We’re inside.
The facility’s corridors are different from before—more guards, more sensors, more evidence of paranoid preparation. But we move with the confidence of our bond, anticipating each other’s actions seamlessly.
“Prisoner wing is this way,” Lyra says, following the map we memorized. “Sublevel four, eastern section.”
We encounter our first Broken patrol—three of them, these ones more functional than the previous specimens. I shift mid-stride, snow leopard form exploding into being, and tear into them with ice-enhanced claws. Lyra covers my blind spots with precise bursts of healing-turned-weapon, disrupting their nervous systems.
We drop them in seconds and keep moving.
More patrols. More Broken. Each fight is brutal and efficient, and I feel Lyra’s distress through our bond—these were peopleonce, victims of Crane’s madness, and she hates having to hurt them even to survive.
“I know,” I send through the bond. “But we save the ones we can. The prisoners who aren’t too far gone.”
She nods, jaw set with determination, and we press deeper into the facility.
The prisoner wing is exactly where the maps indicated—rows of reinforced cells, each containing a Broken in various stages of transformation. Some still look mostly human, others are barely recognizable. All of them are suffering.
“Start with the most recent transformations,” Lyra orders, already moving toward the first cell. “They have the best chance of reversal if we can interrupt the toxin quickly enough.”
I force open the cell doors while she works, her healing light assessing and stabilizing. Behind us, more coalition forces are breaching the facility, engaging Crane’s defenses, creating the chaos we need to complete the rescue.
We’re halfway through the wing, several prisoners stabilized and being evacuated, when the alarms change pitch. Not the breach warnings—something else. Something worse.
“He’s coming,” Lyra whispers, her face going pale. “Magnus, Crane is coming here. I can feel it in the visions—this is the decision point I saw. The branch moment.”
“What are our options?”
“We can evacuate now with the prisoners we’ve saved. Get them to safety, regroup, try again.” She’s trembling, one hand pressed to her temple like she’s seeing multiple futures simultaneously. “Or we can stay and face him. Finish this now. But that path...” She looks at me, fear naked in her eyes. “That path goes through fire and blood, Magnus. Through the moment I’ve seen in nightmares.”
“The moment where I’m wounded protecting you.”
“Yes. Except now I see more. See what comes after if we survive it.” Her voice drops to barely audible. “Evolution, Magnus. Not just for us but for everyone. A way to reverse what Crane’s done, to heal the Broken completely. But it requires...” She stops, unable to continue.
“Requires what?”
“The ritual. The life-bond. Done here, in this place, using Crane’s own equipment against him.” She’s shaking harder now. “It’s dangerous. Could kill us both. But it’s the only path I see that leads to real victory.”
Through the bond, I feel her certainty warring with her terror. She knows what needs to happen. She just doesn’t know if we’re strong enough to survive it.
I take her face in both hands, making her look at me. “I trust you. Whatever you saw, whatever path you choose—I’m with you. Always.”
“Even if it means?—”
“Even then.” I kiss her fiercely. “We didn’t come this far to run now. We finish this.”
The decision crystallizes in her eyes. “Then we stay. We face him.”
As if summoned by her choice, Crane’s voice echoes through the facility’s speaker system: “How touching. The mated pair, so brave, so foolish, walking into my trap again.” His laugh is layered, wrong, multiple voices speaking at once. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know you were coming? Wouldn’t prepare?”
The cell doors we haven’t opened yet slam shut, trapping the remaining prisoners. Gas begins hissing from vents—not toxic to us, but the Broken start going berserk, throwing themselves against their cells with renewed violence.
“He’s using them as weapons,” Lyra says, horrified. “Driving them mad with pain to make them more dangerous.”
“Where is he?” I demand through the speakers, knowing Crane is listening.
“Where I’ve always been, Mountain Cat. In my laboratory. Waiting for you to bring me what I need.” His tone turns cajoling, sick with false sweetness. “Come to me, Lyra. Let’s discuss treatment protocols. Let’s talk about how you can help stabilize my condition, prevent further degradation. I’ll even let your mate live if you cooperate.”
“He’s lying,” I growl.
