They burst through the stairwell door and straight into hell.
The office isn’t full of terrified civilians. It’s full of warriors.
The “employees” at their desks surge upward, and suddenly, the operatives aren’t facing accountants and assistants—they’re facing trained Moonvale soldiers who have been waiting for this exact moment.
The first operative manages one shocked curse before a “secretary” grabs his weapon hand and snaps his wrist with a crack that echoes across the room. He screams. She doesn’t let go, using his momentum to flip him over a desk that splinters under the impact.
Chaos erupts.
252 spins toward me, his eyes wide with realization, but I’m already moving, dropping the “dying man” act like I’m shedding a coat. I snap the handler’s neck, and then my fist catches 252 inthe solar plexus—a blow that would drop most men. He staggers back, shock and fury warring on his face.
“You don’t move like you’re sick,” he gasps.
“That’s because I’m not.”
I don’t give him any more time to recover. My elbow crashes into his jaw. His head snaps to the side as blood sprays from his split lip.
He’s good, though. Just as I expect of someone with his level of experience, he rolls with the hit, creating distance, and his hand goes for the silver blade at his thigh.
I’m younger than 252, however, so I bet I’m faster.
Before the blade clears its sheath, I grab his wrist, twisting hard. Bone grinds. He tries to headbutt me, but I jerk to one side. His forehead glances off my cheekbone instead of breaking my nose.
“How did you get rid of the poison?” he asks angrily.
“It was a lie,” I snarl as we grapple. “I’m not bound to the Covenant anymore. I know the truth.”
252’s eyes narrow mockingly. “So, you figured it out.” He brings his knee up, aiming for my groin. I twist my hips and take it on the thigh instead. “You think you’re special? You think you’re the first to find out?”
The words hit harder than his knee did. “What?”
He laughs, the sound breathless as we struggle against each other. “There is no escape, 621. Poison or not, failed operatives must die.”
Understanding washes over me like a bucket of ice water. There have been others who found out and tried to escape, but these bastards killed them.
I can’t let that happen to me.
I slam my forehead into his nose. Cartilage crunches and blood pours down his face. He staggers, his grip loosening, and I rip the blade from his hand and toss it across the room.
Around us, the fight rages on.
Off to my left, a Covenant operative tries to use a “civilian” as a shield, but the man—a Moonvale warrior named Thomas—elbows him in the throat and flips him over his shoulder.
I notice another operative swing a silver blade at a female soldier. She ducks under the strike, comes up on the other side, and drives her palm into his elbow. The joint hyperextends with a loud pop.
In my peripheral vision, two operatives try to make a run for the stairwell. They don’t make it. Pack warriors tackle them from both sides, bringing them to the ground in a tangle of limbs and snarling fury.
“Seize them!” Darius’s voice cuts through the chaos, commanding and absolute. “I want them alive!”
The Alpha strides through the office like a force of nature, directing his people expertly. Ethan is at his side, his fists bloody, a grim smile on his face.
This isn’t a fight. It’s a slaughter.
The Covenant operatives are skilled—I’ll give them that. Trained and deadly and efficient. But they walked into a trap, and they’re outnumbered three to one by warriors who have been preparing for this for two days.
252 lunges at me again, desperation making him sloppy. I sidestep, grab the back of his neck, and drive his face into the nearest desk. Once. Twice. The third time, he goes limp.
Breathing hard, I let him drop, adrenaline singing in my veins.
