I woke to the hiss of hydraulics and the distant whine of surveillance drones doing their circuits of the corridor. The compound itself never slept, although dawn was still hours away. Every muscle in my body protested already (yesterday's training), but sleep was a luxury I couldn't afford. Boots clacked against the floor as I hopped down from the bunk, made for the pistol. Habit, not trust: this is where I was safe, and where I was held captive.
The holo terminal next to the bed blinked a new message:
"Morning protocol in fifteen minutes. Briefing room report."
There was no "good morning" after that, just cold corporate efficiency. I went to the door, standing by as its scanner flashed green. No surprises here, or so they wanted me to believe.
The briefing room was boardroom more than barracks: lacquered table, power-loomed carpet, cityscape beyond one-way glass. Adrian was standing at the head of the table, his back to us, typing at a holographic console. Schematics wafted behind him — perimeter defenses, intel network diagrams, drone flight plans. The empire of the Three Kings lit up in lines of light.
He spun, his eyes slashing as black as obsidian. "Today, we are launching the Phase One of the Sentinel Operation. Elyra Hart will be leading."
A shiver of excitement skittered behind my ribs. Leadership, at least on paper. But his eyes said: do you even belong here?
I stepped forward. "Define success metrics."
He nodded. Complete the simulated intrusion in less than eight minutes. No fatalities."
I'd seen the newbies —government-grade prospects, trained to the hilt. They gazed at me with gentle curiosity. I could sense their skepticism: can she pull it off?
The countdown began. We went out into the pretend city a little beyond the west wing: concrete barricades, smashed-up cars, close alleys set with sensors. I divided my team into two, quickly muttering low commands before we raced in two directions. My cry resonated from metal and stone.
"Alpha, west flank. Bravo, east corridor. I'll breach central." I paused. "Go."
We moved in. A series of heat lamps simulated the glare of daylight. My heart pounded in rhythm with the recruit next to me. Every turn in the road was a potential booby trap. Every shadow a sniper's nest. I went point, barreling through a chain link gate and out into the empty plaza. Smoke dispensers hacked, blotting out half the field.
Alpha took fire. I heard the stammer of shots. I beckoned them back, pulled two grenades from my belt, and threw them into an apartment around the corner—exposure drill. Flashbangs boomed. Screams of simulated hostiles. Bravo breached the east corridor.
I fly out the burst portal, green lasers cutting through the empty air. I dived for cover as bullets pinged off concrete. And this was live training — no time to reflect. I rose with smoke coming out of the barrel of my pistol and kept going, clearing one room after another. They dropped, surrendered, or backed away with every step I took. Not by my grace, by my stratagems.
Eight minutes later, the timer turned red as well: "07:32." We'd passed. No casualties. When Adrian nodded in through the window, it was like a lift of permission to exhale.
In the briefing room, he tapped a holo log. "Performance exceeds expectations." He looked back at Rafe, who stood near the rear with his arms crossed. "Prepare feedback."
Rafe stepped forward. His scar glittered in the lights. "Your leadership is precise. But your focus drifts. You're building gaps." He glanced at the recruits. "One slipped through your perimeter."
My jaw clenched. "Explain."
"Hole in north section—training tower. That's your responsibility."
I squared my shoulders. "Show me."
He showed me the holo console and a live feed; one recruit stood just outside the simulated blast radius, untouched. Perfect posture. Hands up—waiting for orders. He did not move until I was ready to leave.
My heart tightened. All the glitches were internal. I met Rafe's gaze. "I know."
He stared at me, expressionless. Then he turned and left.
After debrief, I returned to the armory —sealed levels of ordnance sanctified in glass. I pressed my scanner to the bio lock, feeding in the East Wing code. Inside, stacks of assault rifles, sidearms, combat knives. Rafe's domain. I caressed the cool metal, taking comfort in something with which I might be able to save myself.
A soft click behind me. I spun, pistol drawn. There was Nico waiting quietly in the door like an apparition. He carried a data pad, its keys clicking under his fingers.
"I followed the break," he muttered. "The vitals of the trainee, they flatlined for three seconds. That is plenty of time to upload a kill order."
My jaw dropped. "Who has that clearance?"
He hesitated. "Master admin accounts only. And emerged one code name: ProjectRaven."
I breathed out as the cold barrel pressed into my forehead. "Raven under Rafe's control."
Nico nodded. "Denies knowledge. But timestamps coincide."
I holstered my handgun. "Get me the server logs. All access points."
He nodded and darted off, leaving me alone with the rifles and my mind reeling.
I discovered Adrian in the comms hub one late afternoon: a fifties-era room supervising the global feeds with dozens of operators. He glanced up from his console. "You wanted to see me."
I nodded. "Your perimeter scans. Who's Raven?"
He didn't blink. "Ghost asset. Black ops specialist. Reports directly to me."
My heartbeat slammed. "Why wasn't I told?"
He inclined his head. "I didn't think it necessary."
I moved in closer. "You hid a ghost in my team."
He leaned back, snapping fingers. "ProjectRaven came online after you got there. Discrepancies were reported—you. I needed a precaution."
My blood ran cold. "You staged my breach."
He stood, voice level. "Controlled environment. No casualties. You passed."
I swallowed bile. "At the cost of trust."
He held my gaze. "Trust is earned. Not given." Then, more quietly: "You're all access on the system now. Every file, every camera. Use it."
I nodded, seething. A partner, he'd said. But partners don't shoot you in the back.
Night fell in slanted shadows. I discovered Rafe on the rooftop terrace—my haunt—propped up against the railing. The city lay splayed out beneath the square with neon veins pulsing beneath its skin. I went up to him, heart still pounding.
He didn't look around. "Did you find it?"
I handed him the data pad. "Raven."
He exhaled, a shattered sound. "He's my brother."
I hesitated. "Your brother?"
Rafe nodded. "Codename Raven. Dominic Stroud. Classified operations. Family business."
My heart skipped a beat. "You let him sabotage me."
He regarded me, pain flaring. "In war, you use all weapons. "I was under, like, 'I thought that controlled for the variables.'
I laughed, bitter taste. "You jeopardized my life."
He stepped close. "No. I gambled for your victory. For all of ours."
Silence hung, heavy as thunderheads.
Behind us, the door hissed. Adrian was with us now, clad in a wide silhouette. "You have to have access to the server vault," he told me. "No more secrets."
I turned on Rafe. "Why not say it was Dominic?"
He swallowed. "I was scared you would walk out."
My chest tightened. "Which side are you on?"
He gazed at city lights. "Yours. Until you prove otherwise."
Adrian stepped forward. "We need you. All of you. Phase Two begins tomorrow."
I looked from one man to the other—one who shot bullets into my back, and the other who cut them out. My world revolved around betrayals and loyalties.
I raised my flask in a quiet salute. "Partners?"
Rafe's jaw set and then he inclined his head. Adrian's eyes gleamed with possibility.
"Partners," I said again.
The terrace lamps shook when thunder growled. I could taste metal in my mouth. My cage was gold — but I'd hammer every bar into a sword, if only I knew how, or else die hacking at them, all alone and half-mad.