Chapter 22: Mobile Reconnection
The van’s suspension was stiff, translating every seam in the asphalt into a jolt that traveled up the spine. Aria sat strapped into the passenger seat, her right arm a cage of pain in its sling, her left hand white-knuckling the grip above the door. Levi drove, his eyes flicking between the rain-smeared windshield and the glowing tablet mounted on the dash. On it, a fractal map of encrypted nodes pulsed, a spiderweb of dark net activity Armin was weaving in real time from the shop.
Columbus bled away into a corridor of industrial parks and skeletal trees. The safehouse was gone. The shop was a fortified nerve center. They were the needle being threaded out into the night, aiming for a data center in Dayton that Armin had identified as the weakest link in the auction’s Midwestern chain.
Silence, thick and charged, had settled between them for the last twenty miles. It was different from their usual quiet. This silence was made of unspoken scenarios. Of Eren’s grim face as he handed Levi a backup pistol. Of Liora’s forced calm as she monitored Maya’s shallow breathing. Of Armin’s final, quiet warning: “They’ll have physical security. Ex-military, likely. They shoot first.”
Aria stared at her reflection in the side window—a ghost with a bruised face overlaid with the streaking rain. The persona they’d built, “Sylvia,” was a sleek monster in a server somewhere, already making inquires. But here, in the vibrating metal belly of the van, she was just Aria. Pregnant. Terrified. Hurt.
Her hand left the grip and dropped into her lap. Then, moving as if of its own volition, it crossed the space between the seats. Her fingers found the hard line of Levi’s thigh, high up, just beneath the seam of his black cargos.
He didn’t startle. His gaze remained locked ahead, but the muscle under her palm tensed, a rock hardening.
“Levi.” Her voice was a scratch in the quiet.
“Don’t.” His word was flat. A command.
She ignored it. Her fingers walked the tight weave of the fabric, tracing the shape of him. She wasn’t gentle. She pressed the heel of her hand against the growing rigidity she found there. A claim. A question.
“I need to feel something that isn’t fear,” she said, the truth of it raw and ugly. “I need you to make me real.”
He finally looked at her. The dashboard lights painted his face in harsh angles of green and red. His eyes were bottomless, the calm before a detonation. “Your shoulder.”
“Fuck my shoulder.”
A low sound escaped him, part groan, part surrender. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel’s button, killing the interior lights. They were plunged into near-darkness, save for the dash’s hellish glow and the occasional wash of headlights from passing trucks.
“Then get over here.”
Unbuckling her seatbelt with her good hand was a clumsy struggle. Every shift sent fire through her right side. She clambered over the center console, a tangle of limbs and pain, and settled awkwardly into his lap, her back against the door, her legs straddling his hips. The steering wheel dug into her spine. It was uncomfortable, desperate, perfect.
He didn’t kiss her. He looked at her, his hands coming up to frame her face, his thumbs brushing the brutal mark on her cheek. His touch was excruciatingly tender. It made her want to scream.
“This isn’t for fun,” he said, his voice a gravelly whisper lost under the road noise.
“I know.”
“This is because tomorrow might not happen.”
“I know.”
His mouth crashed into hers then, a collision meant to bruise, to brand. It was all teeth and掠夺性的 tongue, a silencing of every terrible thought. She kissed him back with equal violence, her good hand fisting in the short hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him deeper. The taste of him—coffee and relentless purpose—was the only anchor she had.
His hands dropped from her face. One wrapped around her hips, hauling her tighter against the hard ridge in his pants. The other went to the button of her jeans. He popped it open, dragged the zipper down in one harsh rasp. The sound was obscenely loud. He shoved the fabric and her underwear down just far enough, exposing her to the cold van air and his touch.
His fingers didn’t tease. He found her wet—a shocking, ashamed rush of arousal born of pure adrenaline—and grunted, a sound of dark satisfaction. He pushed two fingers inside her, deep and curling, a ruthless assessment.
“So fucking ready,” he muttered against her mouth. “Scared shitless and your body’s already begging for it.”
She cried out, the intrusion a bright, clean pain that sliced through the deeper, duller aches. “Yes. Just… yes.”
He withdrew his fingers, slick and shining in the dim light. He worked his own pants open, freeing himself. He was brutally hard, the veins prominent. He didn’t guide himself to her. He put his hands on her waist, his grip vise-like, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing.
“Put me in,” he ordered, his breath hot and ragged in her ear. “Do it. Now.”
Her left hand shook as she reached between them, fingers wrapping around his hot, solid length. She angled him, notched the head against her, and sank down.
The stretch was immense, overwhelming. She was swollen and sensitive from pregnancy, from fear, and he filled her with a single, relentless descent that stole the air from her lungs. She threw her head back against the window with a thud, a broken sound torn from her throat.
“Don’t you fucking float away,” he snarled, biting at the column of her throat. “You stay right here. With me.”
He began to move her, his hands on her hips setting a punishing rhythm, using her body like a sheath. The van’s motion added a chaotic, grinding counterpoint. Each bump drove him deeper, jolting her injured shoulder, making her gasp. It hurt. It was perfect. It was the only thing that was real.
She was just a body being used, a set of sensations: the burn of stretch, the dig of his fingers into her flesh, the cold glass against her scalp, the searing heat where they were joined. The intellectual horror of their situation, the paralyzing fear for her friends, the phantom memory of the tire iron’s impact—it all melted into a primal, singular focus. This. Him. Now.
“You feel that?” he gritted out, pistoning up into her. “You feel how deep I am? That’s where you live. Nothing else gets in there. Not the fear, not the pain. Just me. You understand?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, her nails scraping down his armored vest. “Levi, please…”
“Please what? You want to come? Then come. Clench around me like a fucking vise. Milk me. Take what you need because it might be the last thing you get.”
His words were filthy, degrading, and they lit a fuse in her core. The pleasure, sharp and coiling tight, was inseparable from the pain in her shoulder, from the desperation clawing at her ribs. It built on a foundation of utter ruin. When it broke, it was a silent, seismic event. Her body locked, a wave of intense, shuddering contractions gripping him, pulling a ragged groan from his chest.
He followed her over, his rhythm fragmenting into hard, final thrusts. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth scraping her skin as he emptied himself inside her with a low, guttural sound that was more anguish than release.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their heaving breaths fogging the glass, the idling engine, the relentless swish of tires on wet road.
Slowly, the world seeped back in. The ache in her shoulder was a throbbing crescendo. The cold air on her exposed skin raised goosebumps. The reality of their position—cramped in a van, hunted, racing toward a fortress—settled like a lead weight.
Levi’s hands, still on her hips, gentled. He didn’t pull away. He stayed buried inside her, his forehead pressed to hers. Their breath mingled.
“If something goes wrong in there,” he whispered, the words raw and stripped bare, “you run. You don’t look back. You get to Armin. You let him hide you. You have that baby. You live.”
Tears, hot and sudden, spilled down her cheeks. “Don’t—”
“That’s the deal,” he interrupted, his voice final. “This was the deal.”
He lifted her off him, carefully, helping her pull her clothes back into place with a practicality that felt like a funeral rite. He tucked himself away, zipped up. He reached across her and flipped the interior lights back on.
The tablet on the dash chimed, a soft, insistent ping. A new node had lit up on the map. A private, encrypted channel. A reply.
Levi’s eyes locked on the screen, all softness vaporized. He put the van in gear and pulled back onto the road.
“Sylvia has a bite,” he said, his voice once more the voice of the mission. “They’ve agreed to a verification call. Audio only. In ten minutes.”
Aria used her sleeve to wipe her face, the salt of tears mixing with the taste of him still on her lips. She looked at the glowing coordinates on the screen, then at the man beside her, his profile etched in determined shadow.
The moment of stolen life was over. The ghost they’d created was calling.
The ghost they’d created was calling.
Levi’s thumb wiped roughly at the smudged mascara under Aria’s eye. “Sound bored. Sound like you’ve done this a hundred times before and you’re just verifying the product isn’t defective.”
“I am defective,” she muttered, trying to slow her breathing. Her body still thrummed from him, a stark contrast to the cold fear settling back in her stomach.
“You’re a rich bitch with a specific fetish for pregnant brunettes who don’t fight back,” he corrected, his voice devoid of judgment. It was just data. He handed her a wireless earpiece, his fingers brushing her temple. “I’ll be listening. I’ll feed you technical terms if you stall.”
She nodded, the movement making her shoulder scream. The tablet’s screen flashed once, then went black before a single word appeared in green text: CONNECTING...
A synthetic voice, genderless and flat, came through the van’s speakers and her earpiece. “Sylvia.”
“Here,” Aria said. She leaned back against the headrest, closing her eyes to become the person they’d built. She imagined pink cashmere, the weight of designer gold on her wrists, a life so empty it needed to be filled with this. “You took your time. I have other offers pending.”
“Verification is required.” The voice held no inflection. “State your desired acquisition parameters.”
Levi’s voice was a ghost in her ear, calm. “Vessel. Caucasian. 23 to 28. Early third trimester. Uncomplicated medical history. Compliance verified.”
She repeated the words, coating them in a disinterested drawl. “You heard the specs. Healthy. Young enough to bounce back. I want her walking onto the transport herself. Sedation is so... indelicate.”
A pause. The line hummed. “The lot you’ve inquired about contains such a asset. Medical records are available. Pre-natal imaging confirms a single, viable male fetus.”
Aria’s own child, a secret beneath her bruised ribs, seemed to curl tighter. She swallowed the bile in her throat. “Imaging is acceptable. I want a current behavioral assessment. I’m not paying for a fighter.”
“The asset has been pre-conditioned.” The synthetic voice continued. “Passive resistance protocol was administered seventy-two hours post-capture. Results are within acceptable tolerance thresholds.”
Pre-conditioned. The term was sterile. The meaning wasn’t. Levi’s hand curled into a fist on the steering wheel, the leather groaning under his grip.
“Your method is not my concern,” Sylvia said, her voice a lazy purr. “The result is. What’s the opening bid?”
Another pause. Longer this time. “Five hundred thousand. Cryptocurrency only. The exchange is physical. You inspect the merchandise in person prior to funds transfer.”
Levi’s whisper was urgent in her ear. “Push back. Say it’s insulting. You expected a private viewing prior to auction. You don’t do parking lot meetups.”
“A warehouse handoff?” Aria let out a short, derisive laugh. It hurt her ribs. “How dreadfully common. I expected a private viewing. Before the open auction. I don’t shop where the rabble can gawk.”
The static on the line shifted, a digital rustle. A new voice came on. This one was human. Male. Mid-western accent sanded flat with professional disinterest. “Your profile is new, Sylvia. Your requests are specific. We need a deposit. A show of faith.”
“A deposit.” She kept her tone bored. “How quaint.”
“One hundred thousand. Non-refundable. It gets you a live stream. Real-time verification of the asset’s condition and compliance. You see what you’re buying before you commit to the meet.”
Levi was silent for a beat. Then his voice came, low and decisive. “Agree. But the stream happens now. Tonight. Or I take my business to the Belgrade group.”
“The Belgrade group lacks our curation,” the man said, a flicker of ego in the void. “The stream can be arranged in one hour. Upon receipt of deposit.”
“Thirty minutes,” Aria countered, channeling every influencer she’d ever watched argue for a free dress. “I have a charity gala at nine. My schedule is packed.”
A sigh, almost human. “Fine. Thirty minutes. We’ll text the wallet address. You have thirty seconds from the time we ping you to initiate the transfer, or the offer dissolves.”
The call died. The van filled with the empty sound of the road.
Levi let out a slow breath. “They’re paranoid. Good. Paranoid means they’ve been burned.” He glanced at her. The bruise on her face looked darker in the dashboard’s glow. “The ‘pre-conditioning’. You understood that.”
“Yes.” The word was small.
“It’s a tactic. They break the will early. Makes transport easier.” His knuckles were white on the wheel. “It means Liora hasn’t been sold yet. She’s still in their system. That’s our in.”
The tablet chimed. A blockchain wallet address appeared, a long string of letters and numbers. Below it, a timer blinked into life: 00:00:30.
Levi already had a burner phone in hand, its screen open to a cryptocurrency app Armin had configured. His thumb hovered over the screen. “This is the point of no return. Once they have this money, they own a part of us. They’ll trace it, claw at it, try to find the person behind it.”
Aria watched the timer tick down: 22...21...20. “Will they?”
“Armin built a funnel through six shell corporations and a betting site in Macau.” He tapped the screen. The transfer flashed: Sent. “It’ll lead to a server farm in Reykjavik that burned down last year.”
The tablet screen changed again. A new message: Stand by for stream. Enable camera permissions.
Aria’s own face, pale and injured, filled a small square in the corner of the screen. The rest was blackness, waiting. Levi reached over and adjusted her sling, his fingers lingering for a second on the strap. He pulled a black knit cap from the console and tugged it down over her hair, hiding the blond.
“Remember,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “You’re not Aria. You’re a monster who buys people. Don’t look away. Don’t react. Just assess the merchandise.”
The blackness on the screen dissolved into a grainy, slightly lagging video feed.
It showed a concrete room, poorly lit by a single fluorescent bar. A metal-framed cot was bolted to the floor. On it, curled on her side, was Liora.
Her dress was the same one from the bunker, now dirt-smudged and torn at the shoulder. Her hands were folded in her lap, resting on the pronounced swell of her stomach. She was staring directly at the camera, but her eyes were unfocused, gazing through it. Her face was unnervingly calm. Empty.
A second figure stepped into the frame. A woman in gray scrubs. She held a digital tablet.
“Asset,” the woman said, her voice tinny through the speakers. “Respond.”
Liora’s head turned slowly toward the woman. “Yes.”
“State your designation.”
“Seraphina.” The name left Liora’s lips without emotion.
“Are you compliant?”
“I am compliant.” A blink. No change in the hollow expression.
The woman in scrubs reached out a hand. She placed it on Liora’s stomach, feeling for a moment. “Fetal movement is regular. Vital signs are stable.” She then produced a small plastic cup of water from a pocket. “Drink.”
Liora took the cup. She drank it all in slow, even swallows. She handed the empty cup back.
“Good.” The woman looked back at the camera, addressing Sylvia directly. “You see the condition. The asset is docile, hydrated, and in good health. The product is viable and well-maintained.”
Aria felt a scream building in her chest, a pressure behind her eyes. She locked her jaw. She forced her Sylvia-voice out, flat and analytical. “She looks drugged.”
“Mild pharmacological intervention ensures safety during evaluation. It will wear off before transport. You requested a product that walks on. She will.”
The woman in scrubs moved out of frame. Liora remained, staring into the middle distance, a living still-life of surrender. Her hand drifted back to her stomach, a small, unconscious gesture that was the only hint of the person still trapped inside.
“The stream concludes in ten seconds,” the synthetic voice from earlier stated. “Do you accept the verification?”
Levi’s breath was warm in her ear. “Say yes.”
Aria looked at the screen, at her friend’s vacant eyes. She became Sylvia, a buyer satisfied with a purchase. “I accept. Send the coordinates for the exchange.”
The feed cut to black.
For a long moment, the only sound was the diesel engine. Then Aria let out a shuddering breath, the persona collapsing. A hot tear traced a path through the dirt on her cheek.
Levi’s hand found hers, squeezing once, hard. It wasn’t comfort. It was an anchor.
The tablet pinged one final time. A set of GPS coordinates populated the screen, followed by an address and a time: 4:00 AM. A warehouse complex on the outskirts of Indianapolis.
He punched the coordinates into the van’s navigation. The estimated arrival time glowed back: 3:45 AM.
“We’ll be early,” he said, his voice returning to that place of lethal calm. “We’ll scout the perimeter. Find their eyes before they find us.” He glanced at her, his gaze sweeping from her tear-tracked face down to the hand still clutching his. “Get some sleep if you can. You’ll need to be her again in a few hours.”
Outside, the rain had stopped. The world was a dark, wet blur speeding past. Somewhere ahead, in the blank Midwest night, a concrete room waited. And in it, a version of their friend who had been taught to say “yes.”
And in it, a version of their friend who had been taught to say “yes.”
The warehouse complex was a cancer of corrugated steel and potholed asphalt, glowing under the sickly orange haze of sodium vapor lights. Levi killed the van’s engine a quarter mile out, letting momentum carry them into the shadow of a derelict semi-trailer. The silence that followed was a tangible weight.
“They’ll have lookouts,” he whispered, his eyes scanning the rooflines. “Probably two. One on the north corner by the crane. Another covering the main access road.”
Aria followed his gaze, seeing only geometry and shadow. “How do you know?”
“Because it’s what I’d do.” He handed her a compact pair of digital binoculars. “Use your good arm. Look for heat. A cigarette glow. Anything that doesn’t belong to the rust.”
She fumbled with the device, lifting it to her left eye. The world fluoresced into greens and whites. She panned across the jagged silhouette of the main warehouse. Nothing. Then a fleeting blur of bright white near the base of a water tower. A human shape, resolving into a man leaning against a railing, the heat of a cup of coffee glowing in his hands.
“Water tower,” she breathed.
“Good.” Levi was already checking the pistol he’d taken from Eren, the slide moving with a soft, oiled snick. “The other will be mobile. A patrol. We wait for his pattern.”
They waited. The minutes were strips of sandpaper dragged across her nerves. She became aware of every sound: the drip of condensation from the trailer, the distant whine of a freeway, the too-loud beat of her own heart. The ghost of Levi still throbbed between her legs, a grounding, animal memory.
A new bloom of white heat entered her binocular view. A man walking a slow, bored loop around the southern perimeter, a rifle slung over his shoulder.
“Got the patrol,” she whispered.
“Timing him.”
They watched the man complete two circuits. Ninety seconds each lap. Levi nodded, committing it to memory. He took the binoculars back. “When we move, you stay behind me. You are a silent shadow. If I stop, you freeze. If I go down, you run back to this van and you drive. You don’t look back. You remember the deal.”
“I remember.” The words tasted like ash.
He opened his door, the sound a thunderclap in the stillness. The cold night air rushed in, smelling of wet asphalt and diesel fumes. He slipped out, a blot of darkness merging with deeper dark. Aria followed, her boots making barely a whisper on the gravel. Every step sent a jolt up her injured shoulder, a sharp counter-rhythm to her pounding heart.
They moved like ink through water, using the carcasses of old machinery as cover. Levi’s movements were economical, precise. He paused at the corner of a shipping container, holding up a closed fist. She froze. The patrolman’s footsteps crunched nearby, then faded. Levi’s fist opened. They flowed forward again.
The service door to the main warehouse was a rusted thing beside a mountain of rotting pallets. Levi examined the heavy padlock, then reached into a pouch on his vest. He pulled out a small bottle of liquid nitrogen spray and a compact ram. He sprayed the lock’s mechanism, his breath fogging in the cold. A count of five. He positioned the ram, a twelve-inch steel cylinder, and struck once.
The lock didn’t break. It shattered, falling to the ground with a quiet, crystalline tinkle.
He caught the pieces before they hit the ground, pocketing the evidence. He eased the door open a crack. Darkness, and a new smell poured out: industrial cleaner, stale air, and beneath it, the faint, coppery scent of fear.
Levi glanced back at her, his eyes gleaming in the gloom. He mouthed one word. Now.
They slipped inside.
The interior was a cathedral of emptiness, the far walls lost in shadow. High above, a few safety lights cast pools of weak yellow illumination on the concrete floor. In the very center of the vast space, under the brightest of these lights, was a scene arranged like a perverse showroom.
A folding table. Two metal chairs. And Liora, seated in one of them, wearing a clean, simple gray sweatsuit. Her hands were folded on the table. A man in a dark jacket stood behind her, his posture relaxed but his eyes continually scanning the darkness. Another man leaned against the table, scrolling on a phone.
This wasn’t the concrete cell from the stream. This was the closing table.
Levi melted into the shadows behind a vertical support beam, pulling Aria with him. His lips were at her ear, his whisper the barest vibration. “Two visible. The patroller will enter from the south door in sixty seconds. The sniper is still outside. You walk in. You are Sylvia. You go to the table. You inspect the merchandise. You keep them looking at you.”
“What are you going to do?”
“My job.” He pressed the pistol into her left hand. Its weight was shocking, alien. “Safety’s off. Point and squeeze. Only if you have no other choice.”
Before she could protest, he was gone, disappearing into the maze of scaffolding and forgotten machinery.
Aria stood alone in the dark, the cold metal in her hand. She looked at Liora, a still figure under the light. She thought of the vacant “yes.” She pushed the pistol into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, the metal biting into her skin. She took a deep breath, summoned the monster named Sylvia, and stepped out of the shadows.
Her footsteps echoed in the huge space. Both men’s heads snapped toward the sound. The one on the phone straightened up. The one behind Liora shifted his weight, his hand moving subtly toward his hip.
“You’re early,” the phone man said. He had a bored, accountant’s face.
“Traffic was light,” Aria said, letting Sylvia’s languid disinterest soak into the words. She walked slowly, her injured arm hanging in the sling, her good hand swinging casually. She stopped a few feet from the table, her eyes on Liora. “She looks better in person. The stream didn’t do her justice.”
Liora’s eyes lifted. They found Aria’s. There was a flicker there, deep behind the chemically-induced placidity. A spark of terrified recognition. It vanished, swallowed by the void.
“She’s been prepped for transport,” the accountant said. “All vitals are stable. You can examine the medical chart.” He gestured to a tablet on the table.
Aria ignored it. She stepped closer to Liora, reaching out with her good hand. She cupped Liora’s chin, turning her face gently toward the light. Her skin was cold. “Look at me.”
Liora’s gaze drifted up, obedient and empty.
“Say ‘yes’.”
“Yes.”
The door on the south wall clanged open. The patrolman walked in, stamping his feet. “Bit cold out there,” he started to say.
Aria’s heart seized. The timing was off. Levi’s sixty seconds weren’t up.
The patrolman’s eyes swept the room, passing over Aria, over Liora, and then locking onto the deep shadow where Levi was presumably advancing. His rifle started to swing up. “Contact!”
Shit definitely goes down.
The man behind Liora drew his weapon, a compact submachine gun. The accountant dove for cover behind the table. The patrolman’s rifle barked, the muzzle flash a stabbing pain in the darkness. The report was immense, rolling through the warehouse like thunder.
Concrete chips exploded from the pillar beside Aria’s head. She dropped into a crouch, a scream trapped in her throat. Liora simply sat, uncomprehending.
From the shadows, Levi moved. He didn’t fire at the patrolman. He fired at the sodium light above the table. The bulb exploded in a shower of glass and sparks, plunging the center of the room into near darkness.
Chaos. Muzzle flashes became strobe lights, illuminating frozen tableaus of violence. Levi was a phantom, two quick shots from a different angle. The patrolman grunted and went down. The man with the submachine gun sprayed a wild burst in Levi’s general direction, the rounds pinging off steel.
“Get the asset to the van!” the accountant screamed from behind the table, fumbling for his own pistol.
The submachine gunner lunged for Liora, grabbing her arm to yank her from the chair. That’s when Liora moved. Not with fear, but with a sudden, silent ferocity. Her hand clawed up, fingers aiming for his eyes. The man roared, backhanding her across the face. She stumbled back, falling against the table.
Aria was moving before she knew it. The pistol was in her left hand, heavy and unfamiliar. She didn’t aim. She pointed in the general direction of the submachine gunner and squeezed the trigger.
The kick was a vicious snap in her wrist. The sound deafened her. The shot went wide, sparking off the concrete floor. But it made the man flinch, turning his rage from Liora toward her.
His weapon came around. In the strobing dark, she saw his finger tighten on the trigger.
A final shot rang out, not from Levi’s direction, but from the high shadows of the scaffolding near the water tower access. The sniper. The round meant for Levi hit something else.
Aria felt the impact before she heard the sound. It wasn’t like the movies. It was a massive, blunt force punch to her right side, just below her ribs. It spun her halfway around. The breath left her body in a shocked, soundless gasp. A wave of heat, then immediate, shocking cold washed over her. She looked down. A dark, blooming stain was already spreading across her pink sweater, vivid against the pastel yarn.
She didn’t feel pain. Not yet. Just a profound, wet wrongness. Her legs folded. The concrete floor rushed up to meet her.
Levi saw her fall. He saw the dark patch growing on her side. The world, for him, did not slow down. It fractured.
Everything—the remaining hostiles, the mission, the careful plan—shattered into irrelevant noise. A sound tore from his throat, raw and entirely alien. He stood up from his cover, a perfect silhouette. He fired three times at the submachine gunner. The first shot took him in the throat. The second and third were overkill, punching into his chest as he fell.
The accountant popped up from behind the table, pistol raised. Levi didn’t even look at him. He fired once from the hip. The man’s head snapped back. He was gone before he hit the ground.
Levi was already running, sprinting across the open ground, ignoring all cover. Another shot rang out from the sniper above. It kicked up sparks at his feet. He didn’t break stride. He raised his pistol toward the scaffolding, estimated the angle, and emptied the rest of the magazine in a roaring, unaimed suppression. The firing from above stopped.
He skidded to his knees on the concrete beside Aria. The stain was huge now, a relentless, soaking crimson. Her eyes were wide, her mouth working silently, trying to pull in a breath that wouldn’t come.
“Hey.” His voice cracked. He tossed his empty gun aside, his hands hovering over her, unsure where to press, what to stem. “Hey, sweet girl.”
He ripped the sling from her shoulder, bunched the fabric, and pressed it hard against the wound. Her back arched off the ground, a thin, awful whine escaping her lips. Her eyes started to lose focus, rolling back.
“Stay with me, okay?” His voice was trembling, stripped of all command, filled with a panic so profound it choked him. He cupped her cheek with his other hand, his thumb smearing blood on her pale skin. “Just keep your eyes open, okay baby? Stay with me. Look at me. Look at me!”
Her eyelids fluttered. Her gaze, clouded with shock, found his. She managed a wet, gurgling breath.
“That’s it. Breathe. Just breathe.” He looked over his shoulder, his mind racing. Liora was crouched by the table, her hands over her ears, the empty complacency shattered into raw trauma. “Liora! The van! Now! Bring it to the door!”
Liora didn’t move, paralyzed.
“LIORA! MOVE!” The roar broke her trance. She stumbled to her feet, sprinting unsteadily toward the service door.
Levi looked back down at Aria. Her lips were turning blue. He could feel the warm pulse of her blood against his palm with every fading heartbeat. “No, no, no. Don’t you do this. You have a deal. You promised.” He leaned closer, his forehead touching hers, his words a desperate, hot whisper against her cooling skin. “You live. You live, Aria. You fight. You stay with me.”
The van’s engine roared, headlights spearing through the open door, illuminating them in a harsh, revealing glare. Liora had done it.
Technically speaking, Liora was successfully rescued.
But Levi only saw the light leaving Aria’s eyes, the terrifying slackness in her limbs, and the relentless, seeping red that covered his hands, a color he would see forever. He gathered her into his arms, her head lolling against his chest, and ran toward the waiting light.