“Arlo, stop,” Arsen pleads, against my ear. “Please.”
“Don’t you fucking—” I spin in his hold and land a punch to his jaw. He stumbles, but he doesn’t let go. “You lied to me! You knew! You all knew he was alive, and you left me here!”
My knees give out. I collapse in Arsen’s hold, still screaming, still trying to get free—but my body’s quitting on me. My voice breaks. My soul shatters.
A shout cuts through the fog.
“How thefuckwas this missed?!” Raze’s voice explodes across the room.
I blink through my tears, just in time to see him holding something up near my father’s body, a small metal implant. My brain can’t make sense of it. Not until the world tilts and the bunker shakes beneath us.
An explosion rocks the walls. Dust rains from the ceiling. The lights sputter and die.
Shouts and gunfire rip through the darkness.
“No! Dad!” I wrench out of Arsen’s grip and crawl toward the bed, toward the cooling body that used to be my father. I need to hold him. I need to tell him goodbye.
“Dad, please!”
Gunfire pounds through the bunker halls.
I’m crawling, blind with grief, when Priest yanks me back—slinging me over his shoulder.
“Put me down, you fucking bastard!” I slam my fists into his back. “Let me go!”
Another explosion rocks us. The blast steals the air from my lungs. My ears ring and the taste of ash floods my mouth. I hit the floor hard, coughing on dust, scrambling toward my dad again. I don’t make it far.
His fucking arms wrap around me again, crushing me to his chest, and then we’re moving. I hear the shots. The crack of his gun. The bodies dropping. But all I care about is getting away from him. From this.
From fuckingeverything.
“Let me go!” I scream, punching, kicking, feeling the blood slide into my eyes from a cut on my forehead. “Let me go!”
He kicks open a door and throws us inside, slamming it shut. Then I’m shoved hard against the wall, his body a cage, a fucking prison.
“Stay fucking put!” he roars, slamming his fist into the concrete beside my head.
I react without thinking. My hand closes around the blade tucked in his waistband. I rip it free and drive it into his side. A grunt leaves his lips as he stumbles back, blood already soaking through his shirt.
“Fucking die!” I lunge, shoving him hard enough to send him off balance and bolt.
I don’t care where I end up.
I don’t care if I die.
As long as I’m away from him.
As long as I never have to see his face again.
“ARLO!”
I’m already out the door. Bare feet pounding across cold concrete, lungs tearing open with every breath. The bunker’s a blur of smoke, gunfire, strobing emergency lights that make the blood look black.
I sprint past bodies—faces half-gone. Blood soaking the walls. Shrapnel whips past my face, slicing my cheek open.
I keep running.
A rifle catches my eye, half-buried under a body. I yank it free mid-stride, don’t bother checking the mag. I’ll take my chances.
