Rose

  The corridor feels narrower than it should.

  Not because of walls — because of pressure.

  Like the building itself is leaning in, listening, waiting for one wrong breath.

  Rose walks backward, guiding the gurney, eyes locked ahead. Her steps stay measured. She doesn’t rush. Panic wastes seconds they don’t have.

  Keene pushes from the side, knuckles white on the metal frame.

  Mira lies too still.

  Her breathing stutters — short, wet pulls that scrape through something torn inside. Each inhale ends in a faint rattle.

  Rose notices first.

  She always does.

  “Mira,” she says, voice low and steady, leaning close enough for Mira to feel the words. “Stay with us.”

  Mira’s eyelids flutter. “I am… I am.”

  Her fingers curl weakly into the blanket, knuckles pale.

  Keene swallows hard, the sound thick in his throat.

  Rose straightens. She forces calm into every syllable. “We’re almost there. Just a little more.”

  She doesn’t say *middle floor*.

  She doesn’t say *doctor*.

  She says *there* — because *there* still sounds possible.

  They move again. Wheels squeak once. The sound dies fast.

  ---

  **Memory, Walking**

  As they turn the corner, Lsael walks beside Rose — silent, watchful. His stolen armor still marks him as something he isn’t, but his posture has changed. Less soldier. More man trying not to frighten the people he now protects.

  Earlier — before the smoke, before the alarms — he had spoken quietly into the dark beyond the hospital windows.

  > “If I survive this night,” he said, eyes distant, “I think I’ll go to a village. Somewhere small. Start over.”

  Keene had snorted. “You won’t last a week.”

  Lsael had smiled, small and tired. “That’s fine. I’ll learn.”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Rose had looked at him then — not as an asset, not as a risk.

  As a person.

  “You don’t get to run from what you are,” she’d told him. “But you do get to choose what you protect.”

  Now, walking beside her again, Lsael glances at Mira.

  His jaw tightens. The memory sits heavy between them.

  ---

  **Present**

  Mira coughs.

  It’s wet this time — thick, choking. Flecks of red dot the blanket.

  Keene freezes mid-step.

  “She’s getting worse,” he says, voice cracking despite the effort to hold it together.

  Rose doesn’t stop walking. She reaches out, places her hand over Mira’s — firm, grounding, the only anchor she can offer.

  “Hey,” Rose says softly. “You’re doing great. You hear me?”

  Mira nods, weak. “My… chest feels heavy.”

  Lsael moves closer to the gurney without being asked. He keeps pace beside Mira, one gloved hand resting lightly on the rail. His voice drops low, careful, the way someone speaks when they’re trying to hold the dark back with words.

  “My friend used to talk about a place,” he says quietly. “Elysian Fields. Said it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever imagined. Green hills that go on forever. Quiet. No rain at all. Just sunlight and open sky. He’d describe it like he could see it right in front of him — every blade of grass, every warm breeze. Said if you ever got there… you’d never want to leave.”

  Mira’s eyes find his. Her breathing is shallow, but she listens. A faint, tired smile touches her lips.

  “Sounds… perfect,” she whispers.

  Lsael nods once. “He made it sound like the kind of place you fight to reach. Not because you have to. Because you want to. He said the air there smells like fresh earth after a storm that finally ended.”

  Mira’s fingers tighten a fraction on the blanket. “Tell me… more.”

  Lsael keeps talking, voice steady even as his jaw stays tight. “He said the fields go on so far you can’t see the end. No walls. No alarms. Just quiet. He laughed when he talked about it — said he hoped it was boring. That boring would be the best gift after everything here.”

  Rose glances at him but says nothing. She lets the words fill the space between them.

  Mira exhales, the sound almost peaceful for a moment. “I think… I’d like that.”

  Lsael’s hand stays on the rail. “Then hold onto it. We’ll get you there. Or somewhere close.”

  Mira’s eyelids flutter again, but she nods.

  Rose feels the fork in the road then — sharp, familiar, terrible.

  Mission.

  Or life.

  She doesn’t hesitate.

  Her hand snaps to the device at her wrist. The old man’s communicator hums against her skin — stubborn, warm, still fighting the dead air.

  “Answer,” Rose says. “Anyone.”

  Static.

  Then —

  > “Not now.”

  A calm voice. Strained underneath.

  Rose recognizes it instantly.

  “Status?” she asks.

  > “Engaged. Rear corridor. Multiple targets.”

  A thud echoes through the channel — a body hitting the wall.

  Rose closes her eyes for half a second.

  “Understood. Keep moving.”

  She cuts the channel before Keene can ask.

  He looks at her anyway.

  “Who was that?”

  Rose meets his eyes. “Someone who can survive without help.”

  Keene nods. That’s enough.

  She taps the device again.

  “Next.”

  A different voice answers — precise, clipped.

  > “Middle floor. Stairwell C. Equipment partially operational.”

  Rose exhales. “Can you meet us?”

  A pause.

  > “Negative. Bring the patient. I’ll clear.”

  She doesn’t argue.

  “On our way.”

  The channel closes.

  ---

  **Rose (Choice)**

  They reach the stairwell.

  Smoke curls along the ceiling like a living thing, thick and slow.

  Rose stops.

  Just for a moment.

  Keene looks at her sharply. “What is it?”

  She looks down at Mira — pale, breathing shallow.

  Then at Keene — loyal, exhausted, waiting.

  Then at Lsael — silent, jaw tight, ready to follow whatever she decides.

  “I was supposed to find something tonight,” Rose says quietly. “Something important.”

  Keene waits.

  “But if I don’t get her help,” Rose continues, voice steady despite the weight, “none of it matters.”

  She grips the bed frame until her knuckles ache.

  “We save Mira.”

  Keene nods instantly. “Good.”

  Lsael says nothing — but his shoulders ease, armor shifting with the small release of tension.

  They move.

  ---

  Across the grounds, Ilan Kestrel lifts his rifle.

  Rose feels it before she sees it — a pressure shift, a wrongness in the air like the night itself is inhaling too deep.

  “Ilan—” she says into the communicator, voice sharp, breaking. “Don’t. Don’t — please, don’t.”

  The golden gun clicks as he chambers the round.

  He doesn’t answer right away.

  He checks the weapon once more — fingers steady, reverent. The gold catches the last scraps of light, warm against the cold geometry of the hospital.

  “Tell my brother,” Ilan says calmly, almost gently, “that I didn’t hesitate.”

  The trigger pulls.

  The shot tears through the null field like a crack in reality itself.

  Inside the hospital, lights explode back to life. Systems scream awake. Power rushes through dead veins like breath returning to drowned lungs.

  Rose’s bow answers her again.

  She gasps — the string humming against her fingers, alive.

  Outside, Ilan doesn’t stop.

  He fires again. Veinrunners drop.

  He channels Vein into his legs. Concrete detonates beneath his boots in sharp grey bursts.

  He launches acro

  ss the open ground — a streak of fury and defiance.

  Mid-air, teeth bared, voice carried on impact and momentum —

  “You don’t know who you messed with, solana Sky".

  He hits Sky like a falling star.

  ---

  End of Chapter 23