Chapter 31 Chapter 31

Chapter 31 Chapter 31
The painkillers were a double-edged sword. They numbed the jagged fire in my knee, but they turned the world into a series of disjointed, watercolor images. I was drifting in that half-light between sleep and consciousness when the door to my room didn't just open—it hit the wall with a violence that vibrated through my bed frame.
I gasped, my eyes snapping open. I expected Nikolai. I expected the police.
Instead, I saw Reid.
He looked like he’d crawled through a war zone. His jacket was torn, his knuckles were a mess of raw skin and dried blood, and his face was smeared with a dark grease that made his blue eyes look unnaturally bright. Behind him stood Quinn, looking just as haggard, holding a heavy tire iron like a scepter.
"Iris," Reid breathed, rushing to my side. He didn't wait for me to speak. He began unhooking the monitors, his movements frantic but precise. "We’re going. Right now."
"Reid, what happened? The server—"
"It’s done," he said, leaning down to press a hard, desperate kiss to my forehead. "It’s all over the news. Volkov’s name is being dragged through the dirt as we speak. But we have to move. Security is right behind us."
"She can’t walk, Reid," Quinn said, his eyes darting toward the hallway. "The brace is locked."
"I’m not asking her to walk," Reid growled. He leaned down, slid one arm under my shoulders and the other under my good leg, and hoisted me into his arms.
The movement sent a sickening lurch through my stomach, the world spinning as my head fell against his chest. I could hear his heart—it was a frantic, thundering drum, the sound of a man who was running on pure adrenaline and terror.
"Hold onto me, Iris," he whispered.
We made it to the hallway before the elevator chimed.
I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting a hail of gunfire. But as the doors slid open, it wasn't a tactical team that stepped out.
It was Nikolai Volkov.
He was alone. He wasn't wearing his coat anymore, and his silk shirt was wrinkled, his composure finally beginning to fray at the edges. He looked at Reid, then at me, and then at the black hard drive Quinn was clutching.
"You think you’ve won," Nikolai said. His voice was no longer a frozen pond; it was a hissing, caustic acid. "You’ve destroyed a decade of research. You’ve ruined the careers of every skater in that facility."
"I didn't ruin them, Nikolai," Reid said, his voice echoing in the sterile corridor. He didn't stop walking. He marched right toward the man, forcing Nikolai to either step aside or be trampled. "I freed them. There’s a difference."
"The Swiss authorities will have you at the border," Nikolai sneered, though he stepped back as Quinn raised the crowbar. "You committed grand larceny and assault. You are a common criminal, Carter."
Reid stopped inches from Nikolai’s face. Despite the weight of me in his arms, he didn't waver. "Call them. Please. I’d love to show the police the haptic logs while we wait for our lawyers. I’d love to explain why you were shocking a nineteen-year-old girl to hide a bone fracture. Go ahead, Nikolai. Make the call."
Nikolai’s jaw worked, his eyes darting to the hard drive in Quinn’s hand. He knew. He knew that if he pushed, the evidence would become a formal deposition. Right now, it was just a media scandal; a legal trial would be his execution.
"Get out of my sight," Nikolai hissed, his face twisting with a hatred so pure it felt like a physical heat. "You are a waste of talent. Both of you."
"And you," I said, my voice quiet but cutting through the tension, "are just a man in a granite cage. Enjoy the silence, Nikolai."
Reid didn't wait for a rebuttal. He pushed past him, Quinn shielding our rear as we headed for the service exit.
The night air hit us like a bucket of ice water. The SUV was idling at the curb, its back window shattered and the side panels dented. Quinn threw the doors open, and Reid gently—so gently—laid me across the back seat, cushioning my head with his own jacket.
"To the airport?" Quinn asked, jumping into the driver’s seat.
"To the airport," Reid confirmed. He climbed in beside me, pulling my hand into his lap and holding it so tight I could feel the tremor in his fingers.
As we roared down the mountain road, leaving the lights of the Institute behind, I looked out the shattered window at the Swiss stars. I was broken. My career was a question mark. We were fleeing a country with the weight of a dozen scandals on our backs.
But as Reid leaned down and pressed his lips to my palm, I didn't feel like a victim. I felt like the woman who had watched the fire consume her cage.
"We're going home, Iris," Reid whispered.
"Yeah," I breathed, the painkillers finally winning the battle for my consciousness. "Home."