Chapter 8 Ava Taken, Roman’s Line Crosses #2
“Commander Roman,” one called. The voice was muffled through a mask, but the tone was familiar. Respectful. Controlled.
The forbidden channel had just put his location into the hands of everyone who shouldn’t have had it.
He didn’t lower the gun. “Step back.”
“Orders came through,” the masked man said. “You initiated a direct override request.”
Roman’s stomach clenched. “I initiated override to retrieve Ava.”
The man’s head tilted. “Then you understand why we’re here.”
Roman watched the way their hands stayed near their weapons - not reaching, not yet. They were waiting for him to make the first mistake. Waiting to confirm he’d crossed a line he wasn’t supposed to touch.
On his earpiece, the voice returned, quieter now, as if the system itself had leaned close.
“You’ve exposed yourself,” it said. “Explain why your override request included a retrieval objective.”
Roman’s blood went cold.
Not because of Ava. Not because of the syndicate.
Because the voice sounded… pleased.
Like someone had been waiting for this moment. Like someone had baited him into calling the forbidden channel so they could paint him as the leak.
Roman glanced at the service corridor door behind him - the one that likely led to Ava’s route. He could still run. He could still fight through their formation and reach her before purge.
But the internal hierarchy was about to fracture around him, and every second he spent battling his own people was a second the syndicate used to erase Ava’s evidence and her testimony.
Ava’s face flashed in his mind - sharp eyes, stubborn chin, the way she’d refused to flinch when he’d tried to pull her out of danger.
He couldn’t let her be erased too.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” Roman said into the earpiece, and the masked men stiffened at his tone. “I owe Ava rescue.”
Then he did the thing he’d never let himself do: he turned the forbidden channel into a weapon pointed at the leak hunt itself.
He spoke again, loud enough for the earpiece to broadcast beyond the narrow internal node.
“Someone inside The Shadows is feeding the syndicate our routes,” Roman said. “If you’re listening, follow the purge timer. Find Ava before the server wipe completes.”
The corridor went utterly quiet except for ventilation and the faint electrical crackle of the emergency lights.
The masked men exchanged a glance. One of them shifted - just slightly - like he’d been waiting for someone else to say it first.
On the earpiece, the distorted voice sharpened. “Stop.”
Roman didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The words were already out. The cost was already paid.
He stepped toward the masked formation, gun steady, and fired a single shot into the ceiling panel - not to kill, but to force motion. Metal screeched. Dust puffed down, gritty on his tongue. The masked men flinched and surged forward in the same instant, weapons drawn.
“Commander!” one barked, and Roman caught the hesitation in it. Not fear of Roman. Fear of what Roman had just exposed.
Roman moved like he was threading a needle through a storm. He shoved past the first man’s aim, used the butt of his gun to strike his forearm - not breaking bones, just taking control. The man’s weapon clattered to the floor.
Roman didn’t wait to see if he’d be punished for it.
He sprinted toward the server door that had been tampered with, knowing he didn’t have time to open it legitimately. He slammed his shoulder into the panel hard enough to rattle teeth.
The door didn’t give.
It answered.
A series of locks engaged in sequence, sealing the corridor behind him as if the building was helping his enemies. The air changed - cooler, drier - then a low alarm began to pulse. Not the kind that triggered evacuation. The kind that triggered containment.
The corridor lights faded from emergency red to a more clinical white. The sound of the relay switching again came through the walls.
Roman’s earpiece crackled.
A new voice cut in - female, calm, and furious in a way that made Roman’s skin prickle. “Roman. You just broadcast on an open node. That means everyone with clearance heard you.”
He recognized the cadence again. The same learned mimicry. The same careful authority.
A traitor didn’t just leak locations. They managed narratives. They used truth like bait.
Roman’s breath burned in his throat. “Where is Ava?”
The voice didn’t answer directly. “You’re being watched. If you keep moving, you’ll make the purge faster.”
“Liar.”
A soft laugh came through the earpiece. “You don’t know what I am.”
That laugh wasn’t the syndicate’s. It wasn’t a courier’s. It was someone inside The Shadows who’d grown comfortable with power.
Roman’s mind snapped to the moment after the annex went dark - the way the darkness had felt staged. The way the live feed had been ready to track him. The way the smear of blood had split into two paths.
This entire corridor had been designed to force him into a forbidden action.
To mark him as the traitor.
To drive the internal hunt onto him instead of whoever was actually feeding the syndicate.
Roman slammed his fist against the panel again. Pain flared up his knuckles, sharp and bright. The metal didn’t budge.
Then he heard it.
A sound from behind the server door - faint at first, swallowed by alarms. A breath. A choke. A muffled scrape like fabric against concrete.
Ava.
His stomach dropped so hard it felt like he’d been punched.