CHAPTER 25 FAE
FAE
Victor and Riggs peel off toward the front, their bodies becoming silhouettes that melt between units and shadows, their footsteps swallowed by the estate’s dead air.
Roman leads our group, circling wide and following the edge where the scrubland meets the concrete.
Using it to our advantage, we let the reeds and darkness mask us as we angle for the back.
The marsh breathes at my ankles, wet earth and stagnant water brushing against the tall grass.
The cool air bites through my sleeves, but it is nothing compared to the heat building under my skin, that pre-fight hum.
I stay half a step behind Roman. Today he decided he was going to cut the path whilst I covered the blind spots.
Roman prowls like a predator. Each step is patient, there is no wasted motion, hesitation, or sound.
At the fence gap Atlas mentioned earlier, Roman crouches and tests the wire whilst I scan the now-black car park.
Bending it back, he forces it open like a mouth and slips through.
He turns and offers me a hand. Instinctively, I take it, then curse myself for needing his touch in a moment like this.
Roman licks his lips, his eyes flicking over me in approval, and then we continue in silence.
The rear of unit 14 is darker than the front, giving us perfect cover.
I notice the service door at the same time he does and he gently changes course.
The blind spot is there, just as Atlas promised, a narrow strip where we can breathe without being seen.
We make it across the concrete, my heart pounding with a familiar thrill.
I live for moments like this, the high is like nothing I have ever felt before.
Adrenaline pumps through me as I realise we’ve made it to the building.
Roman spins around in the blind spot and pushes me into the wall, my breath spluttering out. Grabbing the base of my chin, he leans down and kisses me. It’s not gentle, it’s claiming and possessive, something he has made a habit of on these reconnaissance missions.
“You’re so fucking sexy, Tink,” Roman whispers against my mouth and my stupid heart flutters.
“Focus,” Felix snaps through the comms and I huff out a small laugh as Roman pretends to be annoyed and rolls his eyes.
Turning back around, we creep along the length of the wall. A security guard stands near the door, hunched in his jacket, his head bowed over his phone. He’s close enough that I can hear the faint buzz of a video, tinny laughter carrying through the quiet night.
His body screams complacency. It’s the look of guards I have seen over the years of my training. Too many quiet nights breed laziness. He thinks he is untouchable, but he is wrong.
Roman goes still, like a big cat before it pounces.
I feel the shift in him before he moves, he gestures once with his hand to cover.
I angle my body back towards the reeds, my eyes sweeping the building.
The world narrows to this. Everything else falls away as I inhale, willing my heart rate to settle.
Roman glides from the blind spot, as quiet as a mouse, closing in on the security guard.
One of his large hands clamps over the guard’s mouth, the other wraps around his throat.
The man jerks in surprise as his phone slips and clatters to the ground.
The only sound is his boot scraping as he panics.
Roman’s confident aura radiates off him, like he is death personified, and I can’t help the traitorous thrill as I watch him slowly drain another man’s life.
He pulls the guard back into the shadows, strangling him until he dies.
It’s taking longer than usual, and I’m just about to call out for him to break his neck when I notice movement.
On the far side of the building, a second guard rounds the corner, heading straight towards us with a slow, bored stride. Roman doesn’t see him, but I do, and my body moves before my mind can catch up.
I close the distance in three silent strides, catching him by the shoulder as he turns in anger.
He goes to open his mouth, then closes it in confusion when he sees a poor, helpless girl in front of him.
I whip my blade from my shoulder holster and slice across his throat in one clean, efficient sweep.
Warmth splashes my gloves and face as blood spills from the wound.
His mouth opens as he starts to gargle, his hands clawing at his throat.
His knees buckle as I guide him to the ground, using my strength to keep him silent as he hits the floor.
I don’t bother to hang around, my hands tremble slightly as I ignore the guard’s face as it drains of light and focus on the door.
Roman is already watching me, the first guard lying limp behind him.
His eyes are light, almost proud, and a sly smile crosses his face.
It’s not the first man he has seen me kill and it probably won’t be the last, but unlike our other times, Roman seems almost joyful over this one.
“Nice,” he murmurs through our comms and I smirk a little.
“Focus,” I whisper back, wiping the blade on the dead man’s jacket and moving towards him.
We drag both men deeper into the shadows and out of camera range as Roman tests the service door.
It’s locked.
Roman pulls a small tool from his pocket. I watch his hands work whilst I keep scanning the corridor of darkness behind us, acutely aware we were vulnerable.
“Victor and Riggs are inside,” Felix says through the comms, I take a breath, partly scared of what we will find and partly excited that we can make a difference.
The lock gives with a soft click and Roman eases the door open a fraction.
Stale air hits me. It’s warmer than the usual places we go to, but still sour.
The smell of sweat is caught in the concrete.
A faint chemical note too. It’s then I notice that tell-tale smell of old blood, like pennies left in a damp pocket, and my stomach hardens as we slip inside.
“Do you have eyes?” Roman whispers.
“Yes,” Atlas responds, “heat signatures picking up multiple bodies. You’re clear at the moment. Move forward.”
The warehouse is laid out exactly like all of the other ones.
Pallets and scaffolding line the walls as the heavy air suffocates me.
Roman signals left and I follow. We move between pallets and metal shelving with measured steps.
Unlike the others, light leaks from a corridor ahead, a thin strip trickling under a reinforced door and my mind conjures all sorts of images of what we could find behind it.
Please God let me be wrong.
Suddenly, a guard steps out from behind a stack of crates and my muscles tense to strike, but Roman is faster.
He appears behind the man like he teleported, his arm locking around the man’s neck as his forearm crushes the airway.
The guard’s hands fly up, grabbing at Roman’s sleeve, his legs kicking as panic floods him.
Roman doesn’t grunt, he doesn’t strain, he just tightens his hold.
Pulling a knife from his hip, Roman makes a small incision on the guard’s jugular and blood pours from his neck. The guard goes slack with a soft, ugly exhale as I match his breath and shake my hands out, trying to stop them from trembling.
Roman lowers the guard and then looks at me silently, I ignore him and creep towards the nearest door, pressing my ear to it.
Cracking it open with my blade ready, I expect to see more of the bloody mattresses and horrors we have found before.
This time though, an empty office is in front of me.
There is a desk, old takeaway containers, a chair tipped on its side, and I sigh.
Making a mental note to come back when we have cleared the warehouse, I close the door and try another.
This time it’s a storage room, with tarps and tools and a half-drunk bottle of water left on the floor.
Frustration tugs at me in a sharp and ugly way.
What if we’re too late? What if they’ve moved them?
What if this is another dead end and we leave whilst someone screams behind a locked door…
the idea that there’s someone out there that needs our help and we can’t get to them is killing me inside.
We keep moving, clearing room after room as Atlas and Felix relay stats and positions, letting us know what Riggs and Victor have discovered.
Roman’s hand lifts suddenly and my breath gets caught in my throat.
He indicates for me to stop and I freeze instantly.
Studying him, I wait for him to explain what he has found, but his head just tilts like he’s listening for a sound.
Is that…?
My breath stutters as everything inside me goes cold, my blood draining from my face as the air feels thicker in my lungs.
My vision narrows, sharpens, like my body is trying to turn me into something that can survive what comes next.
Roman’s eyes meet mine, there is no softness now, just pure, unfiltered rage.
Moving swiftly, we follow the sound, weaving in and out of pallets until we end up in a long corridor. Another guard appears at the end of the aisle, walking towards us with a slow swing of his torch beam, humming under his breath like he has nothing to fear.
He makes me feel fucking sick.
He knows. I know he knows, and yet he carries on without a care in the world.
His light skims the floor next to my feet and Roman starts to move, but I’m already gone.
I slip behind the crates, then into the guard’s path like a nightmare made solid.
God knows what he sees, I’m already covered in blood, but just like the other guard, I give him no time to process anything.
My hand clamps his mouth, my other drives the knife up under his ribs in a fast and decisive move.