Chapter 32
HRASK
The room smells like sterilized air and bad decisions.
There’s a sharp chemical bite layered over recycled oxygen, clean in the way that tries too hard to hide everything underneath it, and the floor beneath my knees is cold enough that it seeps through fabric and into bone.
The restraint at my wrists cuts deeper the more I test it, engineered tension designed to tighten when I move, and the pressure has already started to numb my fingers just enough to make fine movement harder.
“Yeah,” I mutter under my breath, rolling my shoulders slowly as I shift my weight. “That’s not ideal, but it’s not permanent either.”
Two guards stand near the door, positioned wide instead of tight, which tells me they’re confident in the setup. Their posture isn’t rigid, but it’s controlled, their attention split between me and the entry point like they’re expecting something else to happen.
“You always this talkative?” one of them asks, his voice edged with boredom more than concern.
“Only when I’m trying to figure out how bad your setup is,” I reply, lifting my head slightly to meet his gaze.
He snorts.
“You’re not getting out of here,” he says.
“Yeah,” I murmur, glancing past him toward the door panel. “That’s what everyone says right before I do.”
The other guard shifts slightly, his stance tightening just a fraction.
“Shut him up,” he mutters.
“You gonna do it,” I ask, tilting my head. “Or just keep suggesting it?”
The first one steps forward, irritation replacing boredom as he closes the distance.
“Keep talking,” he says. “See where that gets you.”
“Closer to the door,” I reply.
He swings.
I lean just enough to let it glance instead of land clean, the motion pulling against the restraint in a way that tells me exactly how much give I’ve got to work with. The tension bites deeper into my wrists, but not enough to lock them completely.
“Yeah,” I breathe quietly as he resets. “That’s usable.”
“What?” he snaps.
“Nothing,” I say, straightening slightly. “Just appreciating the craftsmanship.”
He swings again, faster this time.
I don’t dodge it completely.
I take part of it, letting the impact drive me sideways instead of back, my shoulder hitting the floor with a controlled shift that brings me closer to the base of the wall.
“You’re not very efficient,” I mutter, my voice rougher now.
“Funny,” he replies. “You’re not very free.”
“Temporary condition,” I say.
He grabs me by the collar and hauls me up just enough to shove me back down again, harder this time.
“Stay down,” he snaps.
“Make me,” I shoot back.
He raises his hand again—
“Enough,” the second guard says, stepping forward. “Command wants him intact.”
The first one exhales sharply, stepping back with visible reluctance.
“Yeah,” I mutter, shifting slightly again, testing the restraint against the edge of the floor panel this time instead of the open space. “That’s probably smart.”
“What are you doing?” the second guard asks, narrowing his eyes.
“Getting comfortable,” I reply.
The panel edge is sharper than the rest of the surface, not enough to be obvious, but enough to matter. I angle my wrists carefully, pressing the restraint against it while keeping my movements small, controlled, letting the guards think I’m just adjusting position.
“You’re not as subtle as you think,” the first one says.
“Good,” I murmur. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”
I pull slightly, testing the tension.
The material doesn’t give.
Not yet.
“Alright,” I whisper under my breath. “Then we change the angle.”
I shift again, slower this time, dragging the edge across the same point repeatedly instead of pulling against it.
Friction builds.
The guard watches me, suspicion creeping into his expression.
“Hands still,” he orders.
I stop.
Immediately.
“Better?” I ask.
He studies me for a second longer, then relaxes just slightly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Keep it that way.”
“Wouldn’t dream of moving,” I reply.
He steps back again.
I wait.
Count the seconds.
Track their breathing, their stance, the rhythm of their attention drifting and snapping back.
“Not disciplined enough,” I murmur quietly once they settle.
“What was that?” the second guard asks.
“I said your spacing’s off,” I reply.
He frowns.
“What?”
“You’re too far apart,” I continue, tilting my head slightly as if I’m just talking to pass the time. “Leaves a gap right through the middle.”
The first guard scoffs.
“You think we’re worried about you crossing that gap?”
“I think you’re not thinking about it,” I say.
He shifts his weight.
Just slightly.
“That’s all I needed,” I breathe under my breath.
I move.
Fast.
The restraint catches against the panel edge, already weakened from the repeated friction, and I drive my arms outward instead of pulling back, forcing the tension to spike across the compromised section.
It snaps.
Not clean.
But enough.
I surge forward before they can process it, my shoulder slamming into the first guard’s midsection, driving him backward into the second before either of them can react properly.
“What the—”
I don’t let him finish.
My elbow drives up under his chin, snapping his head back, and I follow through with a controlled strike to his throat, cutting off the rest of the sound.
The second guard recovers faster, swinging toward me, but I pivot inside his range, catching his arm and redirecting it downward.
“Easy,” I mutter. “You don’t want to do that.”
He struggles.
I adjust.
Pressure instead of impact.
Control instead of force.
He drops.
Unconscious.
Not dead.
I straighten, breathing harder now, the exertion hitting sharper than it should, and I roll my shoulders once, working the stiffness out as I glance at the door.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That got loud.”
The panel flashes.
Locked.
“Of course it is,” I say.
I move to it anyway, scanning the interface quickly.
“No time for subtle,” I mutter, pulling the same device I used earlier and jamming it into the access port.
The system resists.
Then flickers.
“Come on,” I murmur. “You’ve already had a bad day, let’s not make it worse.”
The lock clicks.
I push through.
The corridor beyond is already active, alarms threading through the hum now in sharper pulses, and movement echoes from multiple directions.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “That’s about right.”
I move anyway.
Fast.
Controlled.
Each step placed to minimize noise, each turn calculated based on the direction of incoming movement.
“Don’t fight the whole system,” I mutter. “Just slip through it.”
A patrol rounds the corner ahead.
I don’t slow.
I adjust.
Shift into their line.
Match their pace for three steps before breaking off into a side corridor just as their formation turns.
“Still works,” I murmur.
The layout unfolds in my head as I move, mapping connections, predicting routes, and I angle toward the outer maintenance paths instead of the main corridors.
“You don’t exit where they expect,” I say under my breath. “You exit where they forgot to look.”
The hum shifts again as I move deeper, the systems layering differently, and I catch it—the faint disruption in the pattern that doesn’t belong to standard operation.
“Jolie,” I murmur.
It’s subtle.
But it’s there.
Movement that doesn’t match patrol rhythm.
Disruption that isn’t mechanical.
“You didn’t stay put,” I say, something tightening in my chest that I don’t bother unpacking.
Of course she didn’t.
I change direction immediately, cutting across the corridor instead of following the exit path I’d mapped out.
“You’re heading inward,” I mutter. “Not out.”
The realization lands fast.
“Dadams,” I say.
I pick up speed.
Ignoring the safer route.
Ignoring the clean exit.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “You went for leverage.”
The corridors tighten again, the air colder here, sharper, and I push through it, tracking the subtle signs of movement that don’t belong to anyone else.
“You’re not quiet when you’re moving fast,” I mutter. “Not in this condition.”
A flicker of motion ahead.
I slow.
Just enough.
Voices.
Close.
“…this won’t work,” someone says.
“…it’s already working,” another replies.
I know both of them.
“Of course,” I murmur.
I shift my stance, adjusting my grip, preparing to step into whatever she’s already set in motion.
“Couldn’t just wait,” I add under my breath.
And then I move—
Right toward her.