The moment Daniel stepped out from the shadows, Emily felt the air in her lungs turn to glass. Every instinct told her to move — to raise her weapon, to close the distance, to end this before the walls closed in completely. But her hands wouldn't obey. Her mind, so quick in battle, froze under the weight of betrayal.
Daniel didn't look triumphant. That was the first thing that struck her. No smirk, no gloating, no malice in his expression. His eyes were tired — the kind of tired that went bone-deep, that had nothing to do with lack of sleep and everything to do with choices made long before tonight.
"Emily," he said, and his voice was almost a whisper under the echoing hum of the warehouse lights.
Kane, standing just behind him, grinned like a wolf. "Now, this is my favorite part — when trust turns sour. Go on, Danny-boy. Tell her why she's been running in circles for months."
Daniel's gaze didn't leave Emily's. "I didn't have a choice."
The words landed like a dull blade — blunt, but still cutting.
"No choice?" Emily's voice cracked, louder than she intended. "You've been feeding him everything. Every plan, every route, every—"
"I was feeding him scraps," Daniel interrupted, stepping forward. "Just enough to keep him from burning the whole network to the ground. You think the others are alive because we're lucky? No. It's because I gave him reasons not to kill them."
Kane chuckled. "A very obedient dog."
Daniel's fists clenched, but he didn't look at Kane. "You don't know what I've been keeping from him. The people I've steered away from danger. The operations I've sabotaged quietly so his men would fail before they ever got close to you."
Emily wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to. But belief was dangerous. Belief was how people died.
"You could have told me," she said.
"And you would've cut me out," Daniel replied, his voice hardening. "You would have locked me up, and Kane would have known you were onto him. And then? Everyone he's holding — Lukas's mother, the others — they'd have been dead before we could make a move."
Marcus shifted at the door, eyes flicking between them. Ana didn't move, her weapon still trained on Kane's men.
Emily's mind raced. The walls felt like they were pressing inward, the distance between them shrinking by the second. "So what now? You just keep playing both sides until one of them kills you?"
Daniel's jaw tightened. "No. I'm done playing." He glanced at Kane, and for the first time, Emily saw a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "This ends tonight."
Kane's smirk vanished. "Careful, Daniel. You're useful to me alive. Don't make me decide otherwise."
Emily saw the shift happen — the subtle angle of Daniel's body, the way his hand hovered near the inside of his coat. She knew that posture. She'd fought beside him long enough to recognize when he was about to draw.
Her breath caught. If he made a move, they'd all be dead. Kane's men were too close, too ready.
"Daniel," she said sharply, her voice low enough that only he could hear, "don't."
He looked at her like a man weighing the last coin in his pocket. Then, slowly, he lifted his empty hands. "Let the hostages go," he said to Kane. "All of them. You'll still have the city, the streets, the patrols. But you won't have to waste men guarding leverage you're not going to use."
Kane tilted his head, studying him. "And why would I do that?"
Daniel's answer was quiet, but steady. "Because I know the locations you've been hiding from even your own men. The caches. The ones with enough weapons to arm three districts. I tell her—" He jerked his chin toward Emily. "—and you lose everything in a week."
The silence that followed was a wire stretched to breaking. Kane's jaw shifted, the muscle twitching near his temple. Finally, he smiled — slow, deliberate.
"You've grown teeth," he said. "But you're bluffing."
Daniel didn't blink. "Try me."
For a moment, Emily thought it might work. She saw the calculation in Kane's eyes, the subtle way he glanced at the men nearest to him, as if measuring how quickly they could shoot. But then Kane's smile sharpened.
"Take them," he said.
The order was barely out of his mouth before chaos erupted.
Marcus shoved the nearest guard into another, the crack of bone against metal echoing in the space. Ana fired twice, the shots deafening in the enclosed room. Emily grabbed Daniel by the arm and yanked him backward just as Kane lunged for cover.
Gunfire roared. Sparks flew as bullets tore through the rusted beams. The hostages screamed, ducking low as chains clattered to the ground.
Emily fired in controlled bursts, her breath steady despite the pounding of her heart. Daniel moved beside her, covering the left flank. For all the betrayal, for all the questions screaming in her mind, their movements still fit together like gears in a machine — seamless, instinctive.
"Go!" she shouted at Marcus. He grabbed Lukas's mother and two others, dragging them toward the far exit. Ana covered them, her magazine clicking empty before she slammed in another.
Kane's men pressed forward, and Emily knew they couldn't hold the position. Not with this many.
Daniel leaned close. "There's a service tunnel under the loading bay. East corner."
She didn't ask how he knew. She just nodded. "Move!"
They pushed toward the bay, bullets ringing against the metal walls. One of Kane's men lunged at Emily, catching her arm, but she drove her elbow into his throat and shoved him aside. Daniel kicked the grate covering the tunnel, the metal groaning as it gave way.
"Down!" he barked.
One by one, they dropped into the darkness below. The tunnel stank of oil and stagnant water, the air thick and damp. Emily could still hear the echo of shouting above, the scrape of boots as Kane's men searched for the opening.
They didn't stop moving until the sounds faded behind them.
Only then did Emily turn to Daniel. The dim light from the grate above painted his face in fractured shadows. "This isn't over," she said.
His eyes met hers, steady but unreadable. "I know."
Somewhere behind them, deep in the darkness, water dripped in slow, steady beats — like a clock counting down.