Page 189 of Fractured Loyalties
Mara steps closer to me without realizing it. I don’t move away.
We descend into the dark.
The shaft is narrow, slick underfoot. My hand skims the wall until we reach the lower platform, where rusted rails run parallel to the tunnel mouth. It stretches ahead, vanishing into black. Somewhere far off, a drip echoes in slow, uneven intervals.
"This leads to Sublevel C," I tell them. "Straight to where we saw him."
Lydia sweeps her light across the walls. Old transport markings scar the concrete, most of which are too faded to read. But fresh scuffs drag along the floor—a recent path, something heavy moved by more than one person.
Kinley notices too. "They were hauling something in. Or someone."
I don’t need him to say the name.
We move forward, boots whispering against damp concrete. Every turn brings us deeper, the air growing heavier, the silence folding in. My pulse evens out, my thoughts narrowing to the single thread ahead.
We’re close now.
And this time, Volker doesn’t get to vanish into the dark.
The tunnel squeezes us tighter the further we go. Overhead, thick cables cling to the walls like black veins, humming faintly with residual current. The smell of solvent strengthens, tinged now with something acrid—burned insulation, maybe. Lydia mutters a curse under her breath but keeps her light trained low.
Mara’s breathing is slow, measured, but I can see her fingers twitch against the strap of her bag. She’s fighting her instincts. This place is a snare for both of us, just in different ways.
“Left up ahead,” I say quietly. My voice doesn’t carry far; the air swallows sound here.
Kinley checks the corner first, his rifle angled low but ready. He nods us through. The corridor angles sharply down,the grade steep enough that our boots scuff for balance. Water trickles along one side, following us down.
A shadow crosses the far end of the hall, not from our lights.
We freeze.
I move first, closing the distance in silence, each step measured. My shoulder protests every shift of weight, but the pain sharpens my focus. At the bend, I flatten against the wall and glance around.
Empty hall.
Except for the smear of blood low on the wall—fresh, dark, and still wet enough to catch our light.
Mara catches up, her gaze locking on the streak. “Jori?”
“Possibly,” I say. But my gut says otherwise.
Kinley crouches, touching the edge with gloved fingers. “Smaller than his frame. This was someone else.”
Which means we’re not just chasing Jori anymore.
We keep moving. The tunnel opens wider, the ceiling lifting into ribbed metal arches. Old maintenance signs hang crooked, their stenciled letters barely legible. Beyond them, a faint glow spills from an open doorway on the left.
I motion for silence and step toward it.
Inside, the room hums faintly—an equipment bay, stripped down except for a cluster of monitors on a rolling rack. One still flickers with a grainy feed: a corner of Sublevel C’s holding corridor.
Jori is in the frame.
And he’s not alone.
I step closer to the screen, the dim light cutting across my face. Jori is shackled to the wall, his head tipped forward. His shoulders shift slightly—breathing. Alive. But the figure pacing in front of him draws my attention more: tall, precise, with a predator’s patience. Not Volker. Someone I don’t recognize.
Kinley leans in, eyes narrowing. “Not one of his regulars.”
