That’s when we saw them. Wires. Everywhere. Taped to the ceiling. Run along the floorboards. Hidden beneath the rug. Connected to a black box under the boardroom table.
Red lights blinking.
If I disappear, it wasn’t an accident.
Camille’s voice.
Ours now.
“Fuck,” Loyal breathed.
He ran forward. Opened the box. Inside: enough explosives to level the tower. Thermal charges. Shaped. Timed.
“This is military grade.”
Barron reached into his coat. “Disable it.”
“I can’t,” Loyal said. “Not in time.”
I looked at him.
Dead calm.
“How much time?”
He didn’t answer. There was no timer. Just a signal. Waiting. Trip wire. Motion. Maybe remote.
“Back,” I ordered, panic rising like a wave.“GET THE FUCK BACK!”
Loyal’s voice cracked.
“We were never meant to walk out.”
But it was too late.
A flicker in my head.
Camille—standing in this room years ago, laughing, alive.
Then Camille—bleeding.
Then Cloe.Screaming.
Then—
Darkness.
The lights died. The door behind us locked. And the room screamed. High-pitched. Metal shriek. Not from the bomb. From the speakers. Feedback. A final warning.
I reached for the collar.
Held it tight.
Pressed it to my lips like communion.
Like prayer.
Like the last breath I'd ever take would taste of her.
