Chapter 22 - Harper #2
“Kiro?” I gasp. “How far—”
“Almost there,” he cuts in, his voice stressed. “The exit’s unstable… four minutes before the whole shaft… collapses.”
Damian curses under his breath, the expletive slicing through the air with more force than any explosion.
We reach the final ascent—a steep stairwell carved into stone, railing rusted, half buried. Thin light filters down from somewhere above.
And waiting at the top of the stairs—shadows. Way too many to be comfortable with.
I freeze and Damian slows, raising his gun, posture shifting into something predatory and patient. From the platform above, a mocking, feminine voice calls down, “Going somewhere, sweetheart?”
That’s not Inessa’s voice. Her voice isn’t cloyingly sweet; it’s a faux-kindness she’s perfected.
Three silhouettes fan out, rifles glinting faintly. The fourth crouches behind a concrete pillar, lining up his aim.
Must be one of her soldiers.
“Keep moving,” Damian whispers as he reloads his pistol. “Don’t stop unless I tell you.”
He fires and the stairwell erupts into chaos.
Metal ricochets, concrete shatters, bullets zipping past like furious hornets. I duck behind the railing, heart battering my ribs. Damian moves with precision that looks like instinct but is forged from relentless training.
He shoots once, and a mercenary spins and falls. The second shot takes out another behind a crate, clutching his leg.
But the others push forward, relentless.
A bullet grazes the wall inches from my head. My ears ring, and my vision blurs. I grip the railing, grounding myself in cold metal.
“Harper!” Damian yells.
I charge up the stairs, right behind him. His body shields mine as the metal groans under our shifty weight whenever the stairwell narrows. We move like it’s a choreographed dance of death.
At the top, one mercenary lunges at us with a knife. Damian knocks him back with a clean hit to the head as the two of them collide hard into a wall. Their struggle is a snarl of movement—fists, elbows, boots scraping across stone.
I reach into my belt and pull the spare stun baton he strapped there earlier, flicking it on. The crackle of electricity vibrates up my arm.
Damian slams the mercenary against the ground, and I jab the baton into his ribs.
The man convulses and goes still. We don’t stop to check if he’ll get back up.
The tunnel widens into a chamber where the ceiling has partially collapsed, leaving a jagged eye to the surface. Through the tear, a sliver of daylight spills in, impossibly clean after the suffocating dark.
Snowflakes drift down like fragile ash.
“We’re close,” I breathe.
“Move,” Damian urges.
A final burst of gunfire erupts behind us, slamming into the rocks by our feet. Damian whirls, firing back, giving us the seconds we need. A boulder shifts overhead, groaning, ready to fall.
“Kiro!” Damian snaps. “Status!”
“You have thirty seconds,” Kiro breathes. “If you’re not out by then—”
He doesn’t finish.
Damian climbs first, bracing the rock edge with one hand and offering me the other. I grab him, letting his strength lift me toward the pale light.
Snow touches my cheek, startling after the suffocating heat below. We spill out onto open ground just as the tunnel mouth collapses behind us with a roar that shakes the mountain.
I lie there for a moment, gasping, staring up at a pale sky smudged with early morning clouds. The snow reflects the weak sun in millions of tiny shards, bright enough to sting.
Damian crouches beside me, one hand pressed to my shoulder.
“You’re hurt,” he heaves.
“I’m fine,” I breathe. “I just—”
Something pokes against my ribs painfully.
The drives.
I groan as I sit up. The world tilts and Damian protests at my sudden motion, but there’s only one thought in my head: I won’t let Inessa win. I can’t.
My gloves slip as I pull out my tablet, the sides of its screen cracked. I pray as I turn it on, please, please, please turn on.
My hands tremble from the cold and adrenaline. I slot the drives into the ports, one by one. The screen lights up finally, a cascade of encrypted files appearing on the screen.
Anton’s confessions, ledgers, footage, transfers.
Proof. Not all of it but more than enough.
Damian kneels beside me, shielding the tablet from falling snow with his body. His presence warms me from the inside out, even though the wind bites through my clothes.
“You’re sure?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I whisper. “This is the only way left.”
My fingers become number as I type, my breath fogging in front of me.
I can’t quit. Can’t quit.
Can’t.
The final prompt stares at me, the one that will end the chase, the lies, the empire she tried to build with our ruined lives. The one that could ruin something else we haven’t admitted aloud.
My thumbs press send.
The files launch upward, tiny streams of light rippling across the cracked screen before racing into the network. The loading bar sweeps forward with ruthless momentum.
Please, please, please—
I beg like I have never begged before, beg to gods I’ve never believed in before.
The loading bar is the lifeline that’s keeping me alive. Damian’s palm presses against the head of my crown.
I know he’s probably praying harder than I am to someone that won’t ever answer.
Kiro’s breathless and incredulous voice bursts through my headset.
“Harper—Harper, is it—”
His voice is cracked, tired, but there’s wonder in it.
“What?” Damian grunts shortly.
“Damian—Harper, you did it.”
You did it.
“It’s everywhere,” Kiro exhales loudly into the comms, “every channel, every agency. It’s—holy shit, she can’t shut it down.”
Damian closes his eyes, falling to his knees in front of me. His head hangs and my palm covers his own, cuts and scrapes that match my own.
Snow continues falling, quiet, indifferent. A soft white shroud over the battlefield we escaped.
“Your name is clear,” he murmurs wetly, tiredly. “Ours is clear.”
“But nothing we lost comes back.”
I meet his gaze, and in the cold morning light, his eyes look raw like ice cracked open to reveal fire beneath.
“No,” I whisper. “But we’re still here.”
For the first time, surviving feels like the beginning rather than the end.