Chapter 81

Chapter 81
A few yards away, a large slab of concrete had partially collapsed, creating a small pocket of space beneath it. And there—half-buried beneath the wreckage—was Seamus.
His chest rose and fell, slow but steady, dust and blood streaked across his face. One arm was pinned beneath a section of twisted metal, his body limp against the rubble.
Mika didn’t think. She just moved.
She stumbled toward him, slipping on loose debris, her side screaming from the deep wound that had yet to stop bleeding. But she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. She dropped to her knees beside him, hands shaking as she reached for his face.
“Seamus.” Her fingers brushed against his jaw, smearing the soot away. “Seamus, wake up.”
A beat. Another.
Then a rough, pained inhale. His eyelids fluttered open, the blue of his eyes dulled by exhaustion, by pain—but he was alive.
Mika let out a breath that was part sob, part relief. “Come on,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his for just a second before forcing herself to focus. “We have to move. We can’t be here when they come looking.”
Seamus let out a low, humorless chuckle, wincing as he shifted. “Give me a minute, sweetheart. Just took a damn building down on top of me.”
Mika swallowed, her throat tight, but there was no time for emotion. They had minutes at best before the Syndicate sent someone to confirm the wreckage.
She gritted her teeth and wrapped her hands around the metal pinning him down. She braced her body against the ground, ignoring the fire licking at her muscles as she heaved, pulling with everything she had. The twisted steel groaned in protest, unmoving at first, but then—it gave.
Seamus exhaled sharply as she yanked his arm free. His entire body tensed from the pain, but he didn’t make a sound. Just clenched his jaw as he sat up, flexing his fingers with a grimace.
“On your feet,” Mika ordered, already hooking an arm under his shoulder to help him stand.
Seamus let out a sharp breath but obeyed, rising slowly, unsteadily. He leaned against her, just for a second, before straightening with effort. His eyes flicked to the fire behind them, to the bodies buried beneath, to the bunker reduced to nothing but ruins.
To the life they had just erased.
“We did it,” Mika murmured, watching the flames consume everything they once were.
Seamus’ fingers brushed against hers, his grip tightening briefly. “Yeah.” His voice was low, steady. Final. “We did.”
Mika swallowed hard, then turned, leading them away from the wreckage, from the past, from the ghosts they had left behind.
Because as far as the world was concerned, Seamus and Mika were dead.
The night was thick with smoke, the distant glow of the still-burning wreckage casting long shadows across the ruined landscape. Mika and Seamus crouched in the dense tree line, hidden beneath layers of dirt, blood, and soot. The pain in their bodies was a dull throb, secondary to the tension that gripped them both as they watched the Syndicate arrive.
They had expected them. This was part of the plan. But seeing them now—seeing the precision, the efficiency in how they moved—it was something else entirely. These were not men scrambling for answers. These were vultures picking at a carcass, confirming that their kill was real.
Vehicles lined the dirt road leading to the ruins of the bunker, sleek black SUVs and unmarked trucks spilling out men dressed in dark tactical gear. Armed, methodical. Ghosts in the night.
The Syndicate never left loose ends.
Seamus shifted slightly beside Mika, his breath slow and controlled, but she could feel the tightness in his muscles, the restraint it took for him to stay still. His eyes never left the scene below, tracking every movement, every shadow.
A figure stepped forward from the gathered men—Kiernan.
He moved with an ease that made Mika’s skin crawl, his confidence radiating in the way he walked through the rubble like he owned it. His clothes were covered in soot, his face streaked with blood, but he looked completely unfazed, almost amused.
He bent down, picking up a charred piece of fabric, rolling it between his fingers. A smirk ghosted across his lips. "A little messy, but I suppose it’ll do."
Mika’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palm. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. Because if she did, she might not be able to stop herself.
Seamus must have sensed it. His fingers found hers in the dirt, just a brush, just enough to keep her grounded. Just enough to remind her that they had already won.
One of the men called out, drawing Kiernan’s attention. Mika’s stomach twisted as she watched two operatives pry a mangled, burned corpse from the debris. The bodies they had staged.
Kiernan took slow steps toward the first one, crouching beside it. He examined it with a detached curiosity, his fingers tapping absently against his thigh as another man came forward with a tablet. A second later, the glow of an infrared scanner passed over the body, a low beep echoing through the night.
Kiernan glanced at the screen.
A slow smile spread across his face. "Seamus Fitzpatrick. Dead."
Mika could feel Seamus tense next to her, his jaw clenched so tight she thought he might crack a tooth. She pressed her knee against his, a silent reminder that this had to play out exactly as planned.
A second scan. The same beep.
"Mika—whatever-the-fuck her last name was—" Kiernan drawled, standing. "Also dead. What a shame."
The men around him chuckled, their laughter a hollow, empty sound in the ruins of what was once a battleground.
Seamus exhaled slowly, a controlled release of breath through his nose. Mika barely moved, forcing her heartbeat to slow, her grip to loosen. It had worked. The Syndicate believed it. Kiernan believed it.
Still, he lingered.