Page 63 of Reckless Consequences

“Then we move faster.”

We sprint through increasingly unstable corridors, following the path of unlocked doors. Whether trap or help, it’s our only option. The central control hub beckons—a digital fortress with network access to every Sterling facility worldwide. The perfect platform to expose Roman’s operation in one blow.

Finn stops suddenly, hand raised in warning. “Heat signatures ahead. Multiple.”

I slow, pressing against the wall. “Security?”

“Not sure. Movement patterns look defensive, not like a patrol.”

The final corridor stretches before us—thirty meters of exposed approach to the control hub’s reinforced entrance. No cover, no other route, no time. My heart races, adrenaline flooding my system.

My Sterling DNA responds—sharpening my senses. I’m still beta, but I can smell the lie in Roman’s sterilized hallway. Hear the catch in Finn’s breath. The virus changed me, but it didn’t redefine me.

Finn staggers suddenly, catching himself against the wall. A coughing fit wracks his body, deep and wet. Through our bond, I feel the spike of pain—sharp as a knife. The virus isn’t dormant—it’s waiting, striking when his guard drops.

“I’m okay,” he manages, though his skin has gone pale beneath a sheen of sweat. The booster holds the virus back, but barely—like a firewall with too many breaches.

“Finn—”

“Mission first,” he cuts me off, his mind putting objectives over his body’s limits. “Complete the mission.”

His fingers lock with mine, sending warmth through our bond. Whatever’s left of the blocker, it can’t touch this—a connection deeper than scent.

“Together,” he says simply.

That single word carries so much. Not just this moment, this mission, this risk. Something more basic. More lasting. I hear everything beneath those seven letters—trust and choice and belonging.

“Together,” I agree, squeezing his hand.

We move as one, crossing the exposed space with precision born from training. No guards appear, no shots fire, no alarms trigger. The control hub door stands partially open, security protocols bypassed by whoever cleared our path.

Inside, massive display screens cover the walls, showing facility schematics, security feeds, and global distribution networks. Workstations hum with data, the digital heart of Sterling’s empire laid bare.

And at the central console, waiting with perfect Sterling patience:Roman. He must have escaped Alexander somehow, using his own override codes. Unshaken. Unrepentant. But for the first time—I see it. The cracks. The glitch in the god-code. He doesn’t realize he’s already lost.

The sight of him sends phantom pain through my shoulder where Alexander stabbed me during our last encounter. Then, I’d been his captive—drugged, experimented on, broken. Now, I enter on my own terms. From test subject to infiltrator. From victim to adversary.

He looks unchanged—silver-streaked dark hair, green eyes that calculate everything. His mouth set in the same line as Alexander’s, with something of Mona in it, and the same stubborn curve I see in my mirror. His scent hits me despite the neutralizer—cold metal and pine, no warmth in it.

My Sterling DNA vibrates in response to him—an electrical sensation under my skin, like circuits recognizing their source. Invasive, like my cells strain toward their origin against my will.

“We meet again, Cayenne,” he says, clinical interest replacing the disappointed rage of our last encounter. “No torture table this time. I’m evolving my approach.”

Finn positions himself slightly ahead of me. His body shifts subtly, creating a barrier between Roman and me without limiting my movement. I feel his effort through our connection—each movement requiring focus, his system struggling while fighting the virus.

“Roman Sterling,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the storm inside me. My temperature spikes—not desire, not heat, just a sick resonance. Sterling DNA recognizing where it came from. Like malware pinging its server. “Last time you had me restrained. Getting braver?”

His smile holds no warmth. “Your negotiation with Alexander was unexpected. Perhaps I underestimated his emotional vulnerability.”

That confirms it—Roman doesn’t understand Alexander’s choice. He thinks his perfect weapon made a tactical error based on feelings.

“Or perhaps you overestimated your control,” I counter, edging closer to an auxiliary workstation. We need access to upload Alexander’s USB data.

Roman’s attention shifts to Finn, assessing him coldly. “The test subject. Interesting. Viral integration appears stable despite incomplete transformation.”

“Call it what you want,” Finn mutters, gaze hard. “But that wasn’t transformation. That was contamination.”

“Semantic distinction without difference.” Roman stands, movement deliberate. His alpha scent intensifies, authority radiating from him in waves that would overwhelm most omegas instantly. “The result remains—beta physiology undergoing designation modification.”

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