Chapter 28
HRASK
The air changes before the ground does.
The Deadlands bleed into Myrza through fractures no one maps officially, and the moment we drop into the first cut in the terrain, the wind shifts from open, abrasive chaos into something tighter, more controlled.
The heat still clings, but it doesn’t press the same way underground; instead, it lingers in the stone, radiating outward in slow pulses that make the walls feel like they’re breathing around us.
Dust hangs heavier here, less likely to scatter, and every step we take sends a faint echo ahead of us, bouncing off narrow rock corridors that twist deeper beneath the surface.
“Careful,” I murmur, raising a hand as I slow near the entrance to a tighter passage. “Sound carries down here, and I don’t feel like announcing we made it this far.”
“I’m not stomping,” Jolie shoots back, though she adjusts her step anyway, her boots landing softer against the uneven ground.
“You limp louder than you think,” I reply, glancing back just long enough to catch the way her expression shifts.
“Keep talking,” she mutters. “See how that works out for you.”
“Just saying,” I add, lowering my voice as I angle into the narrower corridor. “You’re not subtle when you’re compensating.”
“I’m not subtle when I’m annoyed either,” she fires back, but the edge in her voice is thinner now, worn down by the distance we’ve already covered.
The tunnel narrows further as we move deeper, forcing us into single file, the walls closing in just enough to brush against my shoulders if I don’t adjust my posture.
The scent changes here too, less open air and more mineral—stone, dust, something faintly metallic that clings to the back of my throat.
“You’ve been through here before,” Jolie says quietly behind me, not a question.
“Yeah,” I reply, running my hand lightly along the wall as I move. “Not officially.”
“Of course not,” she mutters. “Wouldn’t be your style.”
I smirk slightly, though she can’t see it.
“You learn a few things when you stop following the routes they give you,” I say. “This one cuts under patrol grids if you know where to come up.”
“And if you don’t?” she asks.
“You don’t come up at all,” I answer.
She exhales softly behind me, the sound carrying just enough to tell me she’s still right there.
“Good,” she says. “Love that for us.”
The tunnel dips slightly, then curves, opening into a wider chamber where the ceiling lifts enough to let the air move again. Faint light filters in from somewhere ahead, not natural, not clean, but enough to shift the space from total darkness into something navigable.
I slow, raising a hand again.
“Hold,” I whisper.
“What?” she asks, quieter now.
I tilt my head slightly, listening.
Voices.
Faint.
Distorted by distance and stone, but there.
“Patrol,” I murmur. “Above us, not far.”
She steps closer behind me, her shoulder brushing lightly against my back as she leans in just enough to hear.
“You sure?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Listen.”
The sound filters down again, boots against metal this time, sharper than the stone echoes around us, and her posture shifts immediately.
“Checkpoint?” she asks.
“More than that,” I say, moving toward a narrow vertical shaft along the chamber wall. “That’s layered movement. Rotating positions.”
She follows me without hesitation as I press myself against the wall and glance up through the fractured opening. Light spills down in thin strips, broken by movement above, and I catch glimpses of armor passing across the gap.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “They’re sweeping.”
“For what?” she asks, though I can hear the answer already forming in her tone.
I don’t respond immediately.
Instead, I reach up and hook my fingers into the edge of the opening, pulling myself up just enough to see more clearly.
The structure above isn’t just a checkpoint.
It’s locked down.
Barricades.
Sensors.
Multiple units cycling through positions with tighter spacing than standard patrol.
“That’s not routine,” I say quietly, dropping back down.
Jolie watches me closely.
“What is it?” she asks.
“They’re not just watching the border,” I reply. “They’re looking for something specific.”
“Or someone,” she says.
I meet her gaze.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
She exhales slowly, her shoulders tightening slightly.
“Think they’re expecting us?” she asks.
I hesitate just long enough to make the answer obvious.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think they are.”
Her expression hardens, something sharper settling into place.
“Good,” she mutters. “Makes things simple.”
“Not exactly the word I’d use,” I reply, shifting my stance as I glance back toward the tunnel we came from.
“Then pick a better one,” she says.
“Complicated,” I answer. “Very, very complicated.”
She huffs a breath.
“Yeah, okay.”
I move past her, angling toward a secondary passage that branches off the chamber, narrower and darker than the main route.
“Not going up there,” I say. “Not yet.”
“Then where?” she asks, falling into step beside me.
“Under,” I reply. “There’s another access point closer to the inner sectors.”
“And fewer patrols?” she asks.
“Different patrols,” I correct. “Less visible, more controlled.”
“Great,” she mutters. “Love that for us too.”
We move deeper again, the air growing thicker as the tunnel tightens once more, and I feel the shift in pressure as we pass beneath structural layers of the city above.
The echoes change here, sharper, more contained, and the faint crackle of systems bleeds through the stone, a constant vibration that settles into the bones if you stay down here long enough.
“You’re quiet,” I say after a while.
“Thinking,” she replies.
“That’s dangerous,” I mutter.
“Yeah,” she says, her tone dry. “You should be worried.”
I glance back at her, catching the way her expression has shifted, less reactive now, more focused.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer immediately, her gaze tracking the path ahead.
“They didn’t just cover it up,” she says finally. “They’re locking it down.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “Hard.”
“That means whatever they’re hiding isn’t small,” she continues. “And it’s not contained to one side.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s bigger than that.”
She nods slightly, more to herself than to me.
“So we don’t just expose it,” she says. “We hit it where it matters.”
I slow, turning slightly toward her.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s the only play left.”
Her eyes flick up to mine.
“And you’ve got a plan,” she says.
It’s not a question.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“Of course you do,” she mutters. “Alright, let’s hear it.”
I lean back slightly against the wall, letting the weight settle into something controlled as I map it out.
“The only place this gets shut down clean is the IHC base,” I say. “That’s where the data routes converge, where command cycles information through before it gets filtered out.”
Her expression tightens immediately.
“You want to walk into the center of it,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Because everything we’ve seen points back there.”
“That’s not infiltration,” she says. “That’s suicide.”
“It’s controlled risk,” I counter.
She lets out a short, incredulous laugh.
“That’s what you’re calling it now?” she asks. “Because it sounds like you want to walk us straight into a kill zone.”
“It’s already a kill zone,” I reply, my voice steady. “The difference is, we go in on our terms instead of theirs.”
She studies me for a second.
“How?” she asks.
“We use the fact that they’re looking for us,” I say. “They’ve flagged us already, which means they’re expecting movement along the outer sectors, not internal access.”
“And you’re planning to come up inside the perimeter,” she says.
“Yeah,” I confirm. “Through maintenance access tied to the smuggling routes.”
Her eyes narrow slightly.
“You’ve done this before,” she says.
“Not exactly like this,” I reply. “But close enough.”
She shifts her weight, the movement careful, measured.
“And once we’re in?” she asks.
“We go straight to the data core,” I say. “Pull everything we can, expose it before they can bury it again.”
“And if they catch us?” she presses.
“They will,” I reply without hesitation.
She blinks at that, then lets out a breath.
“Good,” she mutters. “At least you’re honest about it.”
“We don’t need to get out clean,” I add. “We just need to get it out.”
Her gaze sharpens.
“That’s not good enough,” she says. “We’re not dying in there.”
“I’m not planning on it,” I reply. “But I’m not pretending it’s not a possibility either.”
She holds my gaze for a long second, something shifting behind her eyes as she weighs it.
“You really think this is the only way,” she says.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I do.”
The silence stretches between us, not empty, but heavy with everything that decision carries.
Then she nods.
“Alright,” she says.
That’s it.
No hesitation.
No argument.
Just—
Acceptance.
“You’re in?” I ask.
She huffs a breath, something almost like a tired laugh slipping through.
“I’ve been in,” she says. “You just finally caught up.”
I shake my head slightly, something tightening in my chest that I don’t bother unpacking.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That sounds about right.”
She steps past me, moving deeper into the tunnel, her pace steadier now despite everything.
“Then let’s move,” she says over her shoulder. “Before they decide to start checking down here too.”
I push off the wall and fall into step beside her, the path ahead narrowing again as it pulls us closer to the heart of Myrza.
And this time—
We’re not just surviving.
We’re heading straight for the fight.