My pulse spikes.
Something’s wrong.
The Warden doesn’t like disorder.
I strain against the cuffs, leaning closer to the bars even though I know it won’t help.
Then—
A whisper.
So faint I almost miss it.
“…Pierce…”
My breath catches violently.
No.
That’s not possible.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself not to fall into hope like a trap.
Then it comes again.
“…Ghostline…”
My heart slams so hard it hurts.
That callsign wasn’t legend.
It wascommand.
It was Ronan standing in the dark, calm as death, telling us exactly how we were getting out alive.
My mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Tears sting my eyes—unwanted, unstoppable.
I press my forehead to the bars, shaking.
“If you’re real…” I whisper. “If this isn’t my mind finally breaking…”
I swallow hard.
“Then don’t stop.”
Footsteps thunder suddenly.
Guards rush past my cell, weapons raised, radios crackling with urgency.
One of them shouts, “Signal leak confirmed! Eastern wing—lock it down!”
The door slams.
Darkness drops.
