Chapter 41
TROKA
My head throbs like someone’s jamming a plasma torch behind my ear. Cold steel bites into my wrists. Every breath tastes of copper and smoke. The pillar against my back vibrates with a low, predatory hum — the sound of charges spooling up.
Marrok’s voice cuts through the haze before my eyes even focus.
“You two are awake. Good. I wanted you to be awake for this.” His boots click on tile as he strides into view.
Even through the red strobe of the warning lights, I can see the smear of blood on his jaw where Alaina clocked him.
His cyber-eye glows like a coal, hotter than before.
I wrench at my restraints. Chain links scrape my skin raw. The smell of burnt wiring fills my nose. “Where’s the kid, Marrok?” My voice is a low growl. “Give him to me.”
Marrok tilts his head, his smirk making me want to tear through my bonds.
He’s holding Caelix like a prize, tucked against his chest. The boy’s eyes are wet, confused.
“He’s not your kid anymore,” Marrok says, loud enough for everyone.
“He’s mine now. I’ll raise him properly.
Core AIV values. Loyalty. Sacrifice. Discipline. He’ll never grow soft.”
Alaina’s voice is hoarse, desperate. “You can’t take him. He’s just a baby—”
“He’s my future,” Marrok snaps. He steps closer until I can smell the tang of his sweat, see the little tremor at the corner of his jaw.
“You two had your chance. Now you’ll serve as an example.
The pillars are wired. When the fireworks start, you’ll be gone, and my men and I will walk out using these hostages as shields.
By the time anyone reacts, there’ll be nothing left but smoke. ”
He gestures at the huddled civilians; they flinch. Some are bleeding, all terrified. “Human shields,” he says again, softer this time, almost reverent. “Cover to escape. Confusion is our oldest ally.”
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “I’m going to kill you,” I whisper.
Marrok leans in, his breath hot against my face. “You’re welcome to try… with one arm.” He laughs sharply. “I know you, Troka. You’d gnaw through your own limb to get free. Do it. Bleed out. Make my point for me.”
I flex against the chains, pretending to struggle harder, testing the slack. He’s right — I was about to do exactly that. My wrists are raw, tacky with blood. The pillar hums with energy, heat radiating through the steel into my spine.
Marrok’s men watch in uneasy silence. Even now, some of them keep darting glances at their leader — the way his voice cracks, the manic light in his eye. They’re afraid of him. They should be.
Beside me, Alaina shifts slightly. She’s slicking something on her wrists — I catch a whiff of lavender and cocoa butter, a smell so wildly out of place here it almost makes me dizzy. She’s rubbing her stretch mark lotion along the cords binding her hands, slow, deliberate.
Marrok turns, barking orders to his lieutenants. “Tie them tighter. Arm the last charges. Move the civilians into position at the north exit.” His voice rises over the noise, commanding. His red eye flashes as he scans the room. “We leave in five minutes.”
One of the gang members hesitates. “Boss… five minutes? The charges aren’t—”
“Do it!” Marrok bellows. The man scurries away.
Alaina leans just enough for me to hear her. Her lips barely move. “It’s working,” she breathes. “Almost loose.”
I keep my head down, jaw clenched, whispering back: “Hurry. He’s got Caelix.”
She keeps working. Her wrists twist, lotion glistening in the harsh red light. The cord begins to slip, millimeter by millimeter. My heart pounds with each tiny motion.
Marrok’s voice cuts through the hall again.
“Look at them,” he snarls to his men, gesturing at us.
“Two symbols of weakness. Love. Family. Betrayal. This is why we lost on Horus IV. This softness. This hesitation.” He shakes Caelix once, not roughly but with an awful familiarity.
“This boy will never hesitate. I’ll see to it. ”
I bare my teeth. “Put him down,” I say.
Marrok laughs, sharp and wild. “Or what? You’ll gnaw your way out and strangle me with your bloody stump? Do it, soldier. Show me what kind of animal you are.”
Alaina’s wrists slip free. She drops her hands to her lap like nothing’s changed, then quietly tugs at the cord on her ankles. She leans close, whispering: “I can reach the bomb box.”
I whisper back: “You know which wire?”
“No,” she breathes. “Do you?”
I test the chain again, grunting for show. “I can see the underside if you can reach the front. You’ll have to trust me.”
She bites her lip. Her fingers brush mine as she leans past me, slick and quick, sliding her hand into the mess of blinking wires on the pillar. The charges hum louder now, a living thing. The heat from them makes sweat bead on my brow.
“Troka,” she whispers, “I can’t tell which is which. They’re all glowing.”
I twist my head, trying to angle a view under the bomb box. My arm muscles scream. “Bottom left — there’s a green line. Follow it to the coupling.”
Her hand moves. Sparks jump where her fingers brush the wires.
“Marrok’s looking,” I murmur.
She stops, goes still, head bowed like she’s crying. Marrok glances back, smirks, then turns away again, barking at his lieutenants to move the hostages into a tighter cluster.
Alaina whispers: “What if it’s the wrong wire?”
“Then we’re paste,” I whisper back. “Cut it clean. Don’t pull.”
Her hand trembles. Caelix cries somewhere across the hall — a thin, high sound that slices straight through me. My teeth grind. My hands curl into fists, useless against the chains.
“Do it,” I breathe.
She slides a nail under the insulation. The wire vibrates against her touch. Sparks pop, faint and angry. My heart beats so loud I can hear it in my ears.
“Troka—” she whispers.
“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.