Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
PARIS
Today. It’s finally happening today.
The lock clicks, and I sit up, heartbeat skyrocketing as Knox’s familiar silhouette fills the doorway. He’s in full gear, face arranged in that careful blank expression he wears around others, but his eyes—those gray eyes burn when they land on me.
“Morning, princess.” He closes the door behind him. “Ready?”
I hop off the bed, legs shaky beneath me. “I guess.”
He steps up to me, his hand catching mine. “You remember the route?”
“East corridor, maintenance door, fence line,” I recite it like a prayer. “Wait for the boom.”
“And if anything goes wrong?”
“Run. Don’t wait for you.” I hate that he expects me to move on without him. “I won’t do that.”
“You will.” His voice takes on a rough edge. “Promise me.”
I don’t answer. Can’t lie to him today of all days.
“Promise me, Paris.”
“I can’t.”
“Goddammit—” He cups my face. “I didn’t spend three months in this hellhole to watch you die at the finish line.”
“And I didn’t survive everything to leave you behind.” I grip his wrists. “Don’t ask me for what I can’t give.”
His jaw clenches, that little muscle jumping beneath the stubble. “Stubborn.”
“Wonder where I got that from.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips before vanishing. He steps back, all business again, checking his watch. “Lab in ten. Min-ji’s waiting.”
“Let’s do this.”
I shuffle behind Knox, playing the part of the submissive prisoner. Four months of practice make the act convincing.
“Breathe,” he whispers. “You look like you’re marching to your execution.”
“Maybe I am.” I force my shoulders to relax, pasting a bored expression on my face as a lab tech passes us, clipboard clutched to his chest. “What if Gabriel sees through this? What if Ramirez betrays us?”
“Then we adapt. But they won’t. Trust me.”
Trust. Such a simple word for something we’re betting our lives on. But with Knox, it’s like breathing—automatic and necessary.
He raps his knuckles against the door twice before opening it, gesturing for me to enter first.
Min-ji stands by her workstation, arranging empty vials in a rack. “Good morning, Paris. Officer Jones.”
“Doctor.” He positions himself by the door.
“Morning.” I take my usual seat on the examination table, rolling up my sleeve to expose the crook of my elbow. The skin there is a constellation of puncture marks, some fresh, others faded to silvery pinpricks.
Another record of my captivity written in scar tissue.
Min-ji snatches on latex gloves. “How are we feeling today?”
“Fine.” I shrug. “Hungry. Tired. The usual.”
She ties the tourniquet around my upper arm with cold fingers. But when she prepares the needle, the angle is different—the illusion of insertion without actually breaking skin.
Knox stands by the door, arms crossed, every inch the dutiful guard. But his eyes never leave me, tracking Min-ji’s movements with laser focus.
“Almost done.” She pretends to switch vials. “Just three more.”
The charade continues, Min-ji going through the motions while collecting nothing. My arm remains unpunctured, though to anyone sneaking a glance through the lab’s windows, it would appear to be business as usual.
When she’s ‘finished,’ she removes the tourniquet and reaches for a cotton ball and adhesive bandage.
“Keep pressure on that.” She holds the cotton against my nonexistent puncture wound and places with her other hand something into my palm. “Just in case.”
I close my fingers around a small, razor-sharp blade wrapped in a thin strip of cloth and hide it in my sleeve. I wish we could have spoken freely and gotten to know each other better.
“All set.” She steps back, stripping off her gloves. “She’s all yours, Officer.”
“Thank you, Dr. Cho.” Knox opens the door, gesturing for me to exit first. “Let’s go.”
I stand, legs steady, and follow him into the hallway. But instead of turning right toward my room, he steers me left, deeper into the research building.
This is normal. I always walk here.
We pass lab techs, researchers hunched over microscopes, and guards stationed at intervals. Each face sends a fresh spike of anxiety through my chest.
Do they know? Can they tell we’re escaping?
A researcher in thick glasses peers up as we pass, frowning. “Jones? Isn’t she supposed to be in containment?”
“Special testing,” Knox says. “Green’s orders.”
The lie rolls off his tongue so easily that even I almost believe it. The researcher hesitates, then nods, returning to his work.
“Nice,” I murmur once we’re past him.
“Thanks,” Knox says under his breath. “Turn left here.”
We navigate a maze of corridors, steadily cutting the distance to the building’s eastern exit. My heartbeat hasn’t slowed since we left my room, and the blade against my wrist is a constant reminder of what might go wrong.
Outside, the cool and damp morning air hits my face. The compound stretches before us, buildings dotted across the hillside. We weave between them, Knox’s hand occasionally brushing mine, guiding me without words.
“Here.” He stops at the corner of a shed, peering around the edge to check for patrols. “Clear.”
The eastern fence waits ahead, a section partially obscured by overgrown bushes and weeds. No guards visible, but my nerves jangle with each little sound.
“Now what?” I ask.
He checks his watch. “We wait. Two minutes.”
One hundred and twenty seconds between captivity and freedom. Between being Gabriel’s lab rat and being Paris again. I count my heartbeats, each one a tick closer to escape.
“Thirty seconds,” he whispers.
My fingers drift to the ring in my pocket, touching it for reassurance. “What if it doesn’t work? What if—”
“It will.” His hand finds mine. “Trust me.”
I scan our surroundings. No one nearby. Just the quiet morning and distant voices from the main compound.
“Ten. Nine. Eight…”
My breath catches in my throat.
“Three. Two. One.”
Nothing.
“Should have happened by now,” he mutters. “Something’s wrong.”
Suddenly, the ground rocks us from the left, the sound of an explosion hitting us a split second before. Alarms follow with a constant blare.
“Right on time.” Knox grins. “Keep watch while I cut.”
We cross the final stretch of open ground to the fence, and he crouches down, searching for something in the grass.
Was this the plan? “What—”
“Fence cutters.” He holds them up, before attacking the chain-links, snipping one after another to create an opening. “Looks like Ramirez really does want to help us.”
Shouts and boots pounding on concrete join the siren, all heading away from us.
“Almost there,” Knox grunts, enlarging the hole. “Get ready.”
Freedom is three snips away when a slow clap echoes behind us.
Ice crystallizes in my veins as I slowly turn.
“Bravo.” My brother stands ten feet away. Next to him, a guard holds Miller at gunpoint. “Quite the production. The explosion was a nice touch.”
Knox moves in front of me, fence cutters gripped like a weapon. “Back off, Green.”
“Or what?” Gabriel’s eyes sweep over him to lock with mine. “Hello, little sister. Going somewhere?”
Every nightmare I’ve had for four months solidifies into this moment. Gabriel finding us, stopping us, dragging me back to that prison, and the most horrible one, killing Knox.
“How did you—” I start.
“Dr. Miller was kind enough to inform us of your plans.” Gabriel nods toward the trembling researcher. “Though not willingly.”
“I’m sorry.” Miller’s eyes flick between us, a thin trickle of blood running from his split lip. “They caught me at the supply shed. I tried—”
“Shut up.” The guard jams the gun hard against Miller’s temple.
Two of them, armed. Two of us, with fence cutters and a hidden blade—Wait. Knox’s sidearm is holstered at his hip.
“What now, brother?” I force my voice to remain steady, shifting closer to Knox. “Going to drag me back to my cage?”
“I prefer to think of it as a suite,” he says. “And yes, that’s exactly what’s going to happen. You’re not leaving.”
“Did Dad know what you’d become?” I take another small step to the side, lifting my hand. “Or did you wait until he was cold in the ground before you started cutting people open?”
Gabriel’s perfect composure cracks. “Father would have understood the necessity.”
“And if it kills me?” Paris, you can do it. It’s just a gun. You never used one, but you have to hold it up. Look threatening.
“If anyone can survive this, it’s you. And if not…” He shrugs. “Then at least your sacrifice will mean something. Father saved you once. Now you can save everyone else. What kind of brother would I be if I let sentiment override that responsibility?”
“Yeah, real brotherly love.” I snatch the gun free. “You just want to save yourself.”
“Paris—” Knox warns, but I’ve already stepped forward, arms extended like I’ve seen in movies.
The weapon feels foreign in my hand, heavier than I expected, but my finger finds the trigger and with it the chest of my brother. “Let us go.”
“Really?” Gabriel shakes his head. “You don’t even know how to use that.”
“Point and pull the trigger.” I wave the gun slightly. “Doesn’t seem that complicated.”
“Put it down before you hurt yourself.” He sighs, like I’m a child refusing to eat vegetables. “We both know you won’t shoot me.”
“Try me.” But my palm is already sweating, the gun slippery in my grip.
Could I really pull this trigger? End my brother’s life?
I need to, if I want Knox to get out of here safely.
“You were always soft.” Gabriel takes another step closer. “All that potential wasted on a girl who cried over broken toys.”
Soft? Fucking soft?
What about the time he locked me in the basement storage room for six hours because I touched his beloved microscope?
Eight years old, screaming until my throat was raw while he sat outside the door, telling me it was an ‘experiment in sensory deprivation.’ Or when he put crushed sleeping pills in my juice to see how my ‘compromised system’ would metabolize them.
I was nine and couldn’t wake up for twenty-three hours.
Dad found out about that one. His only concern? That Gabriel hadn’t properly documented the results.
Gabriel always was Dad’s little science prodigy. Daddy’s perfect heir. I was just the broken doll they needed to fix. The family project. Their living experiment.
“You’re right.” My voice steadies as the memories crystallize my resolve. “I did cry when you dissected my pet rabbit and left its organs in labeled jars on my dresser. I was seven, you sick—”
“Biology lesson.” Gabriel spreads his hands. “Come on. Drop the gun. You won’t do it.”
He has always known me better than I wanted to admit. Killing has never been in my nature. Not even when the zombies took over, not even when our world crumbled into dust and ash. I survived by being invisible, not by taking lives.
“Let us go,” I plead, hating the desperation leaking into my voice. “You’ve taken enough.”
“Sister.” His voice softens, almost gentle. “Please.”
The gun wavers in my grip, heavy as my conscience. Is this what the apocalypse does? Turn soft girls into killers? Or was this always inside me, waiting for the right moment to emerge?
“You won’t do it.” Gabriel takes another step. “You can’t.”
Each beat of my heart echoing the same truth: I want to live. I want freedom. I want Knox. I want my fucking life back.
My arm screams from the strain of holding it up, but I refuse to let go.
Three, two—