The Ministry of Finance was no longer a palace of gold; it was a tomb of glass and screaming sirens. Above the sub-levels, the music of the gala had been replaced by the rhythmic thud of combat boots and the panicked shouts of the elite who realized their world had been bankrupted in a single heartbeat.
"The main elevators are locked out," Linnea panted, leaning heavily against Caspian as they navigated the service tunnels. Her silver dress was shredded, the nanofiber glistening with a mixture of coolant and blood. "Julian's hit a hard-kill switch. He's trying to suffocate us down here before the news of the empty treasury hits the streets."
Caspian's jaw was set, his eyes scanning the ceiling. He wasn't looking for a door; he was looking for a weakness. "He's thinking like a politician, Linnea. He thinks in exits and entrances. He forgot that this building sits directly on the old transit lines."
He fired his pulse-rifle at a heavy ventilation grate, the metal shrieking as it was blasted inward. "We aren't going up. We're going through the floor."
They dropped into the darkness of the transit tunnels—a humid, echoing labyrinth of high-voltage cables and rusted rails. Behind them, they could hear the muffled explosions of Julian's Enforcer teams breaching the vault.
"Status on the transfer?" Caspian asked, his voice echoing in the dark.
Linnea checked her wrist-com. A small, triumphant smile touched her lips. "The bonds hit the public relief funds thirty seconds ago. The news is already scrolling on every billboard in the Capital. The Enforcers aren't hunting us anymore; they're hunting the Council members for their pensions."
Suddenly, the tunnel was flooded with blinding white light. A heavy-duty tactical rover roared toward them, its mounted turret swiveling.
"Get down!" Caspian roared, throwing Linnea behind a concrete pillar just as a stream of lead chewed into the stone.
The rover skidded to a halt, and Julian Thorne stepped out. He looked unhinged. His white uniform was stained, his spectacles were missing, and he held a detonator in his shaking hand.
"You think you won?" Julian shrieked, his voice bouncing off the tunnel walls. "You think you can just walk away into the sunset? If I'm going to be the man who lost the Federation, then I'll be the man who finally killed the Lion!"
"Julian, look around you," Caspian said, stepping out from behind the pillar, his rifle lowered. He spoke with the calm authority of a man who had already seen the end. "The guards are gone. The Council is fleeing. It's over. Drop the detonator."
"It's only over when you're dead!" Julian screamed. He lunged for the button, but he was never a soldier—he was a mathematician. And he had failed to calculate Linnea's speed.
A silver flash cut through the air. One of Linnea's hidden throwing knives buried itself in Julian's forearm. He shrieked, the detonator clattering to the tracks.
Caspian didn't hesitate. He closed the distance in three strides, his fist connecting with Julian's jaw in a blow that carried the weight of years of betrayed friendship. Julian crumpled into the dirt, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Caspian looked at the detonator, then at the man he had once called brother. He didn't pick up the device. He simply stepped over Julian's body.
"We have to move," Linnea said, grabbing his arm. "The vents are failing. The tunnel is going to flood with fire suppression gas."
They ran. They didn't look back at the ruin of the Ministry or the broken man on the tracks. They reached a maintenance hatch that opened into the city's canal system. As they climbed out into the cool night air, the Capital was in an uproar. Protesters were flooding the streets, and the blue strobe lights of the police were being ignored.
A nondescript black cargo van pulled up to the curb. Jax was at the wheel, his cybernetic eye glowing in the dark.
"The Ghost and the Commander," Jax rasped, sliding the door open. "The network says you're the most famous dead people in history. Let's get you out of here before you become famous live ones."