Eric and Andrew moved through the corridors of Purge Headquarters like shadows stitched to the walls.
Every step felt louder than it should have been. Every breath felt borrowed.
The prison wing lay unnervingly quiet—too quiet. Most senior officers had gone home, leaving behind a skeleton crew of lower ranks and night guards who relied more on routine than vigilance. That was the only reason this was even possible.
Eric adjusted his pace to Andrew's. The man was injured—bruises blooming beneath torn fabric, dried blood dark at the corner of his mouth—but he moved with stubborn determination. He didn't complain. He didn't slow.
Good, Eric thought. Noise would get them killed.
They passed one junction, then another. The Aetheryte-lined walls hummed faintly, reacting to Andrew's suppressed aura like a predator sensing prey but hesitating to strike. Eric kept his own power tightly compressed beneath his skin. If he pushed too hard, the crystals embedded in the walls would scream.
Almost there.
A sharp metallic clang echoed behind them.
Eric's heart dropped.
A second later, the alarm erupted.
A shrill, piercing wail tore through the building as red glyphs flared along the walls, emergency sigils igniting in rapid succession.
PRISON BREACH. PRISON BREACH.
"So that's how it's going to be," Eric muttered.
Andrew stiffened. "They know."
"Yes," Eric replied grimly. "And Emma is not going to be pleased."
There was no time to hesitate.
Eric seized Andrew's arm and dragged him into a narrow maintenance corridor—meant for supply runs and waste disposal. Boots thundered behind them now, voices colliding into chaos.
"Seal the east wing!"
"Someone tripped the restraints!"
"Find them—now!"
Eric slammed his palm against an access panel, forcing it open just as a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Lock every escape route. Officer Twenty, send men to the basement. They're heading for the aqueduct!"
Emma.
Her voice was calm, controlled—and dangerous.
Rushed footsteps echoed closer.
"There!" someone shouted.
Eric's pulse spiked. For a split second, he was sure they'd been seen. Then he realized—it was only their shadows, stretched by lantern light.
They pushed forward.
The aqueduct opened before them, its ancient stone passage dimly lit by flickering lanterns. The structure groaned under its own age, water trickling through narrow channels carved centuries ago.
A thunderous crack split the air.
Not magic.
Purge fire.
The round struck a load-bearing support. Stone screamed as fractures spiderwebbed outward, the structure finally giving way. The wall collapsed with a deafening roar, debris exploding outward.
Eric didn't look back.
"That way!"
They burst through falling stone and dust, stumbling through the breach as the aqueduct gave up behind them. Cold night air rushed in as the town's outskirts swallowed them whole.
They ran.
The rear exit spat them into the open streets of Elton—quiet homes, dark windows, unaware that the Purge had just been humiliated.
For now.
"No stopping," Eric said. "Move."
They sprinted down narrow streets, boots striking stone. Shouts followed—too close. Lights flared behind them.
Eric glanced back.
At least three squads.
Damn it.
Hunter should be nearby. He'd given the coordinates himself—near the broken arch where the town bled into overgrowth.
Just get Andrew there. Then disappear.
Windows creaked open as townsfolk peeked out, fear spreading faster than fire. Eric pulled his hood lower, turning his face away. One familiar look, one recognized profile, and the Purge would have a name to hunt.
Andrew's breathing grew heavier, but he didn't falter.
They turned a corner—and collided with someone.
A man stood frozen in the street, lantern trembling in his hand. His eyes widened as he took in the scene: two men running, bloodied, alarms screaming in the distance.
Eric calculated distances. Angles. How fast he could silence him.
Andrew's fist clenched.
Then the man made a choice.
He lowered the lantern. Opened his door. Stepped inside.
And shut it.
Eric exhaled. "Smart."
They ran again.
A silhouette emerged near a broken stone arch, moonlight outlining a familiar figure.
Hunter.
Relief hit Eric like a wave.
"There," Eric hissed.
Hunter stepped from the shadows, eyes flicking from Andrew to the approaching lights. "You cut it close."
"Had company," Eric replied. "Take him. Now."
Andrew gripped Eric's arm. "Thank you."
Eric nodded once. "Protect your daughter."
Hunter disappeared with Andrew into the darkness.
Eric didn't follow.
He slipped back through side streets, careful, controlled. He needed to be home before Emma sent officers knocking—before suspicion found him.
After several minutes, a sensation crept up his spine.
Being watched.
Eric stopped and turned.
Nothing but darkness.
Probably a townsfolk, he told himself.
He continued walking, snapping a branch from a nearby tree, stripping the leaves away as he moved. The presence grew stronger, colder—a breeze brushing the back of his neck.
Eric spun.
The branch warped in his grip, wood reshaping into steel. A shotgun formed just as his power flared—but it came with a cost. His magic always did. A time limit.
Nothing.
The pressure vanished.
He lowered the weapon, exhaling shakily. "I must be imagining things."
A hand closed around his throat from behind.
The ground vanished beneath his feet.
Air refused to enter his lungs as his throat felt squashed by the terrifying grip of the monster behind him. The shotgun slipped from his fingers, reverting to a simple stick as his magic collapsed. His vision blurred, strength draining away.
A figure stepped into view.
Eric barely registered the face—but one thing was clear.
This wasn't the Purge.
And whoever it was… had been waiting.
Eric's dangled desperately in mid air.
The air tight around his chest. Panic clawed at him, but beneath it, a strange familiarity stirred—a gnawing echo in his memory. I've felt this before… somewhere… this presence… His mind raced, piecing fragments together. Years ago, in the war that had nearly swallowed the world whole, he had faced horrors like this, sensed shadows with a cold, deliberate malice. Could it be…? The feeling pressed closer, sharper, suffocating. And then it hit him: there were two of them. The figure in front, and the one behind, constricting his breath. Two. He wasn't facing just one nightmare.
He couldn't let himself be taken. He needed to get home to avoid suspicions, but it didn't look like anything could be done right now. He was trapped.
As he's eyes shut, Eric could tell that this was going to be a long night.