She grinned, wild and perfect. “Plenty of time.”
Her hands were quick but sure, working the bundle of wires Miles guided her through. I saw the sweat drip down her temple, the small tremor she fought to hide. When the countdown hit thirty seconds, she cut the final line.
The lights blinked. Then—silence.
The red glow faded to pale blue. Systems are powering down. Containment cancelled.
Mile’s voice returned, shaky with relief. “You did it. Core temperature’s dropping. You’re clear.”
I turned toward her, but she was already walking back, breathless, hair stuck to her cheek, eyes bright. I caught her before she could say anything, one hand at her waist, the other at the back of her neck.
For a second, we didn’t speak. The air smelled of smoke and cold metal. Her heartbeat pounded against my palm.
“You always have to be the hero,” I said.
“Funny,” she whispered. “I was about to say the same thing.”
I kissed her—quick, rough, just enough to remind myself we were still here.
Aaron’s voice cracked over comms, perfectly timed. “If you two are done celebrating, we’ve got movement outside. Markham didn’t lock you in to kill you—he wanted to keep youhere.He’s heading for the surface with a data drive.”
Julia stepped back, breath still unsteady. “He’s leading us to Reese.”
“Or to something worse,” I said. “Either way, we’re not done.”
We grabbed our rifles, moving toward the exit as the last of the alarms died. The door seals released with a hiss, cool morning air pouring in.
I looked at her once more before we stepped through. “Ready?”
She nodded, that same fierce smile back in place. “Always.”
And just like that, we were running again—out of the smoke and into whatever waited next. Logan and Boone stood on the other side.
26
Julia
The blast doors yawned open to the smell of wet earth and jet fuel. Dawn bruised the horizon—violet turning to gray—and the Veridian compound stretched ahead like a sleeping beast.
Markham was already halfway across the tarmac, a slim figure in a field jacket, clutching a small black case. He moved fast for a man his age, cutting toward a waiting VTOL transport idling at the far pad.
“He’s not getting away again,” Hawk said.
We all ran.
The cold air tore at my throat, boots pounding the concrete. Wind from the aircraft’s turbines whipped spray and grit into our faces. Markham glanced back once, saw us, and pushed harder. He was almost at the ramp when Hawk’s voice cut through the distance:
“Don’t do it, Markham!”
Markham slowed—not stopped, but slowed—long enough to call over the noise. “You can’t stop this. Veridian isn’t a project anymore. It’s infrastructure.”
He turned, and Hawk’s shot cracked the morning open.The bullet took the ramp control clean, sparks showering as the platform jammed halfway up. Markham stumbled, dropped the case, and dove behind a stack of fuel drums.
“Cover!” Hawk barked. We slid behind a maintenance cart as return fire sparked off the metal. The air smelled of cordite and rain.
Boone’s voice came through the comms. “We’re inbound—ninety seconds.”
“Too long,” Hawk growled.
