Blake's POV
The Vale job was supposed to fix everything.
Adam called it "The Beginning of Balance.
"The older members whispered about it like prophecy.
Even the newest recruits believed it would be the strike that made Atlas listen.
I wanted to believe that too. I really did.
But by then, the Fang wasn't fighting for equality anymore — it was fighting to be feared.
And fear never stopped where you wanted it to.
The cell moved by night. We hitched rides on cargo freighters that slipped through inspection lines and followed back routes to Vale's outskirts. The city looked beautiful from the ridge — all glass and light and clean air.
Adam stood at the edge, staring down at it like a wolf sizing up a cage.
"Down there," he said, "is the world that forgot us. Tonight, it remembers."
Senti stood a few steps behind him, silent. The breeze tugged at her silver-blue hair, her wolf ears turning toward every distant sound. Her tail flicked once. Her red eyes caught the glow of Vale's skyline and looked like coals in the dark.
She didn't trust him. She hadn't for months.
Neither did I. But I was still there.
We staged near a canyon rail line — the Dust shipment route leading straight into Vale's lower districts.
The plan was simple. Always simple. That was the lie.
Detach the cars, disable the escort drones, reroute the cargo to waiting trucks.
No casualties.
That was what Adam said.
It was what I repeated to myself over and over until I almost believed it.
Senti joined me near the engine cars. She adjusted her blades, pale hands steady against the steel.
"You're too quiet," I said.
"I'm counting hearts," she murmured.
"What?"
"There are twelve of us," she said, voice calm. "But there are fourteen heartbeats."
Before I could ask, two new figures stepped out of the shadows — masked, armed, unmarked.
Not from our cell.
Senti's ears pinned back. "Adam."
He didn't even turn. "Extra help."
"From where?"
"Does it matter?" he said.
Senti's hand brushed the hilt of her sword. "It always matters."
Adam faced her then, smiling faintly beneath the red mark of his mask. "You care too much about the how, little wolf."
"And you care too little," she said.
"Both flaws," he said. "Both useful."
The operation began at 0100.
We slipped through the canyon ridge and climbed onto the train as it passed under a service bridge. The motion was clean, practiced. I'd done this before — too many times.
The air smelled like oil and cold metal.
Senti went ahead, her steps soundless even on steel. Her tail trailed low, her blades sheathed but ready.
"Front controls," she said through comms. "Four guards. Not alert."
"Good," Adam replied. "Keep them that way."
I reached the cargo section, crouched by the coupler controls, and started overriding the locks.
Then something changed.
A pulse through the rail. A second train — smaller, faster — coming up behind.
Senti swore softly. "That's not scheduled."
"Military patrol?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Atlas doesn't use that model. Someone else."
"Someone else who?"
Before either of us could answer, the back train opened fire.
The entire convoy jolted. Sparks rained across the tunnel walls. The echo was deafening.
"Go!" Adam shouted. "Detach now!"
I slammed the lever. The coupler split, separating the last three cars. But it was too late — the shelling had already hit the rear crates. Dust containers ruptured, igniting into a burst of blue light.
The shockwave threw us forward.
I hit the floor hard. The world spun. The smell of burning Dust filled my lungs.
When I looked up, Adam was gone. Half our unit scattered. The masked outsiders were already running toward the fire, not away from it.
And Senti —
Senti was standing in the middle of the chaos, blades drawn, face calm but eyes burning bright red.
She moved faster than I'd ever seen her move.
Every motion was a blur of silver and black — slicing through falling debris, disarming weapons, kicking detonators aside before they could go off.
When one of the outsiders tried to light another charge, she was already there.
She didn't stab him. She touched his chest — just once — and he collapsed, gasping, unconscious.
Her voice changed when she spoke. Not layered like before — splintered.
"Leave," she hissed. "Or burn."
The words rippled like a current.
Every guard who heard them froze, eyes wide with primal terror.
Then she screamed — not from pain, but from something breaking loose inside her.
The sound shook the rail car. The flames bent toward her, twisting, flattening — obeying her.
Her Echo had gone beyond control.
I ran to her. "Senti!"
She didn't respond. Her red eyes had gone molten, pupils thin like a wolf's. Her tail lashed in sharp, jerking motions, her canines bared.
"Senti, stop! It's me!"
For a moment, I thought she didn't hear me.
Then her head turned slightly.
The glow dimmed.
She blinked — once, twice — like waking from a nightmare.
Her hands trembled. The fire receded, flickering back into the normal orange of burning Dust.
And then she fell.
I caught her before she hit the floor. Her skin was burning hot, her heartbeat erratic.
"Don't—" she muttered, barely conscious. "Don't let him—"
"Who?"
"Adam." Her voice broke. "He's going to—"
A sound cut through her sentence. The sound of steel meeting steel.
Adam was back. Sword drawn.
The glow of the flames painted him in red light. His mask was cracked, one lens shattered.
"You ruined it," he said quietly. "You ruined everything."
"You were going to kill them," I snapped.
"They were never supposed to live."
I stood between him and Senti, shaking. "You said no casualties."
"I lied."
He moved forward. Senti stirred behind me, struggling to sit up.
Adam raised his blade.
Senti's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. "Run."
"I'm not leaving you."
Her red eyes met mine — wild, desperate, human. "You have to."
For a moment, I hesitated.
Then I did what she said.
I ran.
I don't remember how long I ran.
The tunnels blurred into smoke and steel and blood.
When I finally reached the exit shaft, the night air hit like ice. I collapsed in the sand and turned back.
The train was still burning. The entire ridge glowed blue against the horizon.
No movement. No silhouettes. No sound.
Senti was gone.
For two days, I searched every outpost I could reach.
No trace. No body. Nothing.
The White Fang called it a failure. They blamed Atlas. They blamed the "traitors" who ran.
They didn't mention Senti.
No one ever did.
That was the day I left the White Fang.
No argument. No speech. No note.
I just walked.
I walked until my legs gave out, until the mask cracked in my hand, until the sound of my own breathing was the only thing left.
And somewhere far behind me, in the smoke and silence of a burned train, I swore I could still hear her voice — soft, distant, trembling between laughter and grief.
"Run, Blake. Keep running."
So I did.