BAIT

Rain sheeted down over the shipping district, drumming on corrugated roofs and pooling in cracked asphalt. Adrian led Elena through a maze of containers, his grip steady on her wrist. They’d ditched the ferry tunnels two hours ago, cut across half the city on foot, and now crouched behind a stack of pallets outside a shuttered warehouse.

“This is it?” she whispered.

He nodded. “They’ll be watching. Damian’s phone has a tracker. We’ll use it.”

She glanced at the battered phone in his pocket. “You’re luring them here.”

“That’s the idea,” he said. “End it on our terms.”

She hugged the jacket tighter around herself. “And what happens after we ‘end it’?”

“Extraction,” he said simply. “If Calloway got the upload out, my people will move in. If not…” His jaw tightened. “We improvise.”

She tried to steady her breathing. “You’re risking your life. Again.”

He looked at her. “We’re risking it. Together.”

Her heart twisted. “I’m not trained for this.”

“You’ve survived this far,” he said. “That’s more than most.”

He crouched, drawing a rough map in the wet dust with a piece of chalk. “They’ll come from the south entrance. I’ll stay in the open. You slip out the north door. There’s an alley to an old substation—”

“No,” she said abruptly.

He blinked. “What?”

“I’m not leaving,” she said, voice firm. “I’m not running anymore.”

“Elena—”

“No.” She met his eyes. “I’m tired of being bait without a say. If you’re doing this, we do it together.”

His mouth opened, then closed. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes — respect, maybe. He exhaled. “Then we do it together. But you listen to me. You move when I move. You don’t break cover. Understood?”

She nodded. “Understood.”

He handed her a small earpiece from his pocket. “Put this in. Short-range only. We keep contact.”

She slipped it into her ear. His voice crackled softly: “Check.”

“Check,” she whispered back.

They moved into position. Adrian crossed to the center of the warehouse floor, stepping into the glow of a hanging light. Elena crouched behind a stack of crates near the north wall, heart hammering. She could see him clearly — tall, soaked, defiant, every line of him coiled and ready.

He took out Damian’s phone, tapped the screen, and set it on a crate. “They’re here,” his voice murmured in her earpiece.

Thunder rolled outside. A door creaked open. Boots on concrete. Figures slipped inside — four, five, maybe more — weapons at their sides, faces hidden by caps.

One stepped forward. “Professor Wells.”

Adrian’s voice was calm. “You wanted me. Here I am.”

“You’ve made this very expensive,” the man said. “Hand over the drive.”

Adrian spread his hands. “It’s gone. Broadcast. Check your feeds.”

The man smirked. “Nice try. We intercepted your upload.”

“Then why are you here?” Adrian asked quietly.

The man’s smile faltered. “Because leverage still works.”

He gestured. Two men moved to the crates where Elena hid. She shrank back, breath caught. Adrian’s voice hissed in her ear: “Stay down. Now.”

She pressed herself flat, clutching a metal pipe she’d found. Her pulse roared.

“You think she’s safe?” the man said, eyes flicking toward the crates. “Bring her out.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “Leave her out of this.”

“Then give us what we want.”

“You already have nothing to bargain with,” Adrian said. “Check your systems. The world’s watching.”

The man’s radio crackled. He glanced down, frowning. “We’re offline.”

Adrian moved. In one fluid motion, he kicked the crate holding the phone, sending it skidding across the floor. It exploded in a burst of blue light — an EMP charge. Lights flickered and died. The warehouse plunged into darkness.

“Now!” Adrian’s voice snapped in Elena’s ear.

She sprang up, swinging the pipe. It cracked against a man’s arm as he reached for her. He cursed, stumbling. She darted past him toward Adrian, heart hammering.

Gunfire cracked. Sparks flew from a metal beam. She ducked, adrenaline surging.

Adrian grabbed her hand as she reached him. “This way!”

They bolted toward the north door, weaving between crates. Shouts echoed. Flashlights flickered weakly, batteries dying from the EMP.

They reached the door. Adrian shoved it open, rain slashing their faces. “Run!” he barked.

They sprinted into the alley beyond, puddles splashing under their feet. Behind them, men stumbled out of the warehouse, weapons raised.

A van screeched around the corner, blocking the alley. Doors flew open.

Damian stepped out, hood down, pale eyes glinting. “Going somewhere?”

Adrian skidded to a stop. “Move, Damian.”

Damian smiled lazily. “You’re welcome, by the way. I just saved you.”

Elena’s breath caught. “Saved us?”

He gestured toward the men spilling out of the warehouse. “Those aren’t my people. They’re freelancers hired to tie up loose ends. I figured I’d collect you myself.”

Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Damian’s smile sharpened. “Because leverage. You have the only copy of the evidence that matters.”

Adrian snorted. “You think I’d bring it here?”

Damian’s eyes flicked to Elena. “Maybe not. But she might.”

Elena’s pulse spiked. “I don’t—”

“Don’t lie,” Damian said softly. “You’re smarter than that.”

Adrian stepped in front of her. “You’re not touching her.”

Damian chuckled. “Still playing the hero.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small device — not a gun, but a sleek black transmitter. “This will tell every interested party exactly where we’re standing. You’ve got thirty seconds before they descend.”

Adrian’s jaw clenched. “What do you want?”

“A deal,” Damian said. “You and the girl come with me. We walk away before the wolves get here. I get a cut of whatever your watchdog group pays you. Everyone else fights over scraps.”

Elena stared at him. “You’re insane.”

“Pragmatic,” Damian corrected. “Ten seconds.”

Adrian’s hand tightened on hers. “Do you trust me?” he murmured.

Elena swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He smiled faintly. “Good.”

Then he moved. In one swift motion, he yanked a small silver disk from his pocket — another device — and hurled it at Damian’s feet. It burst with a blinding flash. Damian cursed, stumbling back.

Adrian pulled Elena into a side passage between two container stacks. “Go!” he hissed.

They sprinted through the narrow gap, rain pounding their faces. Behind them, shouts erupted as men converged on Damian’s position.

They burst out onto a side street. A black SUV screeched to a stop. This time, the doors opened to reveal two people in dark suits — not mercenaries but agents with clean gear and earpieces.

“Wells!” one called. “Get in!”

Adrian hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Signal phrase?”

The agent replied instantly: “Shakespeare, Act V.”

Adrian exhaled. “It’s them,” he murmured.

He shoved Elena into the SUV and climbed in after her. The doors slammed. The vehicle shot forward, tires spraying water.

Inside, the agents’ faces were grim. “You two are lucky,” the driver said. “Broadcast went out. Every news outlet in the city has the files. They can’t bury it now.”

Elena sagged against the seat, trembling. “So it’s over?”

“Not yet,” Adrian said quietly. “But the worst part is.”

He turned to her, his hand finding hers, warm and steady. “You did it.”

She looked at him, heart pounding. “We did it.”

Outside, sirens wailed in the distance. The SUV sped into the night.

For the first time since it all began, Elena felt a flicker of something she hadn’t dared to feel — not safety exactly, but possibility. And with it came a new, more dangerous question: what happens to them now, after the danger is gone?