Page 77 of Taken

In my quarters, I sit heavily on the edge of my bunk, head in my hands. Her voice still echoes in my mind, impossible yet undeniable.

Don’t leave me here. Please.

Viktor would call me compromised. Emotionally entangled. Putting personal connection above mission parameters.

He wouldn’t be wrong.

What I feel for Lila defies the careful control I’ve maintained. Burns hotter than anything I felt even for Becca, my mate lost to London’s flames. More dangerous, more volatile, more consuming.

And yet… more right, somehow. As if the universe itself recognizes what I’m only beginning to understand.

She’s meant to be free. Meant to stand beneath open sky, power unbound, spirit unchained. And I’m meant to help her find that freedom, whatever it costs me.

I take in a breath, reminding myself of what I’m here for. Allard Reeve, Syndicate security chief, gathering intel. But beneath that mask, Talon waits. Patient. Determined. Loyal not to organizations or causes, but to what matters.

To her.

Orders or no orders, I will get her out. Not today, perhaps. Not tomorrow.

But soon. Before they break what can never be replaced.

I will free Lila Ross.

Or die trying.

Chapter 21

Lila

I trace my finger along the steel wall, feeling the cool, unyielding surface beneath my skin. This new cell is a far cry from my previous quarters. No windows, no books, not even a desk. Just a narrow cot, basic ablutions, and harsh overhead lighting that never dims. They’ve stripped away even the illusion of humanity.

My nail catches on a tiny imperfection in the metal. I’ve been working at it for three days now, scratching a tally mark for each day since the catastrophe at Craven Industries. It gives me something to do with my hands, something they can’t take away.

I hear Hargen before I see him; measured footsteps approach from the corridor. My back’s to the door, but I’ve memorized his gait after years under his care. Some things remain constant, even as the world outside these walls transforms.

“Your medication,” he announces as the door slides open.

I don’t turn. “More sedatives? Creed must be getting paranoid.”

He moves closer, setting the tray on the edge of my cot. A gentle hand rests briefly on my shoulder—a pressure code we developed years ago.Act normal. I need to tell you something.

“How are you feeling today?” he asks, voice perfectly calibrated for the surveillance equipment.

“Like I’m being slowly poisoned.” I turn, accepting the cup of water and pills. “Or is that the point?”

“Just following medical protocols.” His eyes flick to the camera mounted in the corner.

I swallow the pills mechanically. Hargen checks my pulse—another standard procedure that gives him an excuse to lean closer.

“Maintenance sweep in two minutes,” he murmurs against my hair. “Camera loop for ninety seconds. Be ready.”

Tension ripples through me. Camera loops are dangerous—if discovered, the consequences would be severe. Whatever Hargen needs to say must be critical.

We proceed with the health check. Blood pressure. Pupils. Reflexes. The familiar routine continues while I count seconds in my head.

Static crackles over the intercom.

“Sector seven, maintenance diagnostic beginning. Systems offline for ninety seconds.”

---