Mike's hand hovered inches from the glowing glyph carved into the tunnel wall, his fingers trembling so violently his joints ached.

  He could almost feel Harrow's presence beyond the symbol, patiently waiting for Mike to call for him. He could even imagine the old man's voice: "One touch, boy. Just one touch and I'll save them all. Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

  The thought made Mike's stomach clench. He knew Harrow well enough by now to understand that every gift came with strings. He already knew the price he would have to pay. His body shuddered with fear, face drowning in sweat as his mind flashed to Gerald, and the deep darkness underground.

  Did he really need to risk his life?

  His entire body trembled with the urge to run. To flee this place and abandon Sam, Tess and Anna to their fates. His survival instincts clawed at his resolve, demanding he get out. He didn't need them. He knew he could find an exit by himself. He could escape these tunnels and leave this nightmare behind.

  It would be so easy to turn a blind eye to them. So perfectly justified.

  He closed his eyes tight, breathing through the pain clawing at his chest. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't selfless enough to sell his soul to the devil for people he barely knew.

  Sam, Tess and Anna were practically strangers. A few days of shared trauma didn't make them family. It didn't make their fate his responsibility.

  So why was he still standing here? Why hadn't he run already?

  ‘Because you promised yourself,’ a quiet voice whispered in his mind. ‘You promised you were done leaving people behind while you ran away. Even if it means facing your own death.’

  His breathing stabilized as his heart found strength in his promise. He was not going to run. Mike's eyes opened on the symbol in front of him, a faint blue light glowing from it now, like it was echoing his resolve.

  But his hand was still locked to his side, with no intention to reach for the symbol. Was Harrow really the only solution? Was he truly incapable of saving his friends by himself?

  ‘Think. There has to be another way.’

  Mike focused on his three-dimensional map, willing it to materialize and expand in front of him with perfect clarity. He barely understood this power, but he was ready to make the most of it.

  He traced back along the route he'd just taken, searching for the bat cave entrance. Every junction, every passage he'd traveled through rendered in precise geometric shapes from simple mind commands. In less than ten seconds he found the wall crack he'd squeezed through earlier. But he needed something bigger for his plan to work.

  He scanned the details on the wall surrounding the crack, pushing the map harder, demanding more detail and precision. The view zoomed in to reveal several small fissures clustered together, creating a web of structural weakness in the concrete.

  His attention focused on that specific area, observing the way water damage had eroded the cement, the specific angles of the fractures, the density variations in the concrete mixture itself.

  As he examined those fissures, understanding bloomed in his mind with instinctive certainty. He could see exactly where to strike to make the entire weakened area collapse. The map wasn't just showing him the layout, it was analyzing it, detecting structural weaknesses.

  Sweat poured down Mike's face. The focus required to maintain that level of detail was draining him rapidly. His legs weakened but he didn't care. This was it. This was his way forward.

  Mike turned around and ran, his breath coming in harsh gasps that echoed off the tunnel walls.

  As he ran, he focused his awareness, searching for Sam's position. A bright dot appeared clearly on his mental map, his signal strong and steady. Relief flooded through Mike for half a second.

  Then he searched for Roman Voss.

  Nothing.

  His stride faltered. He searched harder, pushing the map with desperate intensity, scanning the tunnels around Sam's position. But Roman Voss simply didn't appear. Just like Claire.

  There was a missing requirement. Knowing their name wasn't enough; he wasn't even sure names mattered at all. Harrow's name was almost certainly fake, and yet the ability worked on him anyway.

  He couldn't track Roman Voss. He had no idea how close he'd gotten to Sam. The unknown gnawed at him like acid.

  Mike pushed back into a run The tunnel walls blurred past him, ignoring the fire in his lungs, the tremor in his muscles. His exhausted legs found new strength born from panic, pushing through the fatigue.

  Mike arrived panting so hard his vision swam with black spots. But he had no time to waste catching his breath. He faced the weakened concrete like a puzzle he now knew how to solve.

  He grabbed a rock and attacked the wall. It shattered after a few impacts, but he just grabbed another. Then another.

  His fingers dug into crumbling cement, ripping away chunks of degraded concrete. The rough edges tore at his skin. His fingernails caught on rebar and bent backward with spikes of pain that made him gasp. Blood ran down his hands, making his grip slippery.

  He managed to extract a rebar from the wall and used it to hit harder, putting all his strength behind each strike. The impact sent jolts of pain through his wrists and arms as frustration boiled up inside him.

  His ability was truly amazing, but it didn't seem tailored for strength and power. For a second he thought of himself as weak, missing the overwhelming energy he'd felt before his collapse. Right now, he felt pathetic.

  ‘Breathe. Focus.’

  Mike released the negative emotions surging through him. This plan didn't involve muscle. It involved thinking. He refocused and went at it again. Hit. Scrape. Dig with his fingers into the crumbled sections. Pull away loose material. Each handful of degraded cement made the next section easier to access.

  Mike's right index fingernail tore completely off. The pain was blinding but he gritted his teeth and kept digging. There was no time to waste.

  Finally, a large portion gave way and a full section of the wall crumbled. The breach was six meters wide, barely enough for what he envisioned.

  He paused at the threshold. Through the breach, he could hear the low hum of thousands of bloodsucking predators. He charged inside the cave and the smell of blood, decay and guano hit his senses. It was so concentrated it made his eyes water. The low deep humming filled the air, vibrating through his chest. Not a single photon of light penetrated the cave, yet Mike could still see everything as clearly as daylight.

  Hundreds, thousands of bats hung from the ceiling in dense clusters, wings wrapped around their bodies, eyes closed in sleep. Tiny baby forms pressed against larger parent bodies sharing warmth and protection. A dozen scavenger bats fought on the ground over scraps of previous kills.

  He could see every detail. The texture of their fur. The membrane structure of their wings. The purple glow in their eyes. Everything rendered in perfect clarity despite the distance and the absolute absence of light.

  Mike walked slowly, holding two cold metal rebars in his bloodied hands.

  He'd wasted too much time already on the wall. He needed to make sure his crazy plan worked. For that, he knew he had to go deep inside the cave. Blood dripped from his torn hands, dropping to the floor at each step.

  Some of the scavenger bats nearest him stirred. Their heads turned, tracking his movements. They slowly began to circle him as he walked. It started with just a few. Then dozens. The humming intensified with every step he took, building like the charge before a lightning strike.

  Their wings unfurled with dry, leathery sounds as more bats dropped from their perches and began moving around him in lazy, predatory loops. They thought of Mike as an easy target. Blind and helpless. Delicious fresh meat wandering into their domain. Some flew just inches from his face, testing him, provoking him. Paralyzing him with terror.

  But Mike was not afraid. He knew their modus operandi. He knew they wouldn't jump on him right away. He controlled himself and kept walking, each step calculated and measured.

  He reached the center of the cave. Hundreds of bats circled him now, their purple eyes gleaming with hunger and anticipation. The humming transformed into a deafening buzz. They were ready. Waiting only for their prey to show any sign of fear, to trigger their final attack.

  But Mike was not the prey.

  He raised the two metal rebars in his hands and banged them together with all his strength.

  The metallic clangs exploded through the chamber, bouncing and reverberating until the entire cave rang like a massive bell.

  The effect was devastating.

  Every bat in the cave screamed at once. Thousands of shrieks crescendoed into a horrific roar, echoing off stone walls and amplifying in intensity. It felt like knives driven into Mike's skull, making his teeth ache and his vision swim.

  Mike kept banging the rebars. The vibration traveled up his arms, making his injured hands go numb with pain. His torn flesh screamed in protest. But he couldn't stop now.

  The bats on the ceiling dropped, wings spreading as they oriented toward the source of the disturbance. A wave of claws and teeth attacked with uncoordinated fury. Their only focus was making the annoying human stop.

  Mike dodged their clumsy and predictable attacks easily. Bats navigated using echolocation, so the rhythmic metallic sound was overloading their senses, making them half-blind and disoriented.

  Mike didn't overstay his welcome. He ran with everything he had to the entrance of the cave, still banging the rebars together. Leading the swarm behind him like a pied piper of chaos.

  He knew, deep in his core, that releasing these creatures into the subway tunnels was wrong. Morally, ethically wrong. He knew he was unleashing a nightmare on anyone unlucky enough to be in their path.

  But survival meant making terrible choices. Right now, they were his only chance to save Sam in time. He needed these monsters to serve as weapons against seventeen armed soldiers.

  The swarm exploded from the breach like a living tsunami, hundreds of wings beating the air into thunder. Mike ran as fast as he could but the furious bats were catching up to him.

  The first impacts came fast. Claws raked his back. Teeth sought his shoulders. Mike's stamina was draining fast. His legs turned to lead but his mind refused to give up. A bat found the soft flesh of his shoulder and teeth sank deep.

  Mike hammered his rebar on its head and kept running, hot blood flowing down his chest. Doubt crept in. He wasn't going to make it. There were too many. They were too fast. He had overestimated his physical ability.

  The bats didn't just surround him; they entombed him. He was drowning in a living cloud of leather, claws, and purple eyes. He could barely see through the mass of bodies as he thrashed, swinging the metallic rebars around him like a madman, the steel singing through the air.

  Through a gap in the storm of wings and fury, he saw it. A brilliant spark. A tiny, expanding sun born from the soldiers' position.

  For a fraction of a second, the world seemed to stop.

  In that suspended moment of time, the chaos crystallized into a petrified nightmare. Mike wasn't looking at a swarm anymore, he was staring into individual faces of madness. He saw the coarse, matted hair on their chests bristling with static energy. He saw the saliva stretching like spiderwebs between serrated, needle-thin teeth that snapped at the air inches from his throat.

  The bats were statues in a gallery of nightmares, prisoners in the same amber of time that held him frozen. He looked into their eyes, glowing purple orbs dilated with a primal, starving fury. There was no thought there, only hunger. He felt the phantom snag of claws grazing his skin, threatening to tear through to the meat beneath. Drops of sweat and blood hovered around him in perfect spheres, frozen in the void.

  The shrieking roar that had filled the tunnel just a heartbeat before was gone. Replaced by absolute silence. A vacuum of sound so complete it weighted against his eardrums.

  It was a tableau of beautiful, crystallized horror.

  The radiant wave expanded in a silent, searing dome of white phosphorus, eating everything in its path.

  The soldiers disappeared first. One by one they were swallowed by the brightness, their forms dissolving into pure white as the wave passed over them like an eraser across a page.

  Panic hit Mike like ice water.

  His vision had adapted to see perfectly in darkness. Which meant his irises were completely dilated to absorb every single photon of available light.

  And right now, he was staring directly into the sun.

  If that wave hit him while his eyes were tuned for the deep dark, blindness wouldn't be the word for it. It would be an ocular execution. His retinas would be incinerated.

  He would be left stumbling in permanent darkness. This would be the end of him. The bats would tear him apart before he even finished screaming.

  Mike tried to jerk his head away. To rip his hands free from the rebars and shield his face.

  ‘Turn away. Drop. Blink. Do something.’

  Nothing.

  His body was locked in a dreadful stasis, betrayed by his own accelerated perception. His mind was racing at the speed of light, but his muscles were still moving through molasses. The signal couldn't bridge the gap. He was a prisoner in his own skull.

  ‘Move!’

  But the only thing moving was the white tsunami swallowing the tunnel. It was slowly getting brighter. A prickle of heat started to burn at the back of his sockets.

  Twenty meters. Fifteen. Ten.

  ‘CLOSE YOUR EYES!’

  The command roared through his nervous system. A surge of energy hit the tiny sphincter muscles ringing his pupils. He felt a sudden, violent spasm deep inside the center of his eyes.

  The order to close had bypassed the eyelids entirely and slammed directly into the iris, forcing it to collapse. Like a camera shutter snapping shut in a panic, his irises slammed down, strangling the pupils into non-existence.

  Five meters. Three. One.

  The light touched his face.

  For a heartbeat his mind flinched, but there was no pain.

  The world simply turned white. It was a soft, silent annihilation. The darkness of the tunnel, the purple gleam of the bats' eyes, the grime of the metallic rebars—it was all washed away by the brilliance.

  Deep inside that brilliance, his gamble had worked. Behind the violent clamp of his constricted irises, his retinas remained cool and untouched. The blinding storm that should have erased his sight was reduced to nothing more than a safe, manageable haze.

  He felt the heat, but it didn't burn. It washed over him like a heated heavy blanket, a strangely protective embrace. A golden, glowing warmth that seeped through his skin and settled into his bones.

  In that fraction of a second, Mike felt a bizarre, detached serenity. The frantic screaming of his mind silenced. The claustrophobia vanished. He was suspended in the heart of a star, weightless and clean.

  It was peaceful.

  Then the universe caught up. Time snapped back.

  A powerful thunderclap roared in Mike's ears. The air pressure in the tunnel spiked violently, hitting him like a hammer to the side of the head.

  His eyes were protected but his ears had no such defense.

  The world instantly dissolved into a high-pitched, screaming whine. It was a thick, fuzzy layer of white noise that drowned out reality. He felt the vibration of the blast rattle his teeth, felt his equilibrium tilt sideways as his inner ear scrambled. The explosion was farther from him than from the soldiers, but it was still devastating.

  Mike dropped to his knees, gasping, hands instinctively flying to his head. The vertigo was nauseating. His body, having spent every ounce of adrenaline on that impossible moment of focus, crashed. His muscles turned to jelly.

  He needed a few seconds. Just a few seconds to recover before the fatigue overwhelmed him completely.

  ‘Breathe. Just breathe.’

  Around him, the bat cloud collapsed, screaming on the ground. Even through the cotton-wool ringing in his ears, Mike could feel the vibration of their agonizing shrieks.

  They were writhing on the floor, wings thrashing aimlessly, claws scratching at the stone. They crashed into walls. They collided with each other in mid-air, tangling and plummeting. They were flying full speed into the ceiling, breaking their own necks in a panic. The coordinated, terrifying swarm was gone, replaced by a carpet of broken, twitching bodies screaming in confusion.

  Mike looked at the carnage, a violent tremor running through his fingers.

  ‘That would have been me.’

  If he had been a fraction of a second slower, he would be crawling on the floor with them. Meat for the slaughter.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Mike hauled himself upright. It took two tries. His legs felt disconnected from his brain, and the white noise in his ears made his balance sway like a drunkard's.

  He checked the tunnel as shadows were moving behind him.

  The explosion had only stunned the front line, the first fifty meters of the swarm. But the colony was endless. It stretched back for miles into the deep earth.

  The rear guard was coming.

  A fresh wall of wings was surging forward from the dark, rushing to fill the void. He didn't have minutes to breathe. He had seconds before the fresh wave hit.

  He whipped his head back toward the soldiers.

  Thick, acrid gray smoke was billowing from the soldier's position, filling the corridor. Through the haze, he saw shapes stumbling. The soldiers were reeling, hands pressed to their helmets, weapons dangling uselessly. Their night-vision gear had been overwhelmed, and their ears were ringing just as hard as Mike's.

  They were blind, deaf and disoriented.

  They were about to be overrun.

  Mike's pupils dilated again, adjusting instantly to the gray gloom. His vision cut through the smoke like glass. He didn't just see shapes; he saw trajectories. He saw the geometry of the fight shifting in his favor.

  He took a breath of the sulfur-tinged air and dove into the smoke.

  Soldiers stumbled through it like deep-sea divers, rifles shouldered but aiming at ghosts. Through the cotton-wool ringing in his ears, Mike heard them only as muffled distortions.

  Mike didn't need to hide. He just ran straight through their ranks, an untouchable shadow in the smoke. Until a shape solidified directly in his path.

  Roman Voss.

  The operative stood in the eye of the storm, tactical vest askew, his flashlight sweeping back and forth. His mouth was moving, veins bulging in his neck, shouting orders that Mike couldn't hear through the ringing.

  Mike knew he should keep moving. His goal was crystal clear from the start. Find Sam and the others, and leave this godforsaken place.

  But facing Roman Voss, vulnerable, blind and helpless, ignited a nuclear reaction in his chest.

  Sam vanished from his mind and all Mike could think about was the past three years. The faces of the villagers Voss's unit had massacred. The smell of charred flesh that never left his nightmares. The same smoke that filled his lungs, had once risen from burning villages. The children left screaming in the rubble. The casual cruelty in Roman's eyes as he'd ordered their execution.

  Mike's drained body found new strength. Adrenaline flooded his system like a chemical detonation. His vision tunneled. The world bled violet at the edges.

  He wasn't thinking anymore. He was pure rage given form.

  Mike lunged. His fist drove into Roman's face with everything he had left. The impact shuddered up his arm, bone meeting bone, knuckles splitting open, the shock of it rattling his shoulder.

  Roman's head snapped back violently. Blood exploded from his nose in a dark spray. His rifle clattered to the ground as he stumbled backward, legs giving out, hitting the concrete hard.

  Mike was on him before he could even process falling.

  He dropped his knees onto Roman's chest, driving the air from his lungs and pinning him to the ground. Mike's body reacted before he could even order it. He punched him again. And again. And again.

  Each impact sent fresh jolts of pain through Mike's torn hands, but he couldn't feel anything. There was only the wet crunch of cartilage breaking under his knuckles. The hot spray of blood across his face. The satisfaction of watching Roman's head snap sideways with each blow.

  Roman tried to raise his arms to block. But Mike was relentless. The punches kept coming. Mike's knuckles split wider. His hands became slick with blood. Roman's and his own, mixing together.

  Roman's movements grew weaker. His arms dropped. His eyes rolled back, barely conscious now as his head lolled to the side with every impact, completely unable to defend himself.

  Mike's chest heaved as he panted over the broken man.

  But it wasn't enough. Mike's entire body trembled from pure killing intent.

  His eyes locked on the combat knife at Roman's hip.

  He snatched it free. The blade hissed as it cleared the scabbard, heavy and serrated. Hovering it over the man beneath him.

  His father's voice echoed in his mind, soft and pleading: "Killing a soul is killing all of humanity."

  Mike's hand tightened on the knife until his knuckles went white.

  General Patterson, Roman Voss, the soldiers who followed them… they weren't part of humanity. They had no souls. They were a cancer that needed to be cut out before it spread further. These men didn't deserve mercy.

  He shifted his grip, holding the knife like an ice pick and raising it high. Roman's throat lay exposed beneath him, pale and vulnerable.

  His only regret was that Roman couldn't see his face. Couldn't know, in his final moment, who was ending him.

  A bat slammed into Mike’s shoulder like a sledgehammer. The impact knocked him sideways. He rolled off Roman's body, the knife tumbling from his grip and skittering across the blood-slicked concrete.

  Mike gasped, suddenly back in his own head, his vision clearing. The violet haze evaporated. He looked down at his blood-soaked hands, at Roman's unconscious and broken body, at the knife lying between them.

  Around him, the world exploded into chaos.

  The second wave had arrived and hundreds of bats erupted in a frantic stampede. Flying in every direction at once, smashing into walls, colliding with each other mid-air, wings thrashing in blind panic. It was a living avalanche of leather and teeth.

  Through the white noise filling his ears, he heard panicked gunfire, desperate screams and high wet gurgles as throats were torn open.

  Mike's stomach lurched. ‘I did that.’

  He'd sentenced those men to this. Young men with families probably waiting for them above ground. Some of them might simply just be grunts following orders. He fed them to monsters and he'd almost added one more to the count with his own hands.

  The guilt tried to claw its way up his heart. He gagged, bile rising in his throat. He wanted to scream but shoved it down. Burying the horror and the self-loathing and locked them deep in his gut. He'd deal with it later. Right now—

  Mike dragged himself upright. His hearing was still mostly gone. His hands were bleeding, knuckles split to the bone, fingers twitching uncontrollably. But his mind was sharp again, locked onto a single point ahead.

  ‘Sam.’

  He turned away from Roman's broken body and ran into the dark.

  Or tried to.

  His legs gave out after three steps. He caught himself against the tunnel wall, gasping. The adrenaline that had carried him through the fight was gone, leaving nothing but the hollow shell of his body behind.

  He was running on less than fumes. Mike pushed off the wall and staggered forward.

  The tunnel around him filled with movement. Wings everywhere. He instinctively covered his head with his arms, making himself as small as possible. Waiting for the claws and teeth to tear into him.

  But they didn't.

  He lifted his head slightly to see the swarm surging upward, thousands of bodies funneling toward the ceiling. He followed their trajectory and saw a large ventilation grate, partially rusted through, leading to a concrete shaft that angled upward.

  To the surface.

  The bats were finding their way out of the tunnels. Out into the city above.

  ‘Oh God.’

  The realization finally hit him. He hadn't just unleashed them on the soldiers. He'd opened a door to the world above.

  ‘I am a fucking idiot.’

  He had detonated a biological weapon with no way to control it. A mass destruction event spreading beyond these tunnels into the city.

  Mike's heart seized as his mental map showed Sam's position. The swarm's trajectory would take them right past—

  ‘Sam. Please be alive. Please.’

  He tried to move faster but his legs wouldn't obey. His lungs burned. His body screamed in protest but panic dragged him forward.

  The mental map guided him through the final bend.

  A dead end materialized ahead. Mike's vision, cutting through the gloom, picked out every detail.

  Sam stood at the entrance to a dead-end corridor, bare-chested, his shirt shredded to nothing. His posture perfect, feet planted, muscles coiled, a Spartan holding the Hot Gates. Behind him, pressed against the back wall, Anna and Tess huddled together. Faint steam rising from Tess's skin. Anna had her arm around her, both of them battered and exhausted.

  Relief hit Mike so hard his knees almost buckled. He stopped just behind Sam, swaying slightly. He was covered in blood, his own and Roman Voss's. Shredded strips of clothes hanging off of him. Bite wounds and scratches covered his skin. Drops of blood dripping onto the tunnel floor.

  And a large grin spread across his face.

  Despite the pain, despite the exhaustion and everything, he was grinning like a madman.

  "Great to see you, Sam."

  Sam spun, dagger raised, then froze. His expression cycled through disbelief to relief to joy.

  "Jesus Christ, Mike," Sam breathed out, the breath shaking. "You look like hell."

  "Well, I've had better days," Mike wheezed, clutching his ribs.

  At the sound of his voice, Tess's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide as she took in the horrific state of him. She pushed herself away from the wall, stepping out from behind Sam's protective stance.

  "Mike?" The word was barely a whisper, horror and disbelief written across her face. She took a step toward him, then stopped. Her eyes tracked the blood soaking his chest, the ruined flesh of his hands. "Oh my god... Mike, what happened to you?"

  Mike looked at her. Tess's clothes were torn, dark stains splattered across the fabric. Wrapped around Tess's neck was a cashmere scarf. The last time Mike had seen that fabric, he had been stretching it across their faces, binding them together in death.

  But now, the scarf was torn, caked in black dust, concrete grit, and dried blood. Tess's face was bruised, faint steam rose from her skin.

  Anna had her arm wrapped protectively around Tess, favoring her left leg, her eyes carrying a hollow, thousand-yard stare that Mike knew all too well. Both of them looked battered to their absolute limits.

  They'd been through their own hell.

  "I'm just... I'm okay." Mike said, his voice dropping its defensive edge for the first time. He met her worried gaze directly, offering her a tired, genuine smile.

  Tess's eyes welled with tears, but she nodded, quickly wiping them away. "You're a terrible liar," she whispered, though there was no accusation in her voice, only relief. She didn't believe him. Neither of them did. But what else was there to say right now? The air was heavy with a thousand unsaid words, but neither of them had any energy left to speak.

  "We need to move," Mike said gently, though the urgency remained.

  Sam immediately grabbed Tess, supporting most of her weight. Anna pushed herself upright despite obvious pain, looping her arm around Tess's other side.

  They followed Mike in an agonizing slow walk in the dark. Mike stayed in front, guiding them away from the distant screeches echoing through the subway system. They walked carefully on the railway tracks to avoid leaving footprints in the deep dust.

  The silence between them was heavy, filled only with the sound of their ragged breathing and the shuffle of injured feet. Every time Tess stumbled, Sam was there, a steadying hand hovering near her shoulder.

  Finally, after winding through a labyrinth of deserted tunnels, "Here," Mike gasped, leaning heavily against the wall. "Let's rest here."

  Tess collapsed against the wall the moment the words reached her ears, sliding down to the floor, eyes closed, her energy completely spent. The faint steam finally stopped rising from her skin. Anna sat beside her immediately, their arms finding each other instinctively.

  "Sleep," Anna whispered, brushing matted hair from Tess's face, her own exhaustion evident in the tremor of her voice. "I won't leave your side."

  Within seconds, Tess's breathing evened out into a deep, unconscious sleep.

  Mike slumped against the opposite wall, finally allowing himself to stop moving. Every muscle in his body screamed. His hands jerked in spasms he couldn't control. Blood dripped steadily from his knuckles, forming small pools on the concrete.

  Sam settled down beside him with his pack. "Let me see your hands."

  Mike held them out mutely.

  Sam pulled out the antiseptic. "This is going to hurt."

  He poured it over Mike's hands. The liquid ran red, then pink, then finally started running clearer. Mike hissed through his teeth but didn't pull away.

  "I'm sorry," Mike said quietly as Sam worked. The words came out rough, broken by the tremors still running through his body.

  Sam's eyebrows rose slightly. "For what?"

  "I almost got you all killed." Mike stared at his ruined hands as Sam began cleaning the wounds properly. The antiseptic burned like liquid fire. "I had a choice. There was a way to get help. But I thought I could handle it myself. I was too arrogant."

  Sam said nothing, just kept working methodically. He picked out bits of concrete embedded in Mike's flesh with steady movements.

  Mike laughed bitterly. "I unleashed those bats thinking I could control them and use them as a weapon. But I just..." His voice caught. "If you hadn't been able to protect them...."

  Sam resumed cleaning, moving to Mike's other hand. When he spoke, his voice was measured, calm. "We're breathing. That's enough for now."

  "Is it?" Mike's voice cracked. "You should have seen what I did back there, Sam. The things I... I almost lost myself." He trailed off, unable to finish.

  "But you didn't," Sam interrupted gently, wrapping the final layer of gauze.

  "I'm not really sure anymore."

  Sam began wrapping gauze around Mike's right hand, his movements efficient and sure. For a moment, his hands paused, and sadness flickered across his face. "Mike. Look at me."

  Mike lifted his eyes to meet Sam's.

  "Whatever you did, you did it to survive."

  "But—"

  Sam held up a hand before Mike could protest. "I won't lie to you and say it gets easier. It doesn't. But if you want us to survive, you can't let those thoughts destroy you."

  "You came back for us, Mike. I know you could have saved yourself but you came back. That's all I need to know about who you are."

  Mike's throat tightened. He wanted to argue. To list all the reasons Sam was wrong. But the words wouldn't come. Only a shuddering breath that might have been the beginning of a sob he refused to let out.

  Sam gave Mike's hand a gentle squeeze, then released it. "Get some rest. We'll figure out the next move when everyone's had a chance to recover."

  Mike nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes drifted open and froze.

  Across from him, carved into the wall, was one of Harrow's glyphs. The symbol's light suddenly intensified, shifting to brilliant blue.

  "What the—" Sam scrambled backward, his hand going for his rifle.

  The air in the tunnel split like fabric being torn, edges crackling with energy that made Mike's hair stand on end.

  Reality itself broke as the symbol opened a large circular doorway of light.

  Anna jerked awake at the sound of electricity crackling in the air, her eyes going wide when she saw the storm of blue light forming a circle on the wall. "What is that?"

  Tess stirred but didn't wake fully, her exhaustion too deep.

  Mike tried to push himself to his feet but his legs almost gave out. Sam caught his arm, steadying him. Facing the portal together.

  A figure stepped through the blue light.

  Harrow materialized as if he'd always been there. Wild white hair contrasted sharply against a pristine military general's uniform. Dark fabric adorned with medals and insignia that caught the blue light from the portal. Ancient eyes, sharp and amused, peered out from beneath the brim of an officer's cap. That infuriating grin plastered across his face.

  Behind him came another figure.

  A man, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed entirely in black. Dark combat pants, a black jacket, and a large hoodie pulled low over his head. The fabric seemed to suffocate the light around it.

  Mike pushed his vision harder, focusing on the face hidden under the hood. But the shadow didn't yield. It was an absolute void, a blind spot in reality that made Mike’s eyes water from the strain.

  Harrow began clapping slowly, his grin widening. "Well, well," he said, his voice carrying across the chamber with perfect acoustics. "An alumni reunion. How delightful."

  His tone was warm and pleasant, but there was an edge of amusement that suggested he found their emotional gathering entertaining rather than touching.

  "Number Two," Harrow said, gesturing at the shadow figure with theatrical flair.

  The hooded man's head tilted slightly. He made a low, guttural sound and spat on the tunnel floor.

  Harrow's smile didn't waver. "Allow me to introduce Number One." He turned, pointing at Mike with obvious pride. "Mike Adam Walker."

  Sam's fingers dug into Mike's arm. The grip was tight enough that Mike felt his bones shift.

  Mike glanced sideways. Sam's jaw was clenched, a vein pulsing at his temple. His eyes hadn't left Harrow. His breathing had gone quiet and measured. The easygoing veteran had vanished.

  A third figure emerged from the portal. Moving slowly, unsteadily.

  "And I suppose Number Three doesn't need any introduction," Harrow said.

  Mike's breath stopped.

  Claire?

  This wasn't the woman he remembered. Gone was her beautiful radiating smile. She looked like she'd been starved and drained. Her face was drawn and gaunt, dark circles like bruises shadowing her eyes, her expression hollow. Her clothes hung loose on a skeletal frame that had lost too much weight too fast. Something cold and terrible settled in Mike's chest. What had Harrow done to her?

  Mike instinctively reached out with his ability, trying to sense her position. Nothing. Complete absence. He was looking right at her, but his ability returned null.

  "Who are you?" Anna's voice cut through the tension. She'd moved to stand, positioning herself protectively near Tess.

  Harrow turned his attention to her with delight. "Ah! A new soul. Enchanté dear Anna, I am Harrow. Doctor, scientist, scholar, and occasional—"

  "He's a manipulative bastard," Sam said flatly, his rifle raised despite one hand still steadying Mike. "Don't trust a word he says."

  Harrow placed a hand over his heart, his expression wounded. "Samuel! Such harsh words. I thought we'd developed a rapport."

  "We haven't," Sam replied coldly. "Whatever you want, the answer is no."

  "I don't recall making an offer yet," Harrow said pleasantly. He turned back to Mike, his eyes taking in Mike's destroyed state, the blood, the bandaged handshake, the shredded clothes, the way he was barely standing. "Though I suppose congratulations for making it alive are in order first!”

  Mike's jaw clenched. His bandaged hands balled into fists despite the pain.

  "What do you want, Harrow?" His voice was harder than he felt, given he could barely stay upright.

  Harrow's smile didn't waver, but something shifted in his eyes. Something that might have been genuine concern if Mike didn't know better. "I came to give you information, my dear Number One. A gift, if you will."

  "I don't want your gifts."

  "Oh, but you want this one." Harrow's expression became something approaching serious, a rare enough occurrence that it made Mike's stomach dread with apprehension. "You see, today is a very special day. Today is Eli's birthday."

  Mike froze. He would have staggered if Sam wasn't holding him steady.

  The boy had mentioned it on the day of the attack. Ten days until his birthday, he said. Which meant...

  "Ten days," Mike whispered. "We've been trapped underground for ten days."

  Harrow nodded slowly. "Time moves strangely down here, doesn't it? Days blurring together in the darkness. But yes, boy. Ten days since the attack."

  "Thanks for the information," Mike said coldly, forcing emotion from his voice. "You can leave now."

  Harrow sighed. "Such coldness. Such ingratitude. You know, if you'd asked me for help earlier, I would have gladly assisted you. But no. You chose to handle it yourself." He paused, letting his eyes linger on Mike's bandaged, trembling hands. "Yet here I am anyway, bringing you vital information out of the goodness of my heart, and this is how you treat an old man."

  He shook his head sadly. "It hurts, Michael. It truly does."

  Mike didn't take the bait. His hands were shaking worse now, whether from exhaustion, pain, or rage, he couldn't tell. Harrow was playing a game, and the old man always had angles Mike couldn't see.

  Harrow turned toward the portal, his movements theatrical, as if preparing to leave in a huff. Then he paused, his back to Mike.

  "Oh." His tone casual. "I forgot to mention. Eli died."

  Mike's heart stopped. His breath froze. Sam's hand on his arm was the only thing keeping him upright as his legs threatened to give out completely.

  "Well," Harrow continued, turning back around slowly, "not dead dead. But you know what I mean."

  He made air quotes with his fingers around the next word. "The 'infection.' The awakening. Whatever you want to call it. The boy still managed to hold it off for ten days."

  Mike's mind was racing, trying to process through the fog of exhaustion.

  "It's so unfortunate that he collapsed at Times Square, though." Harrow's expression shifted to faked sadness. "They have a rather strict policy there about the infected..." He trailed off, conjuring a bright red flame on the palm of his hand. “They burn everyone of them.”

  "Burn?" Mike whispered. Horror spread through his chest like ice water.

  Harrow nodded slowly. "Ignorance truly is a sin, isn't it?"

  Mike's breath came in short, sharp gasps. The image formed in his mind unbidden. Eli's small form surrounded by flames consuming him. A twenty-one-year-old boy who looked twelve, who'd done nothing wrong, who'd held on longer than anyone should have to hold on, being burned alive because people didn't understand what was happening to him.

  Mike's knees buckled. Sam caught him, holding him upright.

  "You're lying," Sam said, but his voice lacked conviction.

  Harrow's eyes widened with genuine offense. "I am many things. But a liar is not one of them." He shook his head emphatically.

  Mike nodded almost subconsciously. Because the old man was right. In all their interactions, through all of Harrow's games and manipulations, he'd never once told an outright lie. Half-truths, yes. Misleading implications, certainly. But never a direct falsehood.

  Which meant Eli really was about to be burned alive.

  Sam's grip on Mike's arm tightened. A warning. Or support. Maybe both.

  Mike's mind was racing despite his body's exhaustion. Times Square station had given him a bad feeling from the start, that sense of wrongness that had kept him away. Had his instincts been trying to warn him about this?

  Mike wanted to save Eli. He had grown attached to him in the short time they'd known each other. There was something about the boy's determined optimism, his refusal to give up hope even in the darkest moments, that had wormed its way past Mike's defenses.

  He had to get to Times Square now. He had to stop this before it was too late.

  Harrow watched Mike's face carefully, reading every micro-expression. "Oh, did I mention the ceremony is about to start? I'd say you have…” He glanced at his empty wrist as if checking a watch that wasn't there. “Seven minutes. They're very punctual about that."

  Seven minutes.

  Times Square station was nearly an hour away. Even at peak physical condition, Mike would need at least fifteen minutes minimum to cover that distance.

  He wouldn't even be able to crawl there with his barely functioning body.

  But even if he had seven hours instead of seven minutes, what exactly was his plan?

  Mike would arrive and... what? Demand they release Eli? If they refused, would he fight the survivors? Kill more people trying to save one?

  "Will you unleash a dragon to save him?" Harrow's voice cut through Mike's thoughts like a blade. Reading every doubt playing across his face. "Careful, boy. You might really end up killing everyone this time."

  The words constricted Mike's chest, crushing his heart as guilt fought to break free.

  Harrow was right.

  The bats had been Mike's "clever" plan. But what had it accomplished?

  He had no power to save anyone. He had no right to even try.

  He was weak. Arrogant. Dangerous.

  A low sound broke through Mike's spiraling thoughts.

  Claire had taken a step forward, her hand pressed against her temple. Her face twisted in pain. She made a faint grunting sound, her other hand reaching out as if trying to steady herself.

  Mike's heart lurched. "Claire?"

  She opened her mouth, her vacant eyes struggling to focus. "Mi—"

  Harrow placed a gentle hand on Claire's shoulder.

  The lucidity in her eyes vanished like smoke and returned to their hollow stare. Claire's face went slack again. Her hand dropped as she stepped back silently.

  "She's just tired," Harrow said pleasantly, as if he'd just steadied someone who'd tripped. "I am sure you understand.”

  Mike stared at Claire's empty face. At the way she swayed slightly, like she wasn't entirely present in her own body. At how Harrow's hand had remained on her shoulder for just a moment longer than necessary.

  He turned his gaze to Harrow, forcing his exhausted mind to focus. "You can certainly save Eli on your own. You don't need me for that."

  Harrow's grin widened slowly, like a cat that had been waiting for the mouse to understand the trap.

  "So why?" Mike's voice cracked. "Why drag them through all of this? Why—"

  The words hung in the air like smoke.

  "Sam, Eli, Claire..." Harrow gestured casually to each in turn. "It doesn't matter who I dangle in front of you." He took a step closer to Mike. "You're welcome to refuse my help as much as you want. But we both know how this ends, don't we?"

  Mike's breath caught in his chest.

  "You're a monster," Sam said quietly.

  Harrow's smile didn't waver. "Not quite yet, but thank you." He turned away from Mike, moving toward the portal with unhurried steps. "Well then, I suppose I'll see you at the next alumni gathering."

  The portal pulsed with blue light behind him, edges crackling.

  Sam's grip on his arm tightened. "Mike, don't," he whispered as a plea.

  Harrow took another step.

  "Wait!"

  The desperate word tore from Mike's throat.

  Harrow stopped. Slowly, he turned around, hands clasping behind his back. He took three measured steps toward Mike, his grin widening with each one.

  "Let's make a deal, boy."