“Is everyone okay?” Malachi gasped, bent over with both hands braced on his knees. His chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, each breath almost a gasp.

  “Yeah,” I said, though my voice shook enough to betray me. “I had a feeling something like this might happen. Should we start moving?”

  “We don’t have a choice,” one of the guards barked. “If we stay here, they’ll target the building next!”

  No further encouragement needed—we bolted.

  Our boots hammered against the steel floor, the clang echoing down the narrow corridor. Emergency lights flickered overhead, casting frantic shadows that twitched and darted along the walls. We crashed through the nearest doorway, nearly stumbling in the dim light—only to find ourselves in a dead end.

  Gunfire cracked through the walls behind us, snapping the moment into razor focus.

  “Wrong room!” the guard shouted. “Downstairs—move!”

  We whipped back into the hall and dove into a cramped stairwell. The metal steps groaned under our pounding feet, spiraling downward endlessly, dragging us deeper into the facility.

  We burst into a corridor lit only by an eerie red glow running along the floor. The shadows pressed in on all sides, interrupted only by steel doors that lined the hallway like secrets locked away.

  “What is this place?” I panted.

  “The access wing to the Armonk,” the gatekeeper replied curtly. “Keep moving.”

  We pushed forward into a vast chamber—an elongated war table dominating the center, chairs pushed haphazardly aside. The emptiness felt wrong, like the room was holding its breath. We didn’t stop. Our boots slapped against the polished floor until we reached the far door, which the gatekeeper shut firmly behind us.

  The corridor beyond was different—sleek, gleaming chrome that reflected our warped shapes back at us. The slope tilted downward, guiding us further underground like we were being swallowed whole.

  At last, we hit a junction: two identical doors, one on each side. Dim light leaked from both.

  “What now?” I asked, scanning each one.

  Then came the voice.

  Low. Smooth. Smug.

  “Well, well… going somewhere?”

  We turned in unison. My heart plummeted.

  Demetrius Rocke.

  He stood at the end of the hall flanked by two armored agents, their black combat gear shining under the sterile light. Rocke’s tactical vest was loaded with weapons, his expression calm but laced with menace.

  “You’ve really outdone yourselves,” he said, his tone almost bored. “Did you honestly think you could stroll in here unnoticed? That’s not how this game is played.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Two of our guards fired instinctively—but Rocke was faster.

  A flick of his wrist, a flash of light, and arcs of electricity burst from his wand, slamming into both men. They convulsed violently, then crumpled, unmoving.

  “No way…” Nikki whispered, her voice trembling. “Have you… evolved your Perk?”

  Rocke smirked. “Nothing so grand. But I’ll take the flattery.” He glanced at his agents. “Dispose of them.”

  The hall exploded into chaos.

  Malachi lunged at the nearest soldier, swinging hard—but the agent sidestepped, countering with a brutal punch to Malachi’s jaw that sent him reeling.

  September tried to teleport behind her opponent, but he anticipated it, spinning mid-strike. A blast from his wand caught her mid-phase, forcing her back into reality with a sharp cry as she hit the floor.

  “Do you want to stay here and die? Move!” Malachi yelled, staggering upright.

  We didn’t need telling twice. The team scattered—Drails and Tisiah through the right door, Nikki and I through the left, slamming it behind us.

  We leaned against the cold metal, gasping for breath.

  “You okay?” I asked, eyes darting over her.

  Nikki nodded faintly, but her shaking shoulders told another story. Her breaths came uneven, her eyes bright with tears she wouldn’t let fall. She clutched her chest like she was holding something inside that might break loose.

  Then I froze.

  The room ahead was dim—lit by a single, flickering bulb that painted wavering shadows over two diverging paths: one a plain steel door, the other a narrow hallway stretching endlessly into the dark.

  “What is this place?” Nikki murmured.

  We stepped forward slowly, wands in hand.

  “Which way?” I asked.

  She hesitated. “The hallway,” she whispered.

  We pressed on. The passage twisted like a maze—right, left, left again, right. The air thickened with a metallic tang, sharp like burning copper.

  Then—footsteps.

  Quick. Purposeful. Coming closer.

  Nikki drew her wand in one smooth motion. I mirrored her, backing up so we were shoulder to shoulder.

  A figure emerged at the far end.

  Nikki fired without hesitation, her bolt striking his arm. He yelped.

  But the sound was familiar.

  “Greg?” I called, my heart skipping.

  He stepped into the light—blond hair, faint stubble, and that trademark grin.

  “What the hell are you doing here?!” he barked as he jogged toward us.

  “Greg!” I breathed. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he said quickly. “But that’s not the question. What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I shot back.

  “My dad sent me,” he said. “Said I needed to meet someone important. Figured I could help.”

  Nikki eyed him. “Wait—you’re one of us? A spy mage?”

  Greg grinned. “Field Mage Organization. FMA.”

  “I’m YMPA,” I replied. “So your dad’s the FMA director or something?”

  Greg tilted his head, brushing past the question. “Actually, I think you’re the one he wanted me to meet.”

  I frowned. “Why me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Greg’s grin faded. He took a slow, deliberate breath.

  “Alright. Two things you need to hear. And you’re probably not going to like either.”

  “What is it?” I asked, my voice low.

  “First—Mr. Drails… is your father.”

  Nikki’s head snapped toward me. “Wait—what?!”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I’ve known for a while. It doesn’t change anything.”

  Greg’s brows lifted. “So he already told you.”

  Then his smile returned—wider, sharper.

  “And second—Connor… I’m your brother.”

  The words hollowed out the air around me.

  I stumbled back against the wall, my pulse roaring in my ears. “No… you’re my—”

  “Yes,” Greg said firmly. “You’re not alone, Connor. I’m your brother.”

  My mind spun, thoughts collapsing into static.

  Greg’s expression hardened again. “Listen—we don’t have time to unpack this. Are those planes outside your doing?”

  “Kind of,” Nikki said faintly. “The TSA’s already in the building.”

  Greg’s eyes widened. “The TSA?” His voice dropped into a sharp edge. “Then we’re almost out of time. They’re here for the Armonk.”

  “You know about it?” I asked.

  “The FMA works with military logistics. We hear things,” Greg said quickly. “And right now, we need to move.”

  “What do we do?” I asked. “We’re cut off from the others.”

  “I just hope they’re still alive,” Greg muttered. “And honestly? I don’t think the air strike was meant to kill.”

  “What?” Nikki asked.

  Greg looked us both in the eye, voice low.

  “I think the attack was a distraction… to keep us busy while the TSA took the Armonk.”