Chapter 66 Transfer Protocol
The alarms didn’t start right away.
First came the silence — that thick, expectant hush that feels like a held breath before something breaks.
Lyra was already awake when the lights flicked to a clinical white. She hadn’t slept. Not really. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the mark glowing under her skin and Maverick’s face the moment he’d said be ready.
The door clicked open at exactly 06:00. Two guards in matte armor waited outside.
“Ms. Hayes,” one said. “Transfer time.”
Lyra stood slowly, stretching the stiffness out of her shoulders. “Do I get breakfast first, or are we skipping straight to the dungeon part?”
Neither answered.
Figures.
She let them cuff her anyway. The bands hummed faintly — anti-anomaly tech, the kind that tingled against her bones. Her mark dimmed to a muted silver.
“Director Vale’s orders,” one guard said. “You’re to be escorted to Level Three containment for advanced observation.”
“Advanced observation,” she repeated. “You guys really should trademark your euphemisms.”
They didn’t laugh. They never did.
🔥🔥🔥
They led her through a service corridor she hadn’t seen before — narrower, older, lined with pipes that hissed like whispering snakes. Her pulse synced with the hiss: fast, erratic, alive.
Halfway down the hall, the lights flickered. The guards stiffened, exchanging looks.
Lyra’s mark stirred beneath the cuffs, a pulse against suppression. He’s close, it seemed to say.
The left-hand guard reached for his comm. “Control, we’ve got a power fluct—”
The lights died.
Darkness swallowed everything but the faint gleam of her cuffs.
“Control, respond,” the guard barked. Static answered.
A voice cut through the dark: “You might want to step away from her.”
Lyra’s heart jumped. “Maverick?”
He emerged from the black like he’d been built for it—steady, silent, dangerous. His eyes caught the dim light, molten and focused.
The guards raised their weapons. “Unit Seven, stand down—”
“Sorry,” Maverick said, “not my unit anymore.”
Then he moved.
It was fast, brutal, precise—two hits, one disarm, a crack of bone, a flash of light as a stun baton hit the floor. Both guards went down before Lyra could even swear properly.
Maverick stepped over them and swiped a keycard through her cuffs. They unlocked with a hiss and fell away.
“You said tomorrow,” she whispered.
He gave a half-smile. “It’s tomorrow.”
Her pulse did something unhelpful. “Right. Just checking.”
🔥🔥🔥
They ran.
Corridors blurred past—metal, glass, warning lights. The sirens hadn’t caught up yet, but they would. Maverick led like a man who’d memorized every route, every blind spot.
“Where?” she gasped.
“Maintenance lift. North wing. It bypasses central security.”
“Please tell me it’s not rigged to explode.”
“Depends on your definition of explode.”
She shot him a look. “You’re hilarious.”
“People keep saying that.”
🔥🔥🔥
The lift looked more like a forgotten freight shaft than an escape route—dusty, half-lit, a tangle of cables and exposed circuits.
Maverick pried the doors open with a grunt. Inside, the cage waited, dim and humming.
“After you,” he said.
“Chivalry’s not dead,” she muttered, stepping in.
The doors clanged shut. The lift jerked and began to move, descending fast.
Lyra leaned against the wall, catching her breath. “So what’s the grand plan after we make it out of the giant evil science facility?”
“Find somewhere they can’t track you.”
“They track you, too.”
“Not if I make enough noise first.”
She frowned. “That sounds suspiciously like dying.”
He looked over. “You’ve got a lot of faith in my death rate.”
“Optimism’s a coping mechanism.”
The lift groaned. Somewhere above, a klaxon wailed — finally catching on.
“Containment breach,” a voice blared over the intercom. “Units converge on North Wing. Level Three anomaly in transit.”
Lyra sighed. “Guess that’s us.”
The lift lurched violently. The lights strobed red, then went out.
“Power cut,” Maverick said. “Hold on.”
The cage screeched to a halt halfway between floors. Dust rained down. He pried the doors open a crack; emergency lights glowed faintly from the shaft wall.
He turned back to her. “Can you… do something?”
“Define something,” she said.
“Whatever you did to that monster. The whole glowing, grounding, miracle thing.”
“That wasn’t controlled,” she snapped. “It was—instinct.”
“Then trust it again.”
Her pulse thudded. “You really don’t know what you’re asking.”
He met her gaze. “I’m asking you to believe you can save both of us.”
That did it.
The mark answered, flaring bright through the dim. The lift’s metal floor shivered under her feet as her light spread, threading through the cage’s structure, into the circuits. Sparks crackled, and the emergency system rebooted.
The lift shuddered once and began to descend again, slower but steady.
Maverick grinned. “See? Easy.”
“Don’t say that yet,” she warned. “You’ll jinx it.”
The words had barely left her mouth when the comm above them exploded into static and a voice like frost said, “Unit Seven, you disappoint me.”
Vale.
Lyra’s stomach dropped. “How—”
“Cameras,” Maverick muttered. “She’s got eyes everywhere.”
Vale’s voice purred through the speakers. “Did you really think I wouldn’t plan for treachery? Bring her back, Maverick. And I may still forgive you.”
Lyra’s skin prickled. “Tell her to shove it.”
He smiled grimly at her before looking up. “You want her back, you’ll have to come get her.”
“Very well,” Vale said. The line clicked dead.
The lights flickered once, twice, then turned crimson.
Lyra swore. “What does red mean?”
“Security override,” he said. “She’s locking down the shaft.”
The lift jerked, stopped, and started rising — fast.
“Up isn’t good, right?”
“Up is definitely not good.”
The roof hatch rattled, then blew open as a drone dropped through — spherical, glowing with blue runes. It aimed a pulse cannon directly at them.
Maverick shoved Lyra aside as the blast hit the wall, molten metal spraying. The smell of ozone flooded the air.
He grabbed the drone mid-spin, twisted, and slammed it into the wall. Sparks flew. The thing shrieked electronically and exploded.
Lyra coughed through smoke. “You call that not dying?”
“Mostly intact,” he said, half-grinning.
The lift slammed to a halt at another level. Doors blew open before they could react. Armed guards waited outside.
Vale’s voice echoed again, amplified through the hall: “You could have been a hero, Maverick. Instead, you chose her.”
He looked at Lyra. “Worth it.”
“Flattering,” she said, “but maybe hold the dramatic declarations until after we’re not being shot at.”