The gun looked bigger up close.
Ariel's first instinct was stupid and human,she lifted her hands, fingers splayed, the useless little phone still trapped in her right palm. Her heart hammered against her ribs like it was trying to punch its way out.
"I said hands where I can see them," the stranger repeated.
"They're literally in your face," Ariel managed, voice thinner than she wanted. "Unless you're blind as well as rude."
The man stepped fully into the room, boots leaving wet prints on the concrete. He wore dark clothes beneath the coat, nothing flashy, just practical,combat pants, fitted shirt, all of it designed to disappear into shadows. His hair was cropped short, his jaw shadowed, his eyes a flat, unbothered gray that didn't linger on her face for more than a second.
He swept the room with a quick glance, the way Arlo did, but there was no curiosity in it. Just calculation.
"Drop the phone," he said.
"No," Ariel said, surprising herself.
His gaze snapped back to her. "I'm not asking."
"I noticed," she said. "Still no."
He took one step closer. The gun never wavered. "This can happen the hard way or the easy way."
Ariel laughed, a small, shaking sound. "Oh, you'll have to be more specific. Today's been a buffet of hard ways."
"Drop. The. Phone," he repeated, slower this time.
"Make me," she said.
It was only after the words left her mouth that she realized how insane that sounded, given the circumstances. But something in her was done being obedient, done being moved around like furniture.
He studied her for a beat longer, then tilted his head slightly, as if reassessing.
"You look worse than your picture," he said.
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"The file," he replied. "They were very flattering. You're… more bruised in person."
"Yeah, well, your timing sucks," she snapped. "Who are you?"
"Not important."
"It is to me," she shot back. "I'm done with nameless men walking into rooms with guns and God complexes. You want me to move, you can start with a name."
Something like irritation flickered across his face, then vanished.
"Call me Reed," he said.
"Is that your real name?" she asked.
"It's the only one you're getting," he said. "Now lower your hands, slowly, and kick the chair away from you."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Because if anyone else storms in here and sees you standing over that broken tie, they'll assume you freed yourself," Reed said. "And you don't want them thinking you're useful. Trust me."
"I don't trust any of you," she said.
"You trusted enough to answer the phone," he said mildly. "So maybe you're not as hopeless as he thinks."
Her throat tightened. "He who?" she asked, even though she already knew.
Reed didn't answer. He nodded toward the chair instead. "Kick it. Now."
Her legs were still unsteady, but fear was a good motivator. She shifted her weight and nudged the chair with the side of her foot. It scraped backward, falling with a hollow thud.
"Good," Reed said. "Now walk toward me. Slow."
She stayed where she was. "You said I'm coming with you. Where?"
"Away from here."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting," he said. "This place becomes a crater if I don't have you out of it in—" he glanced at his watch "—twenty-eight minutes."
Her stomach lurched. "Arlo said seventy-two hours."
Reed snorted. "And you believed him."
Ariel felt something cold slide down her spine. "You're lying."
"About the crater, or the clock?" he asked. "Because I'm only lying about one of those."
Her mind raced. Berry's voice echoed in her head, frayed and terrified: He's not the one you should be afraid of. He's trying to—
"Trying to what?" Ariel whispered.
"Trying to drag this out," Reed said. "Trying to delay. Trying to negotiate his way into some kind of absolution, probably. It's his hobby."
"You know him," she said quietly.
Reed's mouth twitched. "Everyone in this circle knows Arlo Johnson. Question is, who survives him."
He jerked his chin toward the hallway. "We're wasting time. Move."
"And if I say no?" she asked.
He sighed. "Then I tranquilize you, carry you out, and you wake up somewhere else with an even worse headache. You already hate me. I can live with that."
She looked at the gun. At the door. At the dead phone in her hand. "If you're here to save me," she said slowly, "why does this feel exactly like being kidnapped again?"
"Because it is," Reed said. "The difference is what happens after the blindfold comes off."
"I've heard that before," she said.
"Yeah," he replied. "But I'm not him."
Before she could reply, another sound split through the building,a sharper crack this time, followed by the roar of someone shouting "Down! Get down!" in a voice she recognized.
Chris.
Reed reacted instantly. He surged forward, grabbed Ariel's arm, and yanked her toward him. She stumbled, colliding with his chest, the phone slipping from her fingers and skidding across the floor.
"Hey—"
He spun them both so she was behind him, his body between her and the door, gun now angled toward the corridor.
"Stay down," he muttered.
"I was standing," she hissed.
"Then crouch, argue later," he snapped.
Footsteps pounded past outside, multiple sets, headed in the opposite direction. Someone barked a command. Another shot rang out, closer this time, followed by a short, ugly grunt.
Ariel's heart climbed into her throat.
"That sounded like—" she began.
"Don't finish that sentence," Reed said.
He edged closer to the doorway, dragging her with him. For all his detachment, his grip on her arm was firm but careful, fingers spread to avoid pressing on the bruises. It was such a small thing, but she noticed.
"Who are you working for?" she demanded, keeping her voice low.
"Depends who's asking," he said.
"Me."
He hesitated. "Let's say… people who don't like what Arlo has been building. Or what Obsidian Halo is about to sell."
"Sell?" she echoed.
"Later," he said. "Right now we—"
He broke off as a shadow crossed the far end of the corridor, fast and low. Reed raised the gun, finger tightening on the trigger.
"Reed!" a voice snapped.
Chris.
Reed swore under his breath and lowered the weapon a fraction. "Of course."
Chris appeared in the doorway a heartbeat later, breathing hard, a bruise already blooming along his jaw. His eyes went straight to Ariel.
She realized how this must look: her arm in Reed's grip, the chair on the floor, the broken ties.
Chris's expression went very still.
"Let her go," he said.
Reed didn't move. "You're bleeding."
Chris wiped at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, saw the smear of red, and ignored it. "You don't have jurisdiction here."
"Neither do you," Reed said. "This building is compromised. Perimeter is full of my people. You've got, what, three loyalists left on this floor? Four? It's over."
"Not until I say it is," Chris replied.
Ariel looked between them. "You know each other too?"
Chris didn't take his eyes off Reed. "He's a vulture. Waits for buildings like this to burn, then picks over the ashes."
"And you're a caretaker?" Reed shot back. "You tied her to a chair and called it 'protection'."
"I'm trying to keep her alive," Chris snapped.
"Same," Reed said. "Difference is, I have an exit plan that doesn't involve her being buried under concrete."
Another explosion sounded somewhere deeper in the building, followed by the distant wail of an alarm finally catching up to the chaos.
The lights flickered.
Ariel clutched Reed's sleeve without meaning to. He glanced back at her hand, then up at her face.
"Choose," he said quietly. "Now."
She blinked. "What?"
"You trust him," Reed tilted his head at Chris, "the man who watched while they tied you down? Or me, the stranger with the gun and the ticking clock?"
"That's not a choice," she whispered.
"It's the only one you're getting," he said.
Chris stepped closer, palms open, as if approaching a spooked animal. "Ariel. Don't go with him."
"Why?" she asked. "Because Arlo said so?"
"Because his people don't care if you walk out of here standing or in a body bag," Chris said. "To them, you're a package. To me—"
He stopped, throat working.
"To me, you're not."
Reed snorted softly. "Save the confession. You had your chance in there."
"Shut up," Chris shot back.
Ariel's head spun. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, the walls too close.
"Where is Arlo?" she asked suddenly.
Both men looked at her.
"Busy," Reed said.
"Negotiating with the people who own those cars," Chris added.
"People you don't want to meet," Reed finished.
The alarm wailed louder. Smoke began to seep faintly through the vent, thin and gray.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Ariel muttered.
"Sublevel's already lit," Reed said. "We're out of time. Last chance, Smith."
He released her arm long enough to offer his hand instead. It was a simple gesture, palm up, steady.
Chris took a single step forward. "Ariel. Please."
The word please coming from him sounded wrong in a way that made her chest ache.
"You said I have a choice," she said, voice shaking. "So what happens if I choose neither? If I bolt the other way and find my own door?"
Reed's mouth tightened. "You won't make it ten meters without catching a stray bullet."
Chris nodded once. "He's right."
"So those are my options," she said. "Get rescued by a man with a gun, or stay with a man who helped kidnap me."
"And a third option," Reed said. "Stay and burn."
"Helpful," she snapped.
The lights flickered again, dimming this time. The camera in the corner sparked once and died, its little red eye going dark for good.
Berry's voice came back to her in a rush. He's not the one you should be afraid of. He's trying to—
Trying to what?
"Ariel," Chris said again, softer now. "Whatever you think of me, whatever you feel about Arlo… if you go with him, I can't protect you."
"Funny," Reed said. "I was about to say the same thing if she stays."
The floor shuddered under their feet. Somewhere deep below, something heavy had given way.
Ariel looked at Reed's outstretched hand.
Then at Chris's open, empty ones.
Then at the doorway behind Chris, the corridor branching into shadows and unknown fire.
Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the alarm for a moment.
"I don't trust either of you," she said. "Not really."
"Healthy instinct," Reed said.
"But I'm not dying here," she added.
She took a breath that tasted like smoke and fear.
Then Ariel moved.
She darted forward,not toward Reed's offered hand, not straight into Chris's reach, but between them, shoulder brushing Chris's arm as she shot through the doorway into the corridor.
"Ariel!" both men shouted at once.
She didn't look back.
The corridor stretched ahead, lit by stuttering emergency lights, one end glowing faintly with the orange promise of fire, the other falling away into a stairwell choked with shadows and noise.
Left: toward the flame.
Right: toward whatever waited upstairs.
Footsteps thundered behind her. Reed swore. Chris called her name again, anger and panic tangled in it.
Ariel reached the intersection, heart slamming against her ribs, and made her choice—turning hard, shoes skidding on the slick floor as she sprinted down the chosen hall.
She didn't see where the shot came from.
There was a deafening crack, a flash at the edge of her vision, then a white-hot punch slammed into her side, knocking the air from her lungs. The world lurched. Her knees buckled. The corridor tilted sideways.
For a second, she didn't understand why the floor was suddenly so close, why her hand came away from her ribs wet and red.
Then the pain hit,sharp, searing, spreading out from the wound like fire under her skin.
Ariel collapsed, cheek hitting cold concrete, breath ripping out of her in a broken gasp.
Somewhere behind her, a voice roared, raw and terrified, tearing through the chaos.
"Ariel!"
The sound echoed down the corridor, cutting through alarms and gunfire, through smoke and footsteps.
She couldn't tell if it was Chris.
She couldn't tell if it was Arlo.
All she knew, as darkness crowded in at the edges of her vision, was that someone was running toward her—
and that everything she'd tried to outrun had just caught up.
Blood was warm.
That was Ariel's first clear thought.
Warm and wrong and spreading too fast beneath her fingers as she tried to press her hand against the hole torn into her side. The corridor ceiling spun above her, a carousel of flickering emergency lights and drifting smoke.
Somewhere far away, the alarm wailed.
Somewhere closer, boots pounded.
"Ariel!"
The shout ripped through the blur, raw and panicked, ricocheting off concrete. It dragged her attention sideways, though her head felt too heavy to move.
Footsteps skidded close; a shadow dropped to its knees beside her.
"Hey—hey, stay with me." Hands, rough and shaking, slid under her shoulders, turning her just enough so she could breathe. "Don't move. Don't you dare move."
Chris.
She blinked, the world coming in jagged frames. His face hovered above hers, streaked with soot and something darker,blood smeared along his jaw, rinsed by sweat. His eyes were huge, wild, nothing like the calm, collected man who stood at Arlo's shoulder.
"Can't… breathe," she rasped. The effort sent a fresh bolt of fire up her side.
"Shh." He pressed both palms hard over the wound, teeth clenched. "You caught a graze. It's not clean through. If it was clean through, there'd be more," His voice stuttered. "Just—just look at me."
She tried. His face kept doubling.
"S-sorry," she whispered.
Chris stared at her like she'd slapped him. "For what?"
"Didn't… listen," she managed. "Ran."
A humorless huff broke out of him,half laugh, half sob. "That's the first sensible thing you've done since I met you."
Her lips twitched, then parted on a weak cry as pain surged.
"Stop talking," he said quickly. "Breathe. In. Out. You're okay. You're okay, Ariel, I've got you."
Something moved at the far end of the corridor. Reed's silhouette appeared, gun up, sweeping the angles, eyes scanning for whoever had fired.
"Clear!" Reed shouted. "Shooter's fallen back to the east stairwell. We've got thirty seconds, maybe less, before they regroup."
He jogged closer, slowed when he saw the blood.
"Damn it," he breathed. "Where's she hit?"
"Right side," Chris said without looking up. "Entry only. I don't see an exit wound."
Reed crouched opposite him, fingers already probing gently around the torn fabric, professional and detached. Ariel hissed, nails scraping against the floor.
"Bullet's lodged," Reed said. "Not deep. Missed anything vital by a miracle and bad aim. We can move her."
Chris's jaw flexed. "She's losing too much."
Reed yanked a knife from his belt, sliced a strip from his own shirt, and shoved it into Chris's hands. "Then press harder."
Ariel whimpered as the added pressure sent lightning through her torso.
"Hey," Chris said sharply, dragging her gaze back to his. "Eyes on me. Don't fade. You do not get to tap out here, you hear me?"
She blinked slowly. "You're… bossy."
"Yeah, well," his mouth twisted, "you're a terrible patient."
Reed's head snapped up, attention shifting down the corridor.
"Move," he said. "Now. Vent system's dragging smoke this way; we'll lose visibility in under a minute."
"Where?" Chris demanded.
"North fire stairs," Reed answered. "My people have a route. Garage-level extraction."
"And Arlo?" Chris's voice tightened.
Reed's eyes cooled. "Busy playing king. You want to go hold his hand, be my guest. I'm getting the asset out."
Ariel flinched at the word. Asset.
Chris felt it; something in his face hardened.
"She's not an asset," he said quietly.
Reed stared at him for a beat, then shrugged once. "Fine. I'm getting your conscience out. Same difference."
He slid his arms under Ariel, one behind her shoulders, the other beneath her knees.
The movement tore a groan from her throat. Her vision went black at the edges, then snapped back in painful clarity.
"N-no," she gasped. "Don't—don't carry—hurts—"
Chris caught her hand, squeezing once. "I know. It's this or we leave you, and that's not happening. Hang on."
"Count of three," Reed said. "One—two—"
He lifted her on two.
White exploded behind her eyes. A sound tore out of her chest that didn't sound human.
Then she was moving, jostled against Reed's chest, every step a new shockwave of agony. The corridor smeared into smoke and light and shadow.
"Stay awake," Reed muttered near her ear. "You pass out and he'll blame me for the rest of my life, and I don't have the patience for that kind of drama."
"Language," Chris snapped, falling into step beside them, still pressing the makeshift bandage into her side even as they moved. "She's shot, not deaf."
Ariel tried to laugh; it came out a wet, broken cough.
"Listen to me," Chris said urgently. "You're going to feel cold. That's normal. You're going to want to sleep. Don't. Bite him if you have to."
"I will shoot you both," Reed muttered.
The floor shuddered again. A ceiling tile crashed down behind them, shattering into powder.
From somewhere deeper in the building came a roar,fire finding something to eat.
"Pick it up!" Reed barked. "Stairs in ten meters."
They rounded a corner into a narrower hall. Smoke rolled thicker here, turning the air gritty. Ariel coughed weakly, every breath like glass in her lungs.
Voices echoed from above,shouts, boots, the clatter of gear.
Reed stopped so abruptly Chris nearly ran into him.
"What now?" Chris demanded.
Reed jerked his chin upward. "Your people or mine?"
A figure appeared at the landing above, silhouetted in the emergency light. For one heart-stopping second, Ariel thought it was Arlo,broad shoulders, casual stance, gun down at his side like he owned every bullet in the building.
Then the man spoke into his radio in a clipped, efficient murmur, and Reed relaxed.
"Mine," he said. "Cover us."
The man on the landing snapped to attention, raising his weapon to aim over their heads down the corridor they'd just come from.
"Go!" he barked.
Reed took the stairs two at a time, Ariel's head lolling against his chest. Pain blurred into a distant, roaring thing. Her fingers spasmed around Chris's wrist where he still held the bandage in place.
"Stay with me, Ariel," Chris panted, breath harsh from the climb. "It's just a few flights. When we get outside, you can yell at me, all right? Yell at all of us."
"Don't… want… to yell," she mumbled. Her tongue felt thick. "Tired."
"No," Chris said sharply. "Not yet. Tell me something about the bookshop. Tell me about Oliver. About—about Berry."
Her chest clenched. "Berry…"
"Yeah," he said, voice roughening. "Hold on to her. She'd kill me if I let you go out on a stairwell like this."
"Berry's dead," Ariel whispered, the words slurring. "He… he killed her."
"I know," Chris said, so quietly she almost didn't hear it.
Her eyes fluttered. "Y-you knew."
His jaw flexed. "I know he did it. I don't know the whole why. Yet."
She tried to focus on Reed's face, on the harsh planes of it, the smudge of dirt over his cheekbone.
"Why… helping?" she asked. It sounded more like a sigh than a question.
"Because somebody should've pulled you out before it got this far," Reed said. "And I'm late enough as it is."
They burst through a final door into a lower-level corridor that smelled of oil and hot concrete. The air was clearer here, the smoke lingering thin and gray instead of choking.
Ahead, a metal roll-up door stood half-open, rain-silvered night visible beyond. Headlights speared in from the darkness,two black SUVs, engines idling.
Figures moved—a blur of dark clothes, guns, headsets. Reed's people.
"Target secured!" the man from the stairwell shouted into his radio. "Package is bleeding but conscious."
"Stop calling her that," Chris snapped.
Ariel barely heard them. The cold Reed had warned her about was seeping in, starting in her fingertips, creeping up her arms.
Her teeth chattered once.
Reed felt it. "We're losing her."
"Back seat, flat," someone ordered. "Doyle, med kit, now!"
Reed slid her into the rear of the nearest SUV, lowering her onto the leather. The sudden absence of his arms made her feel like she was falling even though the seat was solid beneath her.
A new face leaned over her,a woman this time, hair scraped back, eyes sharp, hands already tearing open packets and gauze.
"Hi, sweetheart," the medic said briskly. "Name's Doyle. You're leaking on my leather and I take that very personally, so we're going to fix it, okay?"
Ariel tried to smile; her lips barely twitched.
"Chris," she whispered.
His face appeared above hers, pushing Doyle's shoulder aside for half a second.
"Yeah," he said. His voice sounded far away.
"If I… die…" she started.
"No," he said, so fiercely Doyle flinched. "Shut up. You can't die before you scream at Arlo. I'm not doing that alone."
A tiny, broken chuckle escaped her. It sent another shard of pain through her torso.
"Tell him…" she breathed.
Chris swallowed. "You can tell him yourself."
Her eyes slipped, fighting to stay on his.
"Tell him… I hate him," she whispered. "More than… anything. Tell him… that was his lesson."
Chris's eyes shone, a crack in his controlled mask. "Okay," he said. "I'll tell him. I promise."
"Louder," she murmured. "So he… hears it forever."
Doyle shoved him back more firmly. "Out. If you're not plugging holes, you're in my way."
Reed's face flicked into view behind Chris. "We're rolling," he said. "Perimeter's hot. Halo loyalists are pissed and confused, which is my favorite combination, but it won't last."
"Where are we taking her?" Chris demanded.
Reed's mouth flattened. "Somewhere Arlo doesn't own. That narrows it down more than you'd think."
"Triage first," Doyle snapped. "Philosophy later."
The SUV doors slammed. Engines roared.
As the convoy shot forward into the rain-slashed night, Ariel's consciousness hovered like a moth near a broken bulb,flickering, stubborn, drawn to the pain and the voices around her.
Outside, the building she'd been dragged into and bled inside of receded, a looming shape against the sky. For a moment, through the tinted glass, she saw the top floors glow brighter—the flames finally punching fully through.
Obsidian Halo, burning.
Her vision blurred.
Somewhere beyond the edge of hearing, her name tore through the air again, enraged, ragged, like a man who had finally realized he'd lost something he hadn't planned on letting go.
"Ariel!"
It sounded like Arlo.
She didn't know if it was memory or reality.
Then the sirens and gunfire and shouting folded in on themselves, swallowed by a rushing dark.
The last thing Ariel felt was the scrape of the road underneath the tires and the weight of three men's choices pressed onto the small, fragile fact that,for the moment,she was still alive.
Ariel surfaced into sound first.
Not sight. Not pain. Just noise,muted, layered, like hearing the world through a wall. Beeping. A low murmur. The soft swish of fabric. Someone's voice, calm and clipped, saying numbers that meant nothing to her.
Then came smell.
Antiseptic. Sharp and clean, with a faint undercurrent of coffee that had sat too long on a hot plate.
Finally, weight.
Her body returned all at once, heavy and foreign, like she'd been poured back into herself wrong. Her side throbbed in time with the beeping, dulled but deep, wrapped in something tight that stopped the pain from swallowing her whole.
"Hey."
The word floated to her right, warm and cautious.
"C'mon, Smith. Open your eyes. Prove I didn't haul you out of a bonfire for nothing."
Reed.
Her eyelids felt glued together. She forced them apart anyway.
White ceiling. A dim strip of light. A curtain pulled halfway around a bed. Wires snaking from her hand to a monitor that blinked a steady green line. A bandage and IV tape tugging at her skin.
And a chair pulled close, where Reed sat slouched, elbows on his knees, watching her like she might bolt.
"You look terrible," he said.
Her throat was dry. "You… always… this charming?" she rasped.
He exhaled, the corner of his mouth twitching. "There she is."
Pain spiked when she tried to move. Her fingers dug into the sheet.
"Easy," Reed said quickly. "You're patched up, not new. Don't test the stitches yet."
"Where…?" she managed.
"Safe," he said. "Relatively. Off‑grid clinic. No paperwork. No cops. No Halo."
Memory slammed back—smoke, the shot, cold concrete, a voice screaming her name.
"Obsidian Halo," she whispered.
"Currently auditioning as a bonfire," Reed said. "Fire crews call it an accident. Arlo calls it strategy. Everyone lies in their own way."
Her heart lurched. "Arlo. Is he—"
"Alive," Reed said. "Which I'm sure you'll have complicated feelings about."
She swallowed. "Berry?"
Reed's gaze didn't flinch, but it cooled. "Nothing's changed there."
Tears burned. She looked away at the wall, at the blank, merciless white.
Silence settled until her voice crept back, thin. "How long?"
"Since the corridor?" he asked. "Roughly twenty hours. You scared Doyle. She doesn't scare easy."
"Chris?" she forced out.
Reed's mouth curved. "First thing you ask for. Interesting."
"Is he…?"
"Alive," Reed said. "More stubborn than he looks. He's here."
"Here?" That word came out sharper than she intended.
"In the building," Reed said. "Arguing with my people about operational security and how fast Arlo will start tearing the city apart if we don't 'do the right thing'."
Cold trickled through her veins. "Does Arlo know I'm alive?"
"Let's put it this way," Reed said. "When you went down, he shouted your name loud enough that half my team thought the ceiling was coming down. He knows you were taken off site. He doesn't know where."
"For now," she murmured.
"For now," Reed agreed. "Which brings us to why I'm sitting here instead of blissfully ignoring you."
She frowned. "You enjoy ignoring people?"
"It's one of my few hobbies," he said. Then his tone shifted, sharper. "You've got a choice to make, Ariel."
The use of her first name made her chest tighten. "What choice?"
"You can vanish," Reed said. "New ID, new city, new life where the worst thing you deal with is an overdue electricity bill. Arlo doesn't get to touch you again."
"And if I don't?" she asked quietly.
"Then you go back into the storm," he said. "Not as a hostage. As something… else."
Her pulse stumbled. "You want me to help you bring him down."
"I want you to decide what you're actually afraid of," Reed replied. "The man? Or the way he warps everything around him,people like Chris, outfits like Halo, lives like yours."
Her fingers knotted in the sheet. "He kidnapped me. He hurt me. He—"
"And he cut your ties," Reed said evenly. "Unlocked the door. Left you a phone with Berry's number. That's not what he does when he's finished with someone."
She hated the way hope and anger tangled in her chest. "I'm not… grateful for crumbs."
"Good," Reed said. "Gratitude gets people killed. Clarity keeps them alive."
The curtain rustled.
Both of them turned.
Chris slipped through the gap, closing it softly behind him. Fresh clothes, same tired eyes. A healing bruise shadowed his jaw, and there was a tightness around his mouth that hadn't been there before.
His gaze found Ariel instantly, tracking the monitor, the IV, the bandage.
"You're awake," he said, and relief softened his voice into something almost gentle.
"Everyone keeps saying that," she muttered. "I'm starting to believe it."
A flicker of a smile tugged at his lips. "You look better."
"She looks like a corpse with a pulse," Reed said. "We were discussing relocation."
Chris's jaw clenched. "Without me?"
"You were busy threatening my tech guy," Reed replied. "I multitask."
Chris ignored him, stepping closer to the bed. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got shot and then lectured," she said. "In that order."
His eyes warmed, then darkened. "You remember what happened?"
"Corridor. Fire. Two men shouting at me," she said, watching his face. "I ran. Someone shot. I fell. Someone yelled my name."
"That was me," Chris said quietly.
"And… maybe Arlo too," she added, the memory half‑phantom.
Something flickered in his expression, gone as fast as it came.
Reed folded his arms. "Time's short. You want to be part of this conversation, Chris, or glower from the corner?"
Chris shot him a look, then turned back to Ariel. "What did he tell you?"
"He offered to make me disappear," she said. "Or send me back as some kind of… weapon."
Reed didn't deny it. "You're the one variable Arlo didn't account for. That matters."
Ariel let out a shaky breath. "I don't want to run. Not like that. But I'm not… I'm not going to help kill him." Her voice broke on the last word.
Reed lifted a brow. "After everything—"
"He's not the only monster in this," she cut in. "Berry said, 'He's not the one you should be afraid of. He's trying to—' and then the line died. You don't get to rewrite that mid‑sentence just because it's convenient."
Reed studied her, then glanced at Chris. "You hearing this?"
Chris nodded slowly. "She's right."
Reed snorted. "You, of all people, defending him now?"
"I'm not defending what he's done," Chris said. "But he's not… simple."
Ariel swallowed. "Chris… did you bring me here to hide me from Arlo? Or to drag me further away so Reed could use me first?"
Chris flinched like she'd struck him. Then he squared his shoulders.
"I brought you here to keep you breathing," he said. "That's it. Reed's people were the fastest way out of a burning building full of very angry men with guns."
"And now?" she pressed.
"Now Reed wants to point you at Arlo," Chris said. "And Arlo wants to tear the city apart finding you. And you're lying in the middle of that equation with stitches and a fever."
Reed sighed. "As thrilling as it is to be spoken of like a tax audit, we need a decision. My offer stands, Ariel. We ghost you. Arlo never finds you. You get to heal."
She stared at the ceiling. Running sounded like relief and guilt wrapped together.
"What happens to him if I disappear?" she asked.
"He keeps building whatever Halo was meant to sell," Reed said. "Hurts more people. Breaks more things. I keep chasing him. Maybe I win. Maybe I don't."
"And if I go back?" she whispered.
Chris's hand tightened around the back of the chair. "If you go back, it's not as a hostage," he said. "Not again."
Reed's eyes narrowed. "What are you playing at?"
Chris ignored him. He stepped closer, voice low, for Ariel.
"You said he's not the villain," Chris murmured. "Not in the way everyone wants to paint him. You still believe that?"
Her throat worked. "I… don't know."
"But you want to," he said.
Tears prickled. "I don't want to be stupid again."
"This isn't about being stupid," Chris said. "It's about finishing what he started the wrong way. You deserve answers,from him, not from men in other shadows who hate him for their own reasons."
Reed's jaw ticked. "Careful, Chris."
Chris finally looked at him head‑on. "You don't get to weaponize her pain just because you're on the opposite side of his chessboard."
"And he does?" Reed shot back.
"No," Chris said. "That's why she goes back on our terms, not his."
The word our lodged in Ariel's chest.
"You want me to return," she said slowly, "to the man who tied me up and broke me… because you think that's safer than staying with the man who pulled me out?"
Chris didn't flinch. "Yes."
Reed stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Explain that before I sedate both of you."
Chris turned to Ariel, and for once, there was no careful neutrality in his eyes—just something raw and unresolved.
"Arlo did this wrong," he said. "He knows it. He won't admit it, but he does. That building, the games, the chair—that was him trying to control a situation that scared him, and he went too far. If Reed keeps you, Arlo becomes pure threat. All the worst parts, none of the restraint. He will drown this city looking for you."
"And if I go back?" she asked.
"Then there's a chance," Chris said, "you can make him choose something else. Not because you owe him. Because he owes you. For Berry. For Oliver. For every lie. You get to stand in front of him and demand every answer, and he doesn't get to hide behind fire and glass anymore."
Reed shook his head. "You are asking a traumatized woman to walk back into the lion's den because you're emotionally invested in the lion."
"I'm asking her," Chris said quietly, "if the person who tore her life apart is the one she wants answers from… or if she's okay letting strangers like you decide what happens to him next."
The clinic hummed around them, machines indifferent to moral math.
Ariel's chest hurt in ways that had nothing to do with bandages.
"Do you trust him?" she asked Chris. "Really?"
Chris hesitated,just a heartbeat. Then he nodded once. "Enough to bet my life he won't kill you."
"That's not the same as trusting he won't hurt me," she said.
"No," Chris admitted. "It isn't."
Reed spread his hands. "There it is. You hear yourself, Ariel? You don't owe Arlo closure."
"I know," she whispered.
Then, more firmly: "I know."
She thought of Berry's broken sentence. Of Arlo cutting her ties and leaving the door unlocked. Of the way his voice had dropped when he said, Because storms are easier to survive when you're not tied to a chair.
"You said you wouldn't betray him," she murmured to Chris. "Back there. In the hall."
"I won't," Chris said. "Not like that. If he burns, it'll be because of what he's done, not because I handed his throat to someone who hates him more than they hate what he's built."
Reed scoffed. "You realize you just convinced her to walk back into a criminal organization with no guarantee she walks out again."
Chris's gaze didn't leave Ariel. "She was never going to be safe as long as he didn't understand what he'd done to her. This way, she's not a secret someone's hiding. She's a debt he can't run from."
Ariel closed her eyes.
Running meant safety and silence.
Going back meant danger and truth.
Both roads had Arlo's shadow on them.
Her hand trembled on the sheet. "If I go back," she said, "it's on my terms. No blindfolds. No chairs. No games."
Chris nodded. "I'll make that clear."
"And if he tries?" she said.
"Then I walk you out," Chris replied. "Or I don't walk out either."
Reed let out a low, disbelieving laugh. "You two are insane."
"Probably," Ariel said. Her voice shook, but it held. "But I'm done letting everyone else move me around like a pawn. If this is my story, I confront the man who rewrote it."
She turned her head, meeting Reed's eyes.
"Can you get a message to him without giving up this place?" she asked. "Neutral ground. Somewhere he doesn't control completely. Somewhere I walk in awake."
Reed studied her for a long moment, something like reluctant respect creeping in.
"I can float a location through the right channels," he said slowly. "He'll know it's a trap."
"It isn't," she said. "Not for him. For me."
"That," Reed muttered, "is not reassuring."
She managed the faintest hint of a smile. "You wanted clarity."
He blew out a breath. "Fine. I'll set it up. But understand this, Ariel: once he has eyes on you again, there's no putting that genie back in the bottle. Whatever he really is, whoever he really is,you're tying yourself to it by choice this time."
"I was tied to it the moment he pulled me out of that street," she said. "This is just me admitting it."
Reed nodded once, grudging. "I'll see what I can do."
He pushed away from the chair, pausing only to add to Chris under his breath, "If this goes sideways, it's on you."
"It already is," Chris said.
When Reed slipped out, the curtain swayed, and the room shrank back to just the beeping monitor, the antiseptic air, and the man who'd stood on both sides of the line for too long.
"You're sure?" Chris asked.
"No," she said. "But I'm done pretending that not choosing is safer."
He let out a slow breath. "Then I'll call him."
Her heart stuttered. "Now?"
"The longer we wait, the more he imagines," Chris said. "And he has a very dangerous imagination."
She swallowed. "What will you tell him?"
"The truth," Chris said. "That you're alive. That you're hurt. That if he wants to see you, it won't be in a cell he controls, but in a room where you walk in on your own feet. And that if he wants you to stay… he's the one who has to listen this time."
Ariel stared at the ceiling, at the cracks in the paint, at the reflection of the monitor's glow.
Somewhere out there, Arlo Johnson thought he'd lost the one thing he didn't know how to name.
He was about to learn that losing her was only the beginning.
Facing her,awake, angry, and no longer willing to be his lesson—would be the real test of who was villain, who was broken, and whether either of them could survive what came next.