Chapter 55

Chapter 55
Adriana’s POV

The gas hits first.
Sharp. Metallic. A burn that crawls up the back of my throat and settles like fire in my lungs.

Damian was always theatrical, the man couldn’t breathe without designing a performance around it. Even his cruelty had a rhythm, a script, a flourish. But for all his dramatics, for all his calculations, he always underestimated one thing.

Me.

Raymond coughs hard beside me, a deep, scraping sound, but his eyes those stubborn, steady eyes — find mine through the haze.

Now.

I give the slightest nod, and we launch into the second half of the plan we’d whispered through duct vents and hand signals.

Raymond grabs my shirt and slams me against the wall so hard the impact rattles the cameras and sends a jolt up my spine. He doesn’t fake strength, he uses all of it. His arm trembles with effort, but his expression sells the scene perfectly.

I twist, kneeing him in the ribs. He gasps, real pain and the surveillance system catches every second of it. Damian will replay this later, like he rewatches his own victories.

Good. Let him.

The gas thickens. The cameras tilt. The vents hum louder.

He’s watching.
He’s savoring it.
He thinks this is our breaking point.

Raymond drives his shoulder into me, pinning me just enough to give me cover from the lens in the upper corner. I slide my hand down my sleeve and retrieve the thin piece of metal I’d carved from the bedframe days ago.

I slip it into the loosened vent seam, feel the weak point Damian’s technicians missed.
Twist.
Hard.

The panel snaps free with a metallic scream.

Instantly, the alarms erupt  shrill, panicked, discordant.

Damian’s voice bursts through the intercom, sharp and irritated for the first time in days:

“Enough.”

But it’s too late.

I shove the metal panel into the nearest sensor node. A shower of sparks explodes across the floor, sizzling against my boots.

Raymond steps back, then swings his foot in a brutal arc.

BOOM.

The wall buckles. Concrete cracks like brittle bone. The sound rattles my teeth, and the shockwave slams into us, knocking me into Raymond’s chest.

Smoke swallows the cell.
The cameras die.
The lights flicker out.

And for the first time in days maybe weeks, I taste freedom.

Gunfire erupts from the west perimeter. Another explosion booms through the hallway. Then a third, louder, deeper, Mateo’s signature breaching charge.

A familiar voice crackles through a comm panel Damian still thinks is unbreached:

“We’re in. Two minutes until full breach.”

Camille.

Relief punches through my chest hard enough to hurt.

Raymond exhales shakily. “About damn time.”

We sprint into the hallway, navigating through thick smoke and half-functional red emergency strobes that paint the world in violent flashes. Shadows dance like they’re alive. Soldiers flood the corridors, shouting orders over the blaring alarms.

“Left!” I hiss.

Raymond doesn’t hesitate. Even half-choking on gas, he reacts instantly. Two guards appear, he fires before they even raise their weapons. One drops. The other stumbles back. I finish him with a blow to the throat, cartilage collapsing under my palm with a sickening crunch.

We move, faster than logic should allow, cutting deeper into the compound.

The place changed since I was last here…different layouts, different tech but the man behind it hasn’t changed at all. Damian builds mazes, not fortresses. He wants intruders to get lost, not blocked.

But he forgets something crucial:

I grew up learning his patterns.
I know how he thinks.
I know how he hides things.

“Adriana,” Raymond murmurs as we duck behind a steel support pillar to reload. “You really want to head toward the central wing?”

“I want what he stole,” I answer, voice low, sharp. “And he keeps everything important close.”

He doesn’t argue.
He trusts me even now, bleeding, barely able to stand.

We push forward.

The central command room is a warzone. Half-lit, half-burning. Screens flicker with scrambled footage. Wires hang from the ceiling like torn veins.

And in the center of the chaos stands Damian.

Calm.
Collected.
Unmoving.

His suit is immaculate despite the smoke. His expression unreadable. His guards lie around him unconscious, not dead. He incapacitated them himself, surgically removing obstacles long before we arrived.

Typical Damian control disguised as mercy.

His eyes lift to mine. Slowly. Deliberately.
As if he’d been waiting.

“Adriana.”
My name slips from his tongue like a sigh, not a greeting.

I raise the stolen rifle. “Step aside.”

Raymond comes up behind me. He’s pale, swaying slightly, but his aim is steady.

Damian’s gaze flicks to him. His lips curl, possessive, almost amused.

“You really came for her,” he murmurs. “Even knowing you’d lose.”

“Try me,” Raymond growls, coughing between syllables.

Damian chuckles softly. “Relax. I’m not here to kill you, Raymond.”
His eyes return to me pinning me, piercing me.
Warm in ways that make my spine lock.
“I’m here to remind her what she left behind.”

I fire.

The bullet tears through the air fast, lethal but Damian moves even faster. He slips behind a steel column with inhuman reflex, and the round shatters the command table in half.

Raymond shifts, trying to flank him.

But Damian steps out again, hands lifted slightly.

Not surrender.

Invitation.

“Go,” he says simply.

I freeze, stunned by the strange softness in his voice.

He meets my glare, unflinching.

“Run, Adriana,” he whispers.
“So I can hunt you again.”

A shiver races down my spine. Not fear. Not entirely.
Memory. Anger. Something darker.

I fire again one clean shot meant for his leg, but he vanishes behind the pillar, and when I sprint forward, he’s already gone.

Coward.
Or predator.
Sometimes I couldn’t tell the difference.

Raymond grips my arm. “We have to go. Now.”

He’s right.
Because Camille and Mateo burst through the western doors a moment later, shouting our names, weapons raised.

We move.

We flee through the wrecked corridor, stepping over fallen soldiers and burning fragments of security drones. Smoke trails behind us like shadows trying to cling to our skin.

The outer doors blast open, flooding us with cold night air. The world outside smells like freedom sharp, clean, alive.

Mateo loads Raymond into the escape truck while Camille checks my injuries with clipped efficiency.

“We need to move!” she snaps.

But before I climb into the vehicle, my datapad beeps.

A new encrypted file.
Sent seconds ago.

From him.

Damian.

The title blinks on the screen:

PROJECT ORIGIN — CONFIDENTIAL
NOVA CELL TERMINATION PROTOCOL

My breath stops.

I open it.

And freeze.

He didn’t just let me escape.

He sent me home with a warning.
A threat.
A weapon.

Damian still holds the data that can destroy my entire faction and he wants me to know it