Hit.
I glance down at him.
Still sharp.
Good.
“Jonah just collapsed the uphill pursuit,” Lena reports. “Hunters are disengaging.”
Of course he did.
“That’s our window,” I say. “We take it.”
The corridor splits—Bravo route to the surface. The same corridor, Malenkov believed, was locked down.
Smoke pours from a ruptured conduit ahead, alarms screaming now, lights flickering like the place itself knows it’s dying.
Ethan stumbles.
Aaron tightens his grip. “Easy, brother.”
Ethan exhales, nodding once. “Still here.”
That’s all any of us ever needed to hear.
The blast door looms ahead—final barrier before daylight access.
“Charges?” Miles asks.
“No,” I answer. “Manual.”
I won’t let Malenkov take another piece.
I slam my hand onto the release panel, override screaming as I force it through.
The door shudders.
Rounds slam into the wall behind us.
Lance stiffens.
“You’re bleeding,” I say.
He snorts. “Been bleeding for four years.”
The door opens.
Cold air rushes in.
Real air.
Forest air.
We move as one.
Outside, the extraction zone is chaos—rotors already spinning, dust and debris whipping the clearing into a storm.
Delta Five fans out, weapons high.
