Inessa’s men.
Damian leads, and I follow close enough that when he stops, my shoulder brushes his back. The tunnel walls around us narrow, then widen again without pattern, as if the underground itself is breathing unevenly. Dust rains from the ceiling in soft avalanches each time the earth shakes.
Every sound feels sharpened: my boots scraping stone, Damian’s exhale, the bounce of the drives tied against my thigh, like a rhythmic heartbeat.
We reach a split in the corridor. Damian angles left, trusting Kiro’s directions the way a drowning man trusts a rope.
“Two hostiles on your upper right,” Kiro warns choppily. “They’re setting up position.”
Without hesitation, Damian swings his arm back, pushing me to the wall.
“Stay low.”
I drop into a crouch just as muzzle flashes bloom overhead. Small suns burst to life in the dark as sparks shower us from the catwalk above, pattering against my hair and jacket like burning snow.
Damian fires upward, three quick shots that echo through my bones. The mercenary above screams, then something heavy slams onto the metal grate.
My lungs refuse to cooperate as Damian’s hand grabs mine, pulling me forward again. We sprint, the tunnel tilting upward as though the entire world is rearing back, trying to throw us off its spine.
The incline grows steeper. Stone shifts under our feet, grit sliding like treacherous sand.
“Right turn—go now!” Kiro barks in my ear.
Damian obeys a millisecond before the tunnel wall behind us erupts—chunks of rock exploding outward. Heat sears my back, my ears ringing with a shrill metallic whine.
I stumble, knees buckling.
Damian catches me mid-fall, arm wrapping tight around my waist. His breath brushes my temple frantically.
“You with me?” he murmurs.
“Yeah.” My voice trembles. “Let’s go.”
We run again, weaving through debris, over fallen pipes and fractured concrete slabs jutting like rotted teeth from the tunnel floor. The smoke is so thick in the air, it coats the back of my throat, bitter as unsaid truths.
“Kiro?” I gasp. “How far—”
“Almost there,” he cuts in, his voice stressed. “The exit’s unstable… four minutes before the whole shaft… collapses.”
Damian curses under his breath, the expletive slicing through the air with more force than any explosion.
We reach the final ascent—a steep stairwell carved into stone, railing rusted, half buried. Thin light filters down from somewhere above.
And waiting at the top of the stairs—shadows. Way too many to be comfortable with.
I freeze and Damian slows, raising his gun, posture shifting into something predatory and patient. From the platform above, a mocking, feminine voice calls down, “Going somewhere, sweetheart?”
That’s not Inessa’s voice. Her voice isn’t cloyingly sweet; it’s a faux-kindness she’s perfected.
Three silhouettes fan out, rifles glinting faintly. The fourth crouches behind a concrete pillar, lining up his aim.
Must be one of her soldiers.
“Keep moving,” Damian whispers as he reloads his pistol. “Don’t stop unless I tell you.”
He fires and the stairwell erupts into chaos.
Metal ricochets, concrete shatters, bullets zipping past like furious hornets. I duck behind the railing, heart battering my ribs. Damian moves with precision that looks like instinct but is forged from relentless training.
