The secure line went dead. Bramen Tol stared at his commlink, the kindly smile dissolving from his face like sugar in water. Nivesa’s desperate plea for help, her absolute trust in him, echoed in the silent opulence of his private office. He scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. Trust was a weakness, a lever to be pulled.
He tapped a different sequence into the commlink, opening an encrypted relay. A moment later, a gaunt, sharp-featured operative with eyes like polished obsidian appeared on the screen. “Commander,” Bramen began, his voice flat and clinical. “The package needs to be moved. Urgently.”
The lieutenant merely inclined his head. “The boy. Our intelligence suggests a unique neurological profile.”
“More than unique. Unprecedented,” Bramen corrected, a hard glint in his eyes. “He diagnosed Roric’s rare blood defect just by looking at him. Imagine what that kind of insight could unlock for our… projects.” His fingers drummed on the polished desk. “But Morillo has him secured in the Spire. A direct assault is out of the question. Too messy. Too much attention.”
“A quieter approach, then.” The operative's voice was dry as slate. “A surgical extraction.”
“Precisely. No collateral damage. No trace. I want him in our facilities, undisturbed, within the next twelve hours. No more delays.” Bramen’s gaze hardened. “And Nivesa Corval? She serves her purpose, for now. But she cannot be allowed to interfere once the boy is secured.”
The lieutenant's mouth curved slightly. “Understood. We have assets already inside the Spire. They will initiate the second phase.” The screen went black, leaving Bramen alone with the hum of his ambition.
***
Nivesa moved through the Onyx Spire’s service corridors with the quiet grace of a phantom. The call with Bramen had provided a fragile thread of hope, but her instincts, honed by years of running, screamed that hope was a luxury she couldn't afford. She had to act. She had to ensure their escape, not just wait for it. Tavros Morillo’s protection felt less like a shield and more like an elaborate cage. She needed to know the exits, every secret passage, every weakness she herself had painstakingly designed into this gilded prison.
She reached the third sub-level, a network of utility tunnels and maintenance shafts that ran behind the main residential wing. This section was still incomplete, making it ideal for her purpose. A low-frequency hum emanated from the reinforced door ahead – the signature of the Spire’s internal security grid. Specifically, the ‘Photoweb’ – a multi-layered laser array rigged to detect micro-vibrations and dust motes. Roric, Tavros’s lead enforcer, lay recovering in the trauma ward just two floors above, yet this section remained locked down. Morillo wasn’t taking any chances.
Nivesa pulled a small, custom-built device from her utility belt. It was a frequency modulator, built to disrupt the Spire’s proprietary circuits. She pressed it against the cold metal of the doorframe. A soft click and a subtle shift in air currents confirmed the outer grid collapsed. Her plans accounted for every blind spot, every acoustic and electronic loophole. The Photoweb, state-of-the-art as it was, still operated on principles she had mapped and quietly subverted in her schematics.
She slipped through, the silence of the corridor unbroken. The inner layers of the grid were more complex, requiring precise timing and manipulation of ambient sound waves. She moved like a dancer, her body twisting, her footsteps landing precisely on pressure-dampening panels only she knew existed. The lasers, invisible to the naked eye without the right filter, parted around her, leaving her untouched. She wasn't just walking through a security grid; she was walking through her own mind, her blueprints made manifest.
“Remarkable.” The voice, raspy and low, came from behind her. Nivesa froze, her shoulder blades knotting. She spun around, soles scraping stone. Roric stood leaning against a service conduit, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, his dark gaze tracking her hands. He still looked pale from his trauma, a thick dressing showing beneath his uniform collar, yet his balance held steady. “The Photoweb is a million-credit installation. No one, not even Morillo’s best, walks through it without tripping an alarm.”
Nivesa kept her hands open at her sides. “Roric? What are you doing out of the infirmary? And… bypass what?”
He pushed off the conduit, taking a slow step toward her. “Don’t play coy, Corval. My comms feed linked to this section the moment you approached the door. I’ve been watching you. You just waltzed through the most advanced laser grid in the city. You designed this place to be a fortress, but you also designed a hundred ways out, didn’t you?”
Her mind raced, a thousand excuses forming and dying. “I… I was checking the integrity of the system. Ensuring it functioned as intended.” A weak lie, even to her own ears.
Roric merely watched her, his expression unreadable. “You’re mapping an escape route, aren’t you? Just like I’d do, if I were in your position.” He shook his head slowly. “Morillo isn’t going to like this. Not one bit.”
***
Loris was quiet. Too quiet. Nivesa had left him with Boro in one of the Spire’s recovery suites, reasoning that the presence of clinical staff would offer a semblance of safety. But the memory of Roric’s accusing gaze still prickled at her. Her every move was being watched.
She found Boro curled protectively at the foot of Loris’s cot, his massive head resting on his paws. Loris himself was absorbed in a diagnostic slate, scrolling through complex biological schematics. A male tech, uniformed in the Spire’s standard grey scrubs, moved around the room, tidying equipment. He seemed innocuous enough, his movements efficient, almost mechanical.
“Everything alright here?” Nivesa asked, her voice deliberately casual. She still felt exposed, her senses prickling.
The tech turned, offering a bland smile. “Just a routine equipment check, Ms. Corval. Loris is doing well. A remarkable child.” His eyes, however, seemed to linger on the boy, an odd intensity in their depths.
Boro shifted, a low rumble emanating from his chest. His hackles rose, the fur along his spine standing rigid. The tech, momentarily distracted by a discarded syringe on a nearby tray, bent over to retrieve it. As he straightened, his hand moved with sudden, alarming speed, grabbing Loris’s arm with a vice-like grip. A small, silent syringe appeared in his other hand, aimed at the boy’s neck.
“Come with me, little genius,” the man snarled, his voice a guttural rasp, utterly different from the polite tone he’d used moments before. “Your new family awaits.”
Nivesa screamed, lunging forward. But Boro was faster. A blur of grey and muscle, the mastiff mix launched himself across the room. His jaws clamped down on the assassin’s arm with a sickening crunch. The syringe clattered to the floor, forgotten. The man shrieked, a sound of pure agony, as Boro tore at his flesh, his powerful head shaking like a predator dispatching prey.
Bone splintered, muscle ripped. With a final, ferocious tug, Boro’s powerful jaws severed the arm clean off at the elbow. Blood sprayed across the pristine white walls. The assassin staggered back, cradling the stump of his arm, his face contorted in a rictus of pain and disbelief. He stared at the gushing wound, then at the snarling dog, then at the terrified Nivesa and the strangely calm Loris.
A macabre laugh bubbled from his throat, spluttering blood. “You’re too late,” he choked out, his eyes wild with triumph. His remaining hand fumbled at his vest, pulling a small, black device. “The show’s just beginning.”
With his dying breath, the laughing assassin triggered a localized EMP device hidden in his vest, plunging the entire mega-mansion into pitch darkness.