I drop to one knee behind him, hands over my head, heart trying to climb out of my throat as rebellion ignites in real time all around us, the compound collapsing into violence and panic and power grabs as rival factions turn on each other in the span of ten seconds.
Containment is gone.
Control is gone.
The Nine just fractured itself on a single word.
Tur doesn’t retreat.
He advances.
Unstoppable.
Controlled.
Terrifying.
And for the first time since they dragged me into this nightmare, I know with absolute certainty that I am walking out of it alive.
CHAPTER 26
TUR
The control room is on fire when I kick the door in.
Not metaphorically.
Actually, physically on fire.
Flames crawl up the far wall in hungry orange sheets, licking at bundles of data cable and ventilation ducting like they’re made of kindling instead of fire-retardant composite, while the air inside the room shimmers with heat distortion and carries the thick, choking taste of burned insulation and scorched metal that coats the back of my throat and makes every breath feel like a bad decision.
Sparks rain from the ceiling where a plasma round blew a fist-sized hole through a power conduit, and the emergency suppression system is half-triggered, dumping a thin, useless mist that hisses angrily when it hits exposed circuitry and does absolutely nothing to slow the fire’s spread.
I drag the door shut behind me with one hand, sealing off the corridor noise and screams and gunfire and turning the chaos of the compound into a muffled, distant thunder that vibrates through the walls like the heartbeat of a dying animal.
Kimberly is three steps behind me.
Alive.
Upright.
Breathing.
The bond hums hot and steady between us, not feral, not overwhelming, just… locked, like something essential finally snapped into place and decided it wasn’t moving again.
“You good?” I snap, already crossing the room.
“I have opinions about your definition of ‘good,’” she pants, pressing a hand to her ribs. “But I’m vertical and not actively bleeding out, so let’s call it a win and keep moving.”
I huff something that might be a laugh and drop into the command chair in front of the main broadcast console, the cracked ferroglass display lighting my face in a sickly blue glow as heat rolls across my back and sweat starts pooling under my armor.
The interface is half-fried.
Touch sensitivity is lagging.
Three input ports are dead.
The main uplink array is still intact, though, blinking green like it has no idea it’s about to end several criminal empires and one interstellar career in under thirty seconds.
