Page 283 of Scarlet Wars
I bared my teeth in the darkness and drew the ridiculously small knife hidden in my shoe, hardly impressive, but deadly enough. “Always.”
We moved fast after that, boots whispering over the floor as the passage sloped upward. The walls were closing in, and the darkness was thick and crawling.
We rounded the corner and almost collided with a man dressed head to toe in black.
He froze for half a second. Long enough for his eyes to widen. Long enough for his hand to dart toward the human phone at his belt.
James didn’t give him the chance.
He slammed the man into the wall before a sound could tear loose from his throat. I was already moving, yanking his hand away from the device, twisting hard. Something gave with a wet, unmistakable snap.
The alarm stayed silent.
The man didn’t.
James drove him down fast and brutal, all force and precision. A crack echoed through the corridor—bone against rock—and then there was nothing.
The body went slack.
I exhaled steadily, though my pulse hammered so hard it hurt. “That was close.”
James didn’t answer.
He just stood there, staring down at the man sprawled at his feet, blood blooming dark against the stone floor.
“You okay there, Walker?”
“Does he seem…” James frowned slightly, eyes still on the body. “Familiar to you?”
I cocked my head, then turned the man’s face toward what little light reached us with my foot.
“He does,” I said slowly. “Where the hell do we know him from?”
James shook his head. “No idea. He’s definitely not a Chief.”
I straightened, unease crawling up my spine, cold and insistent.
Then I heard it: voices. Muffled. Two, maybe three. Somewhere above us.
James tilted his head, listening.
We stared at each other for a single second. Without another word, we broke into a sprint. The tunnel blurred beneath our feet as we hit a narrow staircase carved straight into the rock, spiraling up into black.
“Up?” I muttered, already knowing the answer.
James nodded once and took the stairs two at a time.
The voices grew louder. Clearer.
At the top, a heavy iron door blocked our path, thick, rusted, sealed like it hadn’t been opened in years.
James didn’t hesitate. “Together,” he said, bracing himself.
I nodded, pressed my shoulder to the cold metal beside his.
“One,” he counted.
We slammed into it.
