Chapter 6 · Molten Lead Rain

"Get your ass down! Now!" Lyra's voice cracked like a whip, and she slammed her shoulder into me, pinning me against the rusted metal grating of the tunnel.

Above us, the front door of the safehouse didn't just open—it vanished in a roar of concussive force. Dust and splinters rained down on us, smelling of burnt ozone and old concrete. Then came the sound: the rhythmic, heavy stomp of Cartel heavies. Not just soldiers. These were the borg-units. Steam-powered monstrosities in plated steel, their hydraulic joints hissing with every step.

"I can't just hide while they burn the place down," I spat, trying to shove her off. My right arm was already humming, a low-frequency vibration that made my teeth ache. The forbidden reactor fused to my bone wasn't just humming—it was boiling. I could feel the heat creeping up my shoulder, turning my blood into liquid fire.

"You're a walking beacon, Darek!" Lyra snapped. She didn't let go. Her hand was clamped tight on my collar, her knuckles grazing my jaw. I could smell the metallic tang of the blood from where she'd ripped that tracker out of her own skin. Her eyes were wide, fierce, and dangerously close.