Chapter Eight: Betrayer's Blood
"Some betrayals are clean. Others cut open the very soul."
The tunnels beneath the rebel safehouse were wet with condensation, dimly lit, and too quiet.
Kael leaned against the rusted wall, blood still caked beneath his fingernails. He hadn't slept in two days — not since the ambush. The rebel hideout had barely survived the last Authority sweep. They lost six. Maybe more.
He ran a trembling hand through his hair and stared at the dull flickering light overhead. His thoughts were razor-edged and loud.
Footsteps echoed — precise, deliberate. Not rebel boots.
Kael stood instantly, hand reaching for his knife. Before he could draw it, a figure stepped from the shadows.
Lieutenant Corven.
Authority elite. Tall, composed, face like a blade. The man who trained Kael. The man who broke him.
"Still good at hiding in the dark, Kael," Corven said smoothly. "But you never could run forever."
Kael's hand hovered at his belt.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I go where the Authority tells me. And this time, they're giving you an out." Corven held up a silver data chip. "Betray your new little friends. Feed us intel. Walk free. That simple."
Kael laughed bitterly. "You think I'm still your dog?"
Corven stepped closer, calm and composed.
"We made you. We bled for you. We shaped the fire in your veins."
"You used me," Kael growled. "Used my powers. Killed my team. And now you want to recruit me again?"
"We're offering you freedom. You've got a chip in your chest, Kael. A tracker. We can turn it off. The rebels don't even know it's there. You'll lead them straight into an ambush without even trying."
Kael's stomach turned. His skin felt like it was crawling from the inside. The chip — he remembered something. Scans, an injection in his side. He thought it was gone.
He clenched his jaw. "I'm not yours."
A second pair of footsteps rang out — lighter, faster.
Lira.
She emerged, her dark hair tied back, eyes blazing. "He's not alone, Corven."
Kael flinched. Lira had been following him? How much had she heard?
"You knew?" he asked, voice low, sharp.
"I suspected. I've seen Authority trackers before. But I didn't say anything." Her eyes were soft now. "Because I knew you didn't know either."
Corven smirked. "Touching."
"Shut up," Lira snapped, stepping between them. "Kael's not your puppet anymore."
Corven pulled out a small remote — the tracker's kill switch.
"You sure? One push, and his heart might stop. Or worse, we track this place, torch it in seconds."
Kael stared at the remote.
His body shook. Not with fear, but with rage. His past kept hunting him like a damn wolf. And now it wanted him to betray the only people who had started treating him like more than a weapon.
He backed away. "I don't want to do this."
"Then don't," Lira whispered. "You have a choice."
Corven's voice turned cold. "You think these rebels love you? They don't trust you. They never will. The moment they find out what you did… what you are…"
Kael's breathing was erratic. His fingers twitched.
"I know what I am!" he shouted. "But I'm trying to change that. I'm not the boy you broke in that cell. I'm not your weapon anymore."
Lira turned to him, slowly, gently.
"Then choose now."
Kael looked at her. Really looked. The strength in her stance. The risk she was taking.
He stepped forward.
"Give me the remote."
Corven tilted his head. "You're serious?"
Kael's eyes burned. "Give. It. To me."
Corven smirked.
"Then it's your funeral."
He dropped the remote at Kael's feet and vanished into the dark like a wraith.
Kael picked up the device and crushed it in his hand, sparks flying. The pain was instant — searing heat through his palm — but he didn't flinch.
Lira stepped close, face just inches from his. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yes," Kael said hoarsely. "I did."
He reached up, cupping the back of her neck, pressing his forehead to hers. The tension, the terror — it all melted for a moment.
"If I run," he whispered, "don't chase me."
Lira's eyes were glassy. She shook her head.
"I won't. I'll walk beside you."
They stood like that — in silence, in shadows, in the heat of fear — before walking back toward the base.
Together.