Chapter 42
TROKA
“Fuck it,” Alaina says, ripping a handful of wires loose. I brace for disaster, but the pillar behind me goes cold—its humming has died. My limbs loosen. I crack one eye: Alaina is sliding free beside me, her wrists slick with lotion, face pale and focused.
Marrok’s voice erupts in the hall: “Awake, traitors? Good. Don’t think the silence will save you.” He strides forward, a predator showing teeth. His boots echo off tile. Caelix is in his arms—clutching his jacket, eyes wide.
“Where is he?” I rasp. My jaw throbs. My wrists burn.
Marrok glowers. “He’s here.” He raises Caelix higher. The child’s face twists, confusion and fear mingling. “He will remain with me. You will remain bound. And when the fireworks go off, we will walk out. You will die on those pillars, and no one will blame us.”
Alaina makes a tiny noise—like a breath breaking in glass. Marrok glares at her. “You will obey. No interference.”
His lieutenants fan around us, rifles drawn. The tension in the air becomes sharp as blades.
I strain forward. “You won’t get away with this.”
Marrok smiles cruelly, teeth glinting in the emergency light. “Do you think your threats help? You are already defeated.” He steps closer, Caelix’s small legs dangling. “You were always part of my design, Troka.”
Heat pulses behind me. The explosive rigging in the pillar glints. The wires that tied us hum faintly, charged.
Alaina whispers close to my ear, her lips brushing my sweat: “Wait for me. I’m almost free.”
I nod, gritting teeth, trying to make no sound. Marrok’s glare flickers over us. He raises a pistol—fires it into the ceiling. The blast rattles ear drums, dust falls. Everyone jumps. He yells, “Silence!”
That moment of distraction is enough. Alaina slips an ankle free; her leg bends. She shifts the binding in one motion. I feel slack behind me.
Marrok turns, holding Caelix tight. “Do not presume strength,” he warns.
I step toward him, voice low. “Put him down. Now.”
He laughs. “Or what?” He lifts the pistol, finger poised. “I’ll kill you both, and then I’ll raise him to be the instrument I couldn’t become.”
Alaina’s free hand creeps along the pillar. She presses against the bomb box. Sparks flare faintly. Her breathing is shallow.
Marrok speaks more quietly, softly to Caelix in an alien tone. “You will understand loyalty when you are older.” The child frantically reaches for her mother.
I seal my jaw. Something inside me snaps. I step off the pillar, drawing Marrok’s attention. “You think you can lecture me about loyalty after this betrayal?” I shout.
He turns. The child is pressed between them. Guards shift.
I lunge forward, toward the balcony edge. Marrok’s attention halves. Alaina flicks the cigarette she'd lit earlier—flame winks. She’s crouched behind me, dark silhouette.
Troka voice, low but fierce: “Now, Alaina.”
She flicks the cigarette’s burning tip at Marrok’s back while I lunge.
I push him hard—one brutal shove. He stumbles over the balcony railing. For a terrifying heartbeat, he’s airborne. The whole hall stretches slow.
Then he lands across the atrium—somersaults. He rights himself, feet hitting tile, knees bent, then rises.
Caelix lets out a shriek. I rise, heart hammering. Marrok glares upward, hatred in every muscle. “You will pay for that,” he hisses. “And your whelp.”
Then with fluid ferocity, he hauls himself up over the balcony edge—arms hooking over the ledge, body pulling. He drags himself onto the second floor walkway. His silhouette is fierce against emergency lighting.
Troka bursts through behind me. He lunges. His shoulder slams into Marrok’s torso. The sound cracks. Metal railing bends. Marrok grunts; the child flinches in his arms.
I raise a hand, ready to leap over the railing, to move toward them.
The hallway goes loud: shouts, gunfire, the alarms screaming. The world is chaotic.
Troka’s arms coil around Marrok, struggling. Marrok swings one arm, the echo of struggle filling the bridge between floors.
I scream, “Troka, hold him—don’t let him hurt Caelix!”
And as their bodies twist and slam against metal, the scene fractures in adrenaline, pain, and the question of who will come out standing.