Miles is already rerouting assets. Jase locks new coordinates. Aaron shifts the vehicle into motion.
Malenkov’s voice cuts in again, silk over steel. “You don’t get to choose the timeline anymore, Pierce.”
I tilt my head.
“No,” I say. “You don’t.”
Because every second he’s focused on breaking my brothers—
Jonah is rewriting the terrain.
And when Malenkov realizes what he’s actually given me—
It’ll already be too late.
63
Lance Levine
Location: Ascendancy Detention Wing
Time: 1206 Hours
The camera hums.
I can hear it even over the ringing in my ears—the faint mechanical whine of something watching too closely. Too patiently.
They want a reaction.
Pain pulses in slow waves through my chest, each breath scraping like broken glass. The bandages are too tight. That’s on purpose. Keeps the ribs from shifting while they work you over. Keeps you alive longer.
Malenkov likes alive.
The guard steps back after the second strike, baton resting casually against his shoulder like this is a drill, not an execution rehearsal.
I keep my head up.
Not because it doesn’t hurt.
Because I know who’s watching.
The lens adjusts—zooms just enough to catch my face.The busted eye. The blood. The tremor I don’t bother hiding in my hands.
Good.
Let him see it all.
Let Ronan see I’m still here.
I don’t know where Jonah is. Don’t know if he made it. Don’t know if this is already over or just beginning.
Doesn’t matter.
Four years ago, Malenkov made a mistake.
He thought isolation would turn us inward.
He thought pain would make us selfish.
