“Do it!” I snarl.
Her fingers pinch. The green wire parts with a soft snap. The hum in the pillar shifts pitch, a low growl rising. Red lights flicker. For an instant everything freezes: Marrok glancing over his shoulder, his men pausing mid-step, the hostages clutching each other.
And then the bomb box emits a long, rising tone — not the quiet click of disarmament but something else.
Alaina’s eyes go wide. “That’s not good,” she whispers.
The pillar’s glow deepens, heat radiating into my back. I can feel it through my ribs, a pulse like a heartbeat.
Marrok whirls, snarling, tightening his grip on Caelix. “What did you do?!”
I strain against the chains, lunging forward as far as they’ll allow. “Run!” I shout to Alaina. “Get him clear!”
But I can’t move. She’s still half-bound. The bomb is still live. The hostages scream.
Marrok’s cyber-eye burns like a flare. “You just doomed yourselves,” he spits. “And your brat.”
I bare my teeth at him. “No, Marrok. You did.”
The rising tone crescendos. The red lights flicker again. Sweat drips into my eyes. My muscles burn. Alaina fumbles at the remaining wires, desperate.
Caelix whimpers in Marrok’s arms. His little hand reaches toward us.
Alaina’s voice cracks. “Troka—tell me what to do!”
I drag air into my lungs. “Hold steady. I’m thinking.”
The pillar vibrates harder, the metal under my palms going hot.
Marrok laughs — a jagged, ugly sound. “Think faster, soldier.”
The tone peaks.
And everything hangs there — heat, light, the stink of sweat and ozone — on the edge of detonation.
CHAPTER 42
TROKA
“Fuck it,” Alaina says, ripping a handful of wires loose. I brace for disaster, but the pillar behind me goes cold—its humming has died. My limbs loosen. I crack one eye: Alaina is sliding free beside me, her wrists slick with lotion, face pale and focused.
Marrok’s voice erupts in the hall: “Awake, traitors? Good. Don’t think the silence will save you.” He strides forward, a predator showing teeth. His boots echo off tile. Caelix is in his arms—clutching his jacket, eyes wide.
“Where is he?” I rasp. My jaw throbs. My wrists burn.
Marrok glowers. “He’s here.” He raises Caelix higher. The child’s face twists, confusion and fear mingling. “He will remain with me. You will remain bound. And when the fireworks go off, we will walk out. You will die on those pillars, and no one will blame us.”
Alaina makes a tiny noise—like a breath breaking in glass. Marrok glares at her. “You will obey. No interference.”
His lieutenants fan around us, rifles drawn. The tension in the air becomes sharp as blades.
I strain forward. “You won’t get away with this.”
Marrok smiles cruelly, teeth glinting in the emergency light. “Do you think your threats help? You are already defeated.” He steps closer, Caelix’s small legs dangling. “You were always part of my design, Troka.”
Heat pulses behind me. The explosive rigging in the pillar glints. The wires that tied us hum faintly, charged.
Alaina whispers close to my ear, her lips brushing my sweat: “Wait for me. I’m almost free.”
