⌐╦ᡁ᠊╾━
The vent is narrow. I shove my shoulders through, dust and grime filling my lungs. I curse under my breath, tasting rust and desperation, but keep moving.
Every inch closer is a chance to save her. Every second lost could be her last.
Inside, the tunnels smell of fungus, old machinery, and decay. Echoes bounce off the walls. I move quietly, tracing the faint marks Gregor left years ago. Outside sounds fade until there's nothing but the tunnel, the mission, and her face driving me forward.
I pause. One wrong step, one careless sound, and everything ends.
I check my gun, tighten my grip on the knife. My heartbeat is steady- controlled- but my mind races through every possible scenario. They're expecting me. They're waiting.
...
I move fast.
First obstacle: a collapsed support beam.
Second obstacle: motion sensors.
Third obstacle: an active patrol.
Each slows me down, pushes my pulse higher, reminds me how close I am to losing everything. I hear boots before I see shadows, ducking behind a wall of pipes, heart hammering. One guard stops right beside me, lighting a cigarette. Too close.
I wait. When he turns, I strike. Arm around his chest, knife at his throat; he drops silently. I shove him aside and keep going. The passage narrows, the air thick and thin.
Finally, the metal door appears. Thick. Reinforced. The one Gregor said leads straight to the containment wing.
I grip the handle. Locked, of course. I pull out the stolen access card, swipe once.
Access denied.
Swipe again.
Access denied.
I blow out a slow breath, pressing the card flat against the sensor, forcing myself to stay calm. One more try.
Beep. Green. The door clicks. I push it open slowly, praying it doesn't groan.
Lila.
"Dante?" Her voice cracks.
I toss her the small handgun I taped under my jacket. She catches it, hands shaking.
"You're- you're back?" she whispers.
"I told you," I say, stepping closer. "I wasn't leaving you."
She grabs my jacket, pulling me down into a desperate, furious kiss. Everything I've been holding back hits me at once- fear, relief, and raw need.
But it's brief. Footsteps thunder in the hall.
Lila jerks back, breath ragged. "Go," she whispers. "If they catch you- "
"I know."
Her fingers tighten around the gun, a spark lighting in her eyes- hope, or rage, or both.
"I'll find you," she says.
I nod once. "Survive first," I whisper.