The corridors feel different tonight. Less like stone and iron and more like tinder waiting for a spark. Guards patrol, their rifles slung loose, their eyes heavy from the storm and the monotony of another endless shift. Silas moves with the grace of someone who has lived in shadows his whole life. He waits for their backs to turn, then signals me forward with two fingers. His shoulders are tense, but his movements are precise, like every step has already been rehearsed.
We reach a junction near the server rooms, and that’s when the fire starts.
It’s not fire yet—not real flame—but smoke. Thick, oily smoke spilling through the vents. Silas rigged it earlier, I can tell by the way he doesn’t flinch. He presses his palm to the control panel, wires already crossed, code already rewritten. The alarm blares shrill and loud, drowning the storm outside. Red light flashes down the hall. Doors slam open. Soldiers rush toward the source, shouting over the klaxon.
And we move in the opposite direction.
We run hard and fast, snow melting on our skin from the heat of the vents. The smoke burns my lungs, but it also blinds the cameras, cloaking us in chaos. The wolf surges forward, claws itching to tear, and when the first guard rounds the corner I don’t hesitate.
My claws rip across his throat before he can raise the barrel of his rifle. Blood sprays hot, steaming against the cold stone, and he crumples without a sound beyond the gurgle in his throat. Silas doesn’t flinch. He drives his knife into the chest of another soldier, rips it free, and drags me forward.
“Keep moving,” he says.
The compound is unraveling. Smoke fills the halls, flames licking the edges of paper files and crates of ammunition left tooclose to the vents. Sirens wail, boots thunder, men shout orders no one can hear over the chaos. The wolf inside me howls for blood, and I let her sing. I don’t hesitate when another soldier grabs my arm, I don’t think when the knife in my hand drives straight through his ribs. He gasps once, then falls, and I step over him without slowing.
We cut down corridor after corridor, the path twisting, smoke choking, the heat rising. Silas leads, silent and sure, his movements sharper than I’ve ever seen. He knows exactly where the alarms are, where the cameras sit, where the guards will funnel when they try to lock the place down. Every system he sabotaged is paying off now—the locks fail, the cameras short, the alarms loop into useless echoes. The Syndicate prides itself on order, but tonight it’s drowning in chaos.
Gunfire erupts behind us. I duck, claws flashing, Silas pulling me through a maintenance hatch half-hidden behind a bulkhead. We crawl through the narrow metal tube, the air thick with the stink of rust and heat. When we drop into the next hall, two soldiers are already there, rifles raised.
I don’t think. I move.
The first dies with his throat torn out, my claws slicing through sinew, his blood hot against my chest. The second gets a shot off, the bullet grazing my shoulder, but I don’t stop. I drive him into the wall, claws buried in his gut until he screams and then goes limp.
Silas drags me back, checks the wound with quick eyes. “It’s shallow. Keep moving.”
I nod, teeth bared, the wolf’s growl still rumbling in my chest. We keep going, past the barracks, past the empty rec room where the television still flickers static through the smoke. The exit is close now—I can smell the snow, sharp and clean, through the chaos. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs.
Then the air shifts.
The alarms cut. The gunfire dies. The fire roars, but beneath it comes a silence heavier than stone. I know before I see him.
Roman.
He steps through the smoke at the far end of the hall, calm as the eye of a storm. His suit is untouched by ash, his hair slicked back, his face sharp and smooth, the smile thin and merciless. Soldiers flank him, rifles raised, their boots pounding in rhythm.
“You disappoint me, brother,” he says, his voice carrying clear despite the chaos. “You think I wouldn’t notice your little sabotage? You think I wouldn’t see this coming?”
Silas tenses beside me, blade still wet with blood.
Roman’s eyes shift to me, green fire against his calm. “And you. The great wolf, reduced to a pawn in his rebellion. How fitting.”
The wolf inside me snarls, demanding blood, demanding Roman’s throat. But my chains aren’t metal anymore. They’re the dozen rifles raised behind him, the Syndicate soldiers blocking the way, the weight of his gaze pinning me still.
And then Silas moves.
Not away from me, not back toward Roman. Forward.
His blade flashes silver in the red light, and since I’ve known him, he doesn’t hesitate. He turns it against his own blood.
The knife slices across Roman’s cheek, opening a line of red that stains his perfect control. Roman staggers back, shock flashing for the briefest instant before rage takes its place. The soldiers shout, rifles rising, but Silas is already moving, already dragging me forward, already cutting down the closest man before his gun can fire.
“Run,” Silas snarls.
The wolf doesn’t argue.
We tear through the last corridor, through the steel exit, and into the wild night. Snow slams against us, cold and clean, theforest stretching endless and black beyond the compound. My feet sink deep, my breath searing, but I don’t stop. Neither does he.
Behind us, the alarms scream again, the Syndicate waking from its shock. Roman roars something I can’t hear through the storm. But it doesn’t matter. Not now.
