All Chapters of Ties of Desire: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The private elevator didn't just climb; it clawed its way upward, tearing through forty floors of reinforced steel and concrete with a breathless, vertical violence that pressed Galen and Nurin’s backs hard against the brushed-steel walls. The digital floor counter glowed in a harsh, bleeding red, ticking upward with terrifying speed: 42... 45... 48...Galen stood with his weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet, his weapon held at a low, defensive ready. His dark eyes were fixed on the polished metal doors, a muscle ticking rhythmically in his clenched jaw. Every instinct honed by a lifetime of corporate warfare and underground survival screamed that the car was a coffin.

The rain had finally slowed to a stubborn, freezing mist by the time Galen and Nurin touched down on the private helipad of the Prakoso-Qistina tower. Their tactical gear was soaked through, smelling faintly of gunpowder and ozone, but neither of them broke stride as they bypassed the primary elevators and headed straight for the sub-level intelligence vault.Bagas was already waiting for them by the master console, a half-empty can of cold energy drink in one hand and a heavily modified decryption deck in the other. His eyes were bloodshot, glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the bunker.

The crawl through the narrow, dust-choked maintenance shafts above the Ministry of Trade bunker felt like tunneling through the ribcage of a buried leviathan. The air was thick with the metallic tang of heated copper and stale sweat, every breath a conscious effort.Galen took the lead, his broad shoulders scraping against the corrugated metal walls as he pulled himself upward with relentless, mechanical efficiency. His tactical boots found purchase on the interior bracing ribs without a single wasted movement. He didn't look back, but he could feel Nurin right behind him, her rhythmic breathing a steady anchor in the dark.

The rain-slicked tarmac of the Jurong industrial apron gleamed under the harsh, buzzing sodium lights as Galen and Nurin slipped past the rusted perimeter fence. They didn't linger at the docks. Within three minutes of abandoning the marine interceptor, a nondescript, matte-grey sedan with cloned local plates slid out of the shadows of a neglected warehouse, driven by a local fixer on Bagas’s payroll—a scarred ex-mercenary named Leo who didn't ask questions as long as the electronic transfer cleared."The Marina Bay financial sector is locked down tighter than a Swiss vault," Leo muttered, tossing a pair of burner phones onto the central console as Galen slid into the driver's

The deafening report of Galen's Glock echoed off the brutalist concrete walls of the Aethelgard sub-vault like rolling thunder. On the elevated catwalk, Arthur Vance jerked violently backward as the round caught him square in the sternum. The silver-handled cane slipped from his slack fingers, clattering loudly against the metal grating before Arthur pitched over the rail, crashing heavily onto the server racks below with a lifeless thud.The remaining two Syndicate operatives didn't wait for orders. Seeing their commanding officer drop, they broke cover and scrambled toward the heavy emergency exit stairwell at the back of the bunker, their boots pounding frantically against the concrete