Christian’s pulse spikes, and there’s almost little care for noise as he opens the door beside it, a large office emboldened with expensive furniture and smooth wood.
Because he knows by now it’s a trap.
Fuck.
“He’s not here.” Christian can barely hear himself speak. His voice is a knife through the silence, the only sound breaking the stillness of the night.
“What do you mean he’s not there?” The horror in Harvey’s voice is tangible. “I’m looking at him right now—”
“Harvey, get out of there—” The command is barely out of his mouth when a strange sound snaps through the comms.
“Oh.” There’s a sudden defeat in Harvey’s voice, raw and unfamiliar, and from the other side of the compound, Harvey shuts his eyes tightly. The spyware is sending a message through his monitors in the RV. A virtual timer in the form of a white ghost, spamming his displays and counting down his last few seconds.
“Sorry.” He can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Guess second place doesn’t get a re-do, huh?”
An explosion shatters the air and Christian runs to the window, only to see a billow of smoke and flame on the other side of the compound.
“Harvey?” His heart is pumping so furiously he’s sure for a moment he feels dizzy.
But there’s no response from the comms anymore.
The lines for the entire team have gone dark.
“Harvey!” Christian screams for his friend across the comms, but the only answering sound is the crackle of the flames in the trees. In the space where they’d hidden the RV.
Grief clogs his throat, but there’s no time. A catlike screech cuts through the air, bringing him back to his senses, and he runs out of the room towards it.
This was a setup.
“Max?! Mitch! Everett!” He runs through the empty hall, the sound of his desperate footsteps overshadowed still by the ticking sound of the antique clock, filling him with a dread that sinks into his bones.
“Fuck! Answer me!” He takes the stairs three at a time, but instead of their voices, a catlike yowl answers him. He follows the sound, past the kitchen, until he hears fighting in the living room.
“You—fucking traitor!”
Christian barges into the room at the sound of Max’s voice. A voice he’d never heard raised in his life. And the scene unfolding in front of him when he enters the room doesn’t make sense.
Max holds Mitch to his chest, furious tears staining his cheeks and blurring his vision as he points a gun at Everett across the room. But his hand is shaking—his hand never fucking shakes—and he’s covered in blood. It seeps into his clothes and spreads from his body, reaching for Christian like a shadow from a nightmare.
There is only the light from the terrace to bring the scene into focus—
The vision of death in Mitch’s usually bright brown eyes.
Max screams. Through tears, through suffering, through rage, “You fuckingkilledus—”
Two shots go off in the air, and his scream snaps mid-breath, stolen by silence so quickly, Christian swears it’s still bouncing off the walls, ringing in his ears. It feels like an eternity within a moment, as the light in Max’s eyes flickers out like a candle—
Like a star swallowed up by an infinite darkness.
Max’s body thuds to the floor, his blood adding to the pool, reaching for Christian across the tiles, amplifying the nightmare, and Christian still doesn’t understand.
He doesn’t understand the pounding in his ears.
He doesn’t understand the silence—can’t sink his teeth into the reality of the last few moments.
And when he looks at Everett, he still barely understands it—
Why he’s facing the barrel of a smoking gun.
