35. Wraith
Chapter 35
Wraith
T he halls are dim.
Not silent—nothing’s ever truly silent in a place like this—but quiet in that way that hums under your skin. Distant machinery. Vents ticking. The low, steady thrum in the walls like the building itself is breathing.
And under all that—soft sounds that don’t belong.
A muffled cry from behind a door.
The sharp clang of something metal dropped too far away to matter.
Laughter—thin, broken—echoing from a corridor I’m not heading down.
It’s the kind of quiet that listens back.
I move like a ghost.
No wasted steps. No sound. I already know what’s waiting at each corner before I turn.
The entire path to her—mapped. Committed. Unshakable.
A guard rounds the corridor up ahead—half-alert, posture loose. Doesn’t even register the shift in the shadows until I’m behind him.
I strike. Quick. Clean. Arm around the throat. Hand over the mouth.
He thrashes—once, twice.
Then he’s dead weight in my grip.
I lower him to the floor. Quiet. Controlled.
No thud. No sound. Nothing to tip them off.
I don’t pause.
My mind doesn’t wander. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hope.
It calculates.
Objective: Room B3. Third reinforced door.
Target: Subject 233.
The hallway curves left, narrows.
Lights overhead buzz and flicker like a horror movie.
This wing isn’t just forgotten—it’s designed that way.
Built to isolate. To disappear people without a sound.
There’s a guard outside B3.
Young. Bored. Thumb dancing over a cracked phone—probably trying to beat a high score.
Why would he?
No one comes down here after shift change.
He doesn’t get a chance to be wrong.
I hit him hard. Fast. One arm around his throat, the other clamped over his mouth. He barely gasps before he’s out cold.
The phone hits the tile. Face-up. Game still running.
No more high scores.
I drag his body behind a storage panel.
Step up to the keypad.
I press two fingers to the panel. Red light. No beep—just denial.
Figures.
I strip the casing, fingers moving fast, precise. Internal wiring’s cheap—typical of facilities built for silence and suppression. I cross two feeds, bypass the voltage fail-safe, and force a manual override.
The lock blinks green.
I draw my weapon—silent, steady. Other hand hovers near the doorframe.
One breath.
Then I’m in.
The room is sterile. Freezing.
Straps crisscross the bed like it’s built for restraint, not rest.
And her?—
She’s there.
Lily.
Strapped down at the wrists, the ankles, the chest. Hospital gown loose around her shoulders. Her face is red, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears that dried without anyone bothering to wipe them away.
“Dominic?”
It comes out like a breath—a prayer.
I’m across the room before she finishes the word.
The buckles fight me. I don’t care. I tear them loose.
She flinches when I touch her—but she doesn’t pull away.
And when the last strap gives, she launches upward—arms locking around my neck.
Her skin’s ice. Her grip’s iron. And she’s trembling like the cold’s in her blood.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, one arm locked tight around her waist .
“No one’s touching you again. Not ever.”
She lets out a choked sob—like her mind’s afraid to believe it.
That’s fine.
I’ll make her believe it.
And I’ll make them pay for every second she didn’t.
“They showed me something,” she whispers, voice cracking. “S-said it was me, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t me. I don’t understand?—”
“None of that matters,” I murmur, cupping her face with both hands.
I press a kiss to her lips—soft, slow.
“I’m here now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
She nods. Face buried in my shoulder.
Fingers fisting into my jacket like she’s trying to anchor herself in my reality.
She holds on like she’s afraid I’ll vanish.
Like I’m a dream she’s not allowed to have.
But she's about to find out?—
I’d burn the world before I let go.
The corridors stretch long and white—pungent with industrial cleaner, but still somehow dingy.
Like someone tried to scrub away the rot instead of fixing it.
The lights hum overhead. The tile’s clean, but the grout is gray.
This place pretends to be sterile.
But everything about it feels sick.
She stays right behind me—bare feet tap softly against the tile.
I make the path. Clear each turn .
Keep her shielded from whatever waits ahead.
She stays close, her breath brushing the back of my neck.
Every hallway looks the same—white walls, flickering lights, that too-strong cleaner smell that never covers up the age underneath.
But when we pass a glass observation bay, something tugs at me.
A flicker. A hum. Lights stutter overhead.
The room’s empty?—
Still, my gut tightens.
Something’s off.
“Stay behind me,” I say, voice low.
She nods. Her hand trembles as it slips into mine, clutching tight—but she doesn’t fall behind.
Not once.
We reach the stairwell. I scan down the shaft. Clear.
We descend one level.
Down here, the air shifts. Colder. Heavier.
The lights hum louder, like they’re trying to warn us.
I pull up the schematic in my head—two more turns. One hallway. Then the utility corridor to the exit.
Then—
A faint click behind the wall.
I freeze.
Camera pivot.
“Shit.”
I yank her sideways into a narrow hallway. Pull the jammer from my belt and flick it on.
The cameras above us short to static.
“We’ve got maybe two minutes before someone notices that blackout.”
Tension spikes—tight in my spine.
No alarms—yet.
I round the next corner.
Two guards. Mid-shift rotation. Relaxed. One of them laughs.
He doesn’t get to finish the sentence.
One hit to the throat—he drops, gagging.
Second guard reaches for his holster. Too slow.
I’m already there—crack to the skull. He folds.
Both bodies slump to the floor. Quiet. Quick.
I look back.
Lily flinches. But doesn’t scream.
Good girl.
“Stay close,” I tell her.
She nods again, lips trembling as she reaches for me again. Eyes locked on me like I’m her lifeline.
I take her hand.
“Don’t look in. Keep going.”
We move. Fast now. One turn, then another.
Almost—
Alarms blare.
Red lights explode across the ceiling.
Behind us—steel doors slam into place.
“Containment protocol triggered.”
Shouts rise. Boots thunder. They’re closing in.
“Run,” I order, calm but absolute.
She stumbles—then pushes forward. Fast. Silent.
One more hallway to clear.
Two doors from the exit.
We’ve got this.
Then —
She stops.
Dead stop. Right in the middle of the hall.
Her head tilts. Her spine straightens.
“Lily?” I breathe, slowing. One step toward her.
She exhales. Slow. Steady.
Not Lily.
Her eyes narrow. A smirk curls on her lips.
Neri.
“Finally,” she says.
She turns before I can stop her.
Eyes locked ahead—on the cluster of guards charging down the corridor toward us.
“Wait—”
But she doesn’t.
She launches.
No hesitation.
No fucking mercy.
Just carnage with precision.
A clipboard snaps off the wall—she drives the broken edge into a guard’s throat without even looking.
Another steps forward—she kicks a mop bucket into his shin. He buckles. She knees him in the jaw before he can recover.
Third comes at her from the left—her hand whips out.
Where the fuck did she get a scalpel?
It spins mid-air. Buries itself in his shoulder.
He goes down.
I just watch.
I’ve seen her fight before. Watched her slice through targets like a wildfire with a grudge .
But this?
This is unhinged perfection.
She fights with rage.
She fights like hell that’s been unleashed.
Just like I promised.
A gun lifts behind her.
I move—but she’s already there.
Ducks the shot. Grabs the barrel. Slams his face into the wall—bone cracks.
He slides to the floor. Doesn’t get back up.
She turns to me—eyes wild, lips curled.
“Let’s fucking GO,” she snarls, grabbing my hand and yanking me after her.
I follow.
Because right now?
She’s not the girl I came to rescue.
She’s the goddamn storm that’s gonna get us out.
We’re close.
The exit’s right down the hall—but the blast doors are locked down, full security engaged.
I lead her into the facility hub—floor-to-ceiling monitors, wires like coiled veins along the walls. Monitors spit color across glass and steel, cold and chaotic.
I drop into the chair.
Fingers fly across the keyboard—commands, override codes, backdoors. My brain runs faster than the system can catch.
Behind me, Neri paces.
Not anxious. Not impatient.
Anticipating.
Her bare feet tap against the tile, a rhythm with teeth. Something dark and coiled waiting to strike .
She starts humming.
I glance over my shoulder. One brow lifts.
She grins like a fucking viper.
The code blurs in front of me—then?—
The outer door slams open.
Boots. Shouts.
“DOWN ON THE GROUND—NOW!”
Neri stops mid-step.
Tilts her head.
And purrs, “Oh thank fuck. I was getting terribly bored.”
Then she erupts.
First guard doesn’t stand a chance—she shatters his knee with a brutal snap, giggling as he goes down.
“Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee…”
Ah, that’s what she was humming.
Second gets a keyboard to the face and a foot to the gut.
“Lousy with virginity—oops, not anymore.”
Grabs a blade off my belt without looking—like she knew it was there.
One motion. One breath.
She throws.
“Won’t go to bed ‘til I’m legally wed—well that ship sailed, didn’t it, baby?”
The knife spins—catches him clean in the throat before he even draws his weapon.
Someone lunges for me.
“Keep your filthy paws off my Wraith-y drawers?—”
She’s already there.
Crushes his hand against the edge of the console. Bone cracks like a fucking drum.
“Well. Maybe you’ll learn to keep your hands to yourself.”
Blood spatters the keys. I sigh.
“Watch the tech.”
“Oh please,” she says with a wild grin, “I’m the picture of restraint.”
She spins, launches back into the fray—fist to throat, elbow to ribs, blade to belly. Her voice dances between impacts.
“Wouldn’t be caught dead at the drive-in with a guy like you?—”
She drops a guard like trash. Doesn’t even look back.
I keep typing.
The screams? Background noise.
Her voice wraps around the room like a spell made of static and chaos.
Another guard rushes in. She doesn’t blink—grabs a cord and yanks it to her, wrapping it around his neck.
“As for you, Troy Donahue…”
She mounts him, pulls hard the cord and drops him to his knees before slamming his head into the floor.
Repeatedly.
“I know what you wanna do…”
Blood fans out across the floor.
I keep going.
Last one raises his gun. Hands shaking.
Neri’s already on him.
“Shoot me, and I’ll haunt you so hard your next of kin will feel it.”
She slashes.
He folds.
I don’t flinch.
The final line of code flashes:
UNLOCK ALL SECTORS – EXECUTE?
I hit ENTER.
Magnetic locks disengage one by one—satisfying thunks echo like drumbeats of war.
Doors across the facility fly open.
Screams follow.
“Facility-wide release initiated,” I say, like reading a goddamn weather report.
Patients begin to trickle into the halls.
Staff lose their minds.
Everything unravels.
I rise. Glance once at the chaos we’ve unleashed.
“They’ll be chasing this mess all night.”
Neri wipes blood off the blade with a fallen guard’s coat.
“Took you long enough.”
I smirk. “Had to give you time for your little show.”
She flashes a grin, eyes still alight. “Good. I hate when parties end too early.”
The door clicks green.
I turn. “Let’s go.”
She flicks a droplet of blood from her fingers.
“After you, Romeo.”
The final door hisses open.
Cold air slams into us like a punishment—but she doesn’t flinch.
She steps into the snow barefoot, hospital gown fluttering like torn silk. Hair wild. Cheeks flushed. Blood still drying on her fingers.
She looks like vengeance made flesh.
I follow her out, boots crunching through the frost. She’s not shivering. Not blinking. Just staring straight ahead like she doesn’t feel the cold—or anything at all.
“You okay?” I ask, voice lower now. Like we’re the only two people left on earth.
She stretches, arms overhead like she’s shaking off chains, breath fogging in the night.
“I am now.”
I strip off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. Then I slide one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lift her without a second thought.
She lets me.
Her head rests against my shoulder. Quiet. Safe. Still burning.
“Well, look who finally caught the gingerbread man,” she murmurs, alive and unbroken.
I huff a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
She lets out a deep sigh.
“Dominic?”
Her voice is softer now. Lily again.
“Hey, angel.”
“They said… they said something’s wrong with me. That there’s… another p-person inside me.” She doesn’t look at me. Her voice is raw. “Is that true?”
I don’t answer right away. Just keep walking toward the car I jacked earlier tonight—still warm, engine running, waiting to get us the fuck out of here.
“I know,” I say. “I’ve always known.”
She goes quiet again.
Then: “Do you like her better?”
That question hits like a punch to the ribs .
I stop walking. Look down at her until she has to meet my eyes.
“I don’t choose between you,” I say. “You’re not something I pick.”
Her lips part, just a little. Like she’s not used to hearing that.
“You’re mine. Both of you.”
She blinks, and for a second, that too-bright smile breaks through—the one that never reaches her eyes.
“Dominic?”
“Hmm?”
“Am I… crazy?”
I don’t blink. Don’t hesitate.
“You’re perfect.”
I shift her in my arms.
“And they’re never taking you from me again.”
Then I carry her into the night.