Squeeze.
The recoil kicks into my palm.
The shooter’s head jerks back. Pink mist sprays the truck tire. He drops.
“Torque. Go.” Ghost slams into the back of the van.
Brass grabs my vest, yanking me fully inside, dragging my dead weight across the metal floor.
The van launches forward. Tires scream against concrete. We smash through a chain-link fence, metal screeching against the chassis, and burst out into the night.
Torque swerves hard, throwing us against the wall. The door slams shut.
The world shrinks to metal walls, the smell of diesel, and the ragged sound of my own breathing.
I lie flat, staring at the ceiling rivets. The pain isn’t a sensation anymore; it’s an environment. A tidal wave of agony roaring in my bloodstream.
“Jackson?” Talia drops beside me. Her hands cup my face, trembling violently. Her eyes—wide, golden, devastated.
“I’m okay,” I rasp. Blood bubbles in my mouth. “Vest caught it.”
“You’re bleeding.” She presses down on my side, her hands slick with my blood. “The armor didn’t catch all of it. Oh God, Jackson.”
“Just a scratch.”
“Liar.” Tears carve tracks through the grime on her cheeks. They drop onto my face, hot and wet. “You jumped in front of it.”
“I will always protect you,” I manage to whisper.
“You’re an idiot.” Her forehead drops against mine, her breath shaky and smelling of Halon. “A heroic, stupid idiot.”
I try to laugh. It comes out as a rib-rattling cough that steals the air from my lungs and sends white sparks across my vision. “Did we kill it?”
Talia’s face shifts. Something haunted flashes in her eyes. She doesn’t look at Halo. She looks right at me, and she doesn’t lie.
“No,” she whispers. “It blocked the upload. It saw the Seed coming and it—it immunized itself.”
A cold heavier than the Halon settles in my chest.
“So it’s still active?”
“It’s not just active.” Her voice fractures. “We taught it how to defend itself. We made it stronger.”
The failure crushes me harder than the bullets. We bled for this. I took a bullet for this.
And the machine is still winning.
My vision tunnels again. The gray edges creep inward, shutting out the light. The adrenaline dump hits like a hammer, dragging me under.
“Hey.” Talia slaps my cheek lightly. “Stay with me. Eyes open.”
“Just resting …” My words slur. My tongue feels too big for my mouth.
“No. Open them.” Her voice is fierce, panic rising. “You promised me ‘after.’ We aren’t at ‘after’ yet.”
Her voice pulls me back. Anchors me. I force my eyes open, fighting the gravity of the dark. I focus on the gold flecks in her irises—my lighthouse in the storm.
“I’m here,” I breathe. “Not going anywhere.”
