Alarms howled like banshees. Kirion ran through the smoke-cloaked corridor, each step echoing against metal walls. Behind him, the liberated captives were ushered to safety by resistance teams, their footsteps fading as they disappeared into the escape tunnels.
But Kirion wasn't finished.
He reached the blast doors to the maximum-security wing—six inches of hardened steel embedded with biometric locks. His daughter was behind that barrier. Alive. He could feel it.
His fingers trembled as he pulled a compact device from his satchel. A biometric spoofer—one of his daughter's own designs—able to forge a signal from an elite clearance officer. He attached it to the scanner, holding his breath.
The seconds dragged.
Access granted.
The steel slab hissed and rolled open, revealing a narrow passageway lit by a flickering emergency strip. The scent of ozone and antiseptic stung his nostrils. This was no ordinary holding cell. This was a black site within the fortress—meant for high-value targets, dissidents too dangerous to kill, too valuable to release.
Kirion advanced cautiously. He passed rows of reinforced cells, each with one-way glass windows. Some were empty. Others held people too weak to even lift their heads. He didn't stop.
Then he saw her.
Cell 09B.
His daughter sat hunched in a corner, her frame thin, clothes torn, but her eyes—those eyes—still sharp. Still defiant.
"Amaya," he whispered.
She looked up slowly. For a heartbeat, disbelief paralyzed her. Then she stumbled forward. "Dad?"
Kirion's hand was already on the override panel. The door clanked open, and before she could say another word, he wrapped his arms around her. She melted into his chest, trembling. "I thought you were dead," she choked out. "They told me—"
"I know," he said softly. "They lied."
Footsteps thundered down the far end of the corridor. Kirion pulled back and drew his sidearm. "We've got to move. Can you run?"
Amaya nodded. "Try me."
Together, they bolted through the shadows. Kirion led them through access vents and maintenance tunnels mapped from stolen schematics. But the guards were closing in faster than expected.
An explosion rocked the ground. Over the comms, Vos's voice cut in: "We've breached the eastern hangar. You've got an exit route—Tunnel Delta-3. Two clicks north of your position."
Kirion and Amaya sprinted through the bowels of Fort Halveth. Behind them, gunfire and shouted orders rose like a storm. At every corner, Kirion protected his daughter, drawing fire, taking out threats with surgical precision.
Finally, they burst into a hidden chamber lit by an orange escape light. The tunnel gaped before them like a mouth to freedom.
But standing at the exit—blocking their path—was a woman in black tactical gear.
Amaya froze. "Mom?"
Kirion raised his weapon instinctively. His heart pounded in his chest. The mother—the assassin, the traitor—stood in silence. Her eyes flicked between them.
"You're not taking her," Kirion growled.
"I'm not here to stop you," she said, voice heavy with something like regret. "Not this time."
Amaya looked between her parents, confusion etched into her features.
"Go," the mother said, stepping aside.
Kirion didn't question the miracle. He pulled Amaya with him, disappearing into the tunnel as the walls behind them began to collapse.
Freedom was close.
But reckoning loomed even closer.