. Rosella sidesteps and smashes the butt of her shotgun into his jaw with a crack that snaps his head sideways.

Two more emerge from a side hall, firing wildly. Rosella and Nighthawk split, one low, one high, flanking them in a dance of death, knives flashing, gunshots barking in tight bursts until both men hit the deck.

Every step takes us closer.

Every breath tastes of smoke and adrenaline.

My pulse is pounding out a single truth…

Javier is here.

And nothing will stop us from reaching him.

“We’re at the final wing,” Nighthawk pants beside me, her voice raw from smoke and shouting. “Service tunnel ahead.”

I glance at her. Her face smeared with soot, a gash above her brow leaking blood into her eye, but her hands are steady. Hergaze laser-focused.

I’ve honestly never been more proud.

The only thing missing from this fight is Poppy.