Chapter 61 Lockdown
It was subtle, at first—just a shiver through the floor. Then a muted boom sounded through the walls. A second later, the overhead lights flickered, dimmed, flared back to full.
The guard by the door pressed a hand to his earpiece. “Control? Report.”
Static hissed. Then a voice snapped through. “Containment breach in Wing A. Repeat, breach in A. Units converge. All handlers to lockdown positions.”
Maverick’s whole body went alert. “What’s in Wing A?”
Kwan swallowed. “Level Three assets.”
Lyra’s mark went from soft silver to sharp, bright, almost painful light.
“Okay,” she said. “So not puppies.”
“You’re staying here,” Maverick said, already moving for the door.
“Like hell,” she snapped.
He turned back. “This isn’t your fight.”
“The building I’m trapped in is shaking. Feels like my fight.”
“Lyra—”
Another tremor hit. Stronger. One of the monitors crashed to the floor, glass shattering.
The guard swore. “We need to secure—”
The lights cut out.
For one second, there was nothing but darkness and the sound of breathing.
Then emergency lights flicked on—red, low, stuttering. Every screen in the room glowed with one word:
LOCKDOWN.
Something roared in the distance. Not an engine. Not weather. Something too deep, too primal.
Lyra’s skin crawled. The mark on her arm burned silver-white.
Kwan’s face had gone pale. “That’s not possible,” he whispered.
“What is?” Lyra demanded.
He licked his lips. “They said the Level Threes were sedated. All of them.” His voice shook. “That sounded awake.”
Maverick stepped back toward the machine, fingers hovering over the panel restraining Lyra.
“Get her out of that,” he said.
Kwan fumbled with the controls. The panels around Lyra retracted with a mechanical sigh.
She stepped out unsteadily, the world still humming, emergency sirens beginning to wail in the distance.
“Maverick,” the guard at the door said, voice tight. “Orders?”
“We’re not leaving her unsecured,” he said. “Observation C isn’t rated for a breach. Get her to—”
The intercom above the door crackled, and Director Vale’s voice sliced through the room, ice-sharp.
“Unit Seven, report.”
“Wing A breach,” Maverick said. “We’re in the scan room with the asset. Requesting directive.”
“Asset remains in place,” Vale said. “You will proceed to A and assist with neutralization.”
Lyra’s head snapped toward the speaker. “Excuse me—asset can hear you.”
“Ms. Hayes,” Vale’s voice said smoothly, “we will send additional personnel to escort you back to your room. For your safety.”
“For my—? There is something roaring in your basement. I heal things. Maybe that’s relevant?”
“Your abilities are untested. We won’t risk escalation.”
“Wow,” Lyra said. “So you’ll cage me, but you won’t use me. What a bargain.”
Maverick’s jaw flexed. “Director, Observation Wing will be vulnerable if A breaches containment. She’s a Level Four resource. If you want her alive—”
“Unit Seven,” Vale interrupted, voice hardening, “this is not a negotiation. You will attend to your assigned breach. We’ll handle the girl. Or are you questioning command?”
The silence in the room thickened.
Lyra looked at him. Really looked. The muscle ticking in his jaw. The tightness in his shoulders. The way his hands curled into fists at his sides, like he was holding back flame with sheer will.
“Copy,” he said finally. The word tasted like something he’d bitten and forced down.
The intercom clicked off.
Kwan shifted, eyes darting between them. “Maverick—”
“You two stay here,” Maverick said, voice clipped. “Do not open that door unless it’s central control or me.”
“I’m sorry,” Kwan blurted at Lyra. “They’ll—”
“I’ve been in worse places,” she lied.
Maverick stepped closer to her, enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. His eyes met hers, all amber and tension.
“Stay away from the glass,” he said quietly. “If a Level Three gets loose down here, that wall is decoration.”
“What’s a Level Three?” she asked.
“Something that makes me look friendly,” he said. “Don’t glow gold. Don’t volunteer. Don’t trust anyone in a white coat.”
“Including him?” She jerked her chin toward Kwan.
“Especially him,” Maverick said.
Kwan made an affronted noise. “Hey.”
Maverick didn’t look away from Lyra. “I’ll be back.”
She wanted to say You don’t know that.
Instead, she said, “You better. I’m not getting stuck with just your charming boss for company.”
That got her the smallest real smile she’d seen from him yet. Quick, sharp, real.
“Keep the place from burning down without me,” he said.
He left.
The door locked behind him with a heavy, final clunk.
🔥🔥🔥
It only took five minutes for everything to go more wrong.
Kwan paced between the monitors, muttering to himself, tapping at the tablet. The guard stood with his back to the door, gun drawn now, eyes on the hallway camera feeds.
Lyra hovered close to the center of the room, trying to feel through the noise.
The floor vibrated in intermittent shudders. A low, far-off boom shook dust from the ceiling tiles. A harsh metal screech echoed—a door being ripped off somewhere deep in the building.
Her mark flared with each sound. Not silver now. Something hotter. Brighter.
“Hey, Doctor,” she said. “Be honest with me. Worst case scenario here?”
He snorted weakly. “Level Threes breach containment, kill a few dozen people, maybe escape into the city, world finds out about magic in the worst possible way.”
“Great,” she said. “Love the transparency.”
“Best case?” he added. “Maverick shuts it down.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
The building shook again. Harder.
The guard cursed. “They’re moving this way.”
“Who?” Lyra demanded.
He pointed at a monitor. It showed a flickering feed of a corridor two floors up—walls scorched, lights swinging from the ceiling. A figure moved through the smoke—too tall, too thin, body wreathed in shadow like it wore a living cloak. Its eyes glowed bright white. Anything it passed flickered, then crumbled into dust.
“Level Three,” Kwan said hoarsely. “Entropy-class.”
“That’s a terrible name,” Lyra said, because if she didn’t keep talking she was going to start screaming. “Who approves these labels?”
“No one I like.”
The feed cut to static.
A shrill alarm blared overhead.
CONTAINMENT FAILURE. SECTOR FIVE.
“Sector Five is two floors below us,” Kwan whispered.
“So your worst case is now our case,” Lyra said.
The guard moved to the door console. “We have to relocate her. If that thing gets down here—”
“Kwan, override,” Lyra snapped. “Take off the training wheels and just tell me: can I help, or am I just live bait that glows?”
He looked at her, really looked, and she saw the war in his expression—fear of Vale, fear of the breach, fear of his own conscience.
“You’re not bait,” he said finally. “You’re a battery.”
“Not comforting.”
He exhaled. “But you might be the only one in this wing who can keep anything from collapsing if the energy spikes again.”
“So let me out. Let me try.”
“There are protocols—”
“And there’s a literal walking apocalypse two floors down!”