Chapter 258: Rats know when to run

CASSIAN

The explosion came from outside, but it was so powerful the building itself shuddered. Dust rained down from the concrete ceiling.

The lights flickered and died for a second before the red emergency glow returned. It was the sound of a contingency plan being executed.

The facility’s secondary power grid, the one Emilio thought was his secret, had just become a bomb.

I looked at Emilio, whose hands were now shaking as much as mine had been.

“That would be my contingency,” I said simply.

The metal door hit the wall with a bang that echoed like a gunshot.

Three of Emilio’s men flooded into the room, their movements frantic and uncoordinated.

The carefully constructed scene of a captive in a chair had collapsed into a mess of panic.

They weren’t looking at me like a prisoner anymore; they were looking at me like a problem they didn’t know how to solve.

“Sir,” one of them panted, his eyes darting to the ceiling as another distant explosion rocked the floor.

“The location is compromised. We have multiple unidentified units at the perimeter. East and north entrances, they’re already inside.”

Emilio didn’t look at his men.

He looked at me. I was still laughing, a low, rhythmic sound that seemed to crawl under his skin.

It was the laugh of a man who had placed a long-shot bet and was watching the dice settle exactly where he wanted them.

“What did you do?” Emilio asked. His voice was stripped of the cultured performance.

He wasn’t the refined boss anymore. He was just a man realizing he was in a cage of his own making.

“My ride back home,” I said simply. I leaned forward, the shadows of the red emergency light making my face a mask of jagged edges. “I was wondering when it would arrive.”

Emilio’s composure broke. He looked at the door, then back at me, his face twisting into something ugly and desperate.

He knew when to run. He was a rat, and rats always know when the ship is sinking.

“Kill him,” Emilio barked at his men, already turning toward the exit. “Then find me.”

He left without looking back. I noted the direction. Left down the corridor, then a sharp turn toward the service lifts. I kept it memorized.

The three men turned to me. They raised their guns, their faces set with the specific confidence of people who believe they are about to do something easy. To them, I was still the man chained to a chair.

They were wrong.

Before they could pull the trigger, I stood up. The heavy wooden chair tipped over behind me, clattering against the concrete.

The chains hit the floor with a heavy, metallic sound. My left wrist had been free for minutes, and I’d used the chaos of the explosions and Emilio’s phone call to work the right one loose.

The three men froze. I watched their brains struggle to process the information. It contradicted their reality.

In their world, prisoners stayed tied up. In their world, I was a victim. That half-second of confusion was the only window I needed.

I didn’t waste time with flourishes. I moved through the room with the singular focus of a machine. Three men. One room. The space between us disappeared.

When I was finished, the room was empty of threats. I stood in the center of the light, taking a quick inventory of my body. My ribs were a deep, throbbing ache, but they held.

My shoulder was stiff, but functional. Everything else worked. I picked up a discarded handgun from the floor, checked the magazine, and stepped into the corridor.

The building above me was alive with the sound of violence. I could hear the rhythmic, disciplined fire of my father’s units working their way down.

The explosions were distant now, but they had done their job. The facility was screaming.

I moved to the door next to mine, the room where Cyan had been held. I didn’t knock. I went through it with my weapon raised.

I found Cyan in the middle of a disaster. He had apparently freed himself a while ago. He was currently in the process of dealing with the last man in the room, using a heavy wooden chair leg that he had somehow ripped off with his bare hands.

The last man went down with a sickening thud just as I stepped inside.

Cyan looked at me, then down at the chair leg in his hand. He tossed it aside like a piece of trash. “You took your time,” he said, his breathing only slightly elevated.

I looked at the bodies on the floor, then back at him. “I see you managed.”

“It was fine,” Cyan said, brushing a stray bit of dust off his sleeve. The rings on his fingers caught the dim light, shining like cold stars. “What’s the commotion? It sounds like the world is ending out there.”

“Backup arrived,” I said, already turning back to the corridor. “Let’s go. Emilio is moving.”

We stepped into the hallway and were immediately met by a man moving with a different kind of energy. He wasn’t one of Emilio’s frantic guards.

He moved with a low center of gravity, his eyes scanning the corners with professional precision. My father’s personal hitman. I recognized the posture immediately.

The man stopped and gave a slight, respectful bow. “Mr. Cassian. I was told to give you this.”

He held out a small, high-tech earpiece. I took it and pressed it into my ear.

“You are extraordinarily difficult to keep alive,” a voice said.

It was Charles. He sounded exactly the way he always did, like a man who was deeply relieved but refused to let anyone know it. To Charles, performing emotion was a sign of weakness.

“This is the second time,” he added.

“Third, if you count the prison situation,” I replied, moving down the hall with Cyan at my shoulder.

“I do count the prison situation,” my father said. “That’s why I said second. This is the second time since prison. Your math is as poor as your self-preservation.”

“I appreciate your bookkeeping,” I said. “But we both know you couldn’t afford to lose me. It would be bad for the brand. So here we are.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Don’t make a habit of this, Cassian.”

“No promises,” I said. “Connect me to Reid.”

Cyan looked at me as we rounded a corner. “You had a backup plan. You didn’t tell me you had a backup plan.”

“It was a gamble,” I admitted. “I banked on my father noticing I was missing from my usual patterns and doing something about it. He watches everything I do. It was a reasonable bet.”

Cyan stared at me, his eyes wide. “You gambled our lives on your father’s creepy surveillance habits? That is insane.”

“It worked.”

A click signaled the line had switched. Reid’s voice came through, sharp and efficient. “Sir. You’re alive. Good.”

“The accounts,” I said.

“Drained,” Reid replied. I could hear the rapid tapping of keys in the background.

“The cascade worked perfectly. Your distraction created enough time to mask the actual transfers. Emilio’s primary accounts? Gone. The secondary network? Collapsed. I’ve traced the micro-channels and shut them down. It took longer than I wanted, but he’s broke. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“The building layout,” I said. “I need thermal.”

“Pulling it now,” Reid said. “Sending the feed to your earpiece. You’ll hear the positions as I call them. Emilio is on the third floor, moving east. He’s got six men with him. There’s a vehicle bay on the east side, he’s heading for the exit.”

“How long?”

“At his pace? Eight minutes. Maybe less if he stops being a coward and starts running.”

Another of my father’s men appeared, carrying a tactical vest and a customized rifle. I took the gear, my movements fast and precise. I felt the weight of the ceramic plates against my bruised ribs, a comforting pressure.

I turned to Cyan. “The lower two floors. Emilio’s men are trying to clear an exit corridor for him. They’re funneling toward the east to hold the line. Close it.”

Cyan frowned. “You’re going alone.”

“I’m going ahead,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“There isn’t.”

“Do the floors, Cyan. Then come. Reid will give you the updates.” I was already moving toward the stairs, the adrenaline finally dulling the pain of my injuries.

“Cassian,” Cyan called out.

I didn’t stop. “Cyan. Do the floors.”

I didn’t look back to see the look on his face. I knew what it was, a mixture of anger and the specific fear of someone who knows exactly what kind of monster I’m walking toward.

I took the stairs three at a time. The building was a map of noise and heat. In my ear, Reid was a steady, robotic presence.

“Two ahead, left corridor,” he said.

I rounded the corner and handled them. I didn’t slow down.

“One on the stairs above you. Emilio still moving east. Six minutes.”

The second floor was a mess. Emilio had left behind his most loyal men to slow me down. They were desperate, firing blindly into the smoke and the red light.

I moved through them with the patience of a man who has been waiting four years for this moment. I could absorb another four minutes of fire.

“Five minutes,” Reid said. “He’s at the vehicle bay entrance. He’s waiting for something… a car is being brought around.”

I pushed my body harder. The pain in my ribs flared, a hot, stabbing sensation, but I ignored it.

The third floor was quieter. The men Emilio had left behind were mostly gone. The only ones left were the ones running with him. I could hear the distant hum of a powerful engine echoing through the concrete halls.

“He sees the car,” Reid whispered. “He’s moving. Cassian, you have ninety seconds.”

I hit the vehicle bay door and threw it open.

The space was massive, a cold cavern of concrete and steel. At the far end, a black armored sedan was idling, its headlights cutting through the gloom like the eyes of a beast. Emilio was at the rear door, his hand on the handle.

He had three men between us. He turned, his face pale under the flickering lights, and saw me.

The distance between us was too long for a shot, but too short for him to hide. I started to run. The chase was over. Now, there was only the end.

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