Chapter 8) How the Situation Will Turn Out
The hallway smelled of burnt copper and dust.
Heavy boots thudded above. Muffled voices echoed from somewhere far off. But here, tucked between metal beams and the forgotten corner of the ventilation shaft, only the tense breaths of two fugitives filled the silence.
Cael shifted uncomfortably, pressing his back against the cold wall of the narrow maintenance corridor. Sweat clung to his temple. His shirt was torn across the sleeve, blood dried in a crust from a shallow graze. Vey, crouched across from him, stared at the rusted floor, fingers twitching anxiously.
They had finally lost the men chasing them. For now.
"You think they're gone?" Cael whispered, voice hoarse.
Vey didn't answer right away. His sharp eyes flicked up toward the corner of the ceiling, as if expecting it to split open.
"Not gone. Just confused," he said. "For now."
Cael exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"This is getting out of control. We were just looking for contacts, not... this."
Vey's lips curled into a bitter smirk.
"It's no longer just about contacts. Not after what we saw in that shipment crate."
Cael's jaw tightened. He remembered the gleam of polished weapons marked with foreign insignias, equipment not meant to be on this side of the border. And the name they saw burned into the manifest: Elar Varn. Their boss.
A distant clank startled them both. Boots again, closer this time.
Cael tensed, hand instinctively reaching for the knife on his belt.
"Room. Now," Vey hissed, grabbing Cael by the arm.
They moved fast, ducking through the narrow crawlspace and emerging into an unused storage room. The smell of chemicals hung in the air, an old lab, maybe, long abandoned. Dust coated the counters, and shattered vials glinted in the weak light filtering from a cracked overhead lamp.
Cael pressed the door shut behind them, turning the rusted lock with a painful squeal. He turned, heart pounding.
They waited.
Seconds felt like minutes. The voices outside quieted, and all that remained was the hum of the old generator somewhere below the building.
Vey paced the room in tight, controlled steps.
"They're checking every floor," he said. "Eventually they'll come back around."
"We can't wait here," Cael replied, eyes scanning the shadows for exits. "We need to move. You saw the map earlier, right? You said you memorized it."
"I did," Vey said.
"Then we have a chance. If we can make it past the elevator bay, then down through the service hall, "
"It won't work," Vey interrupted. "That corridor's under surveillance. There were two cams in the corner, I saw the blinking lights."
Cael cursed under his breath, slamming a fist softly against the wall.
"Then we need a distraction."
Vey looked at him. A small grin tugged at the edge of his mouth.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Cael raised an eyebrow.
"You're thinking illusions?"
Vey nodded and stepped to the center of the room. He rolled his shoulders once, then flexed his fingers outward. A faint shimmer distorted the air in front of him, like heatwaves rippling in midair. Slowly, from the haze, a perfect copy of Vey emerged, same height, same dark coat, same calculating eyes.
The clone blinked, then turned to the door and cracked its knuckles.
Cael whistled low.
"Still creepy watching that."
Vey gave a dry laugh. "You get used to it. He won't last long, but long enough to draw them away."
He closed his eyes briefly, fingers twitching to manipulate the image. Through their shared link, the clone understood. It dashed out the door without hesitation, boots hitting the floor with practiced rhythm.
Seconds later, shouts. The sharp bark of orders. Running footsteps, retreating fast.
Vey turned to Cael.
"Now."
They slipped from the room and sprinted down the corridor in the opposite direction. The building creaked around them, an old warehouse converted into a semi-legal import hub. Each hallway looked the same, lined with dented steel walls and broken lighting. But Cael knew where they were headed.
"I know where he is," Cael muttered as they ran. "Elar Varn. He's not in the main office like before. He moved into the South Wing, the one with reinforced doors."
Vey glanced at him sideways, surprised.
"How do you know that?"
"I overheard one of the guards earlier. When they passed by the staircase. He said Varn doesn't trust anyone anymore. Said he sleeps with the door locked and a gun under his pillow."
Vey grunted.
"Paranoid bastard."
They turned a corner. Cael skidded to a stop, pulling Vey back.
A laser sensor. Faint red lines crisscrossed the hallway.
"Trap," Cael muttered.
Vey's eyes narrowed.
"I've got it."
He stepped forward and extended his hand. With a flick of his fingers, a soft wave of illusion blanketed the lasers, tricking the motion sensors into thinking nothing passed. They crossed the hallway slowly, carefully, hearts pounding.
Each step echoed too loudly.
Finally, they reached the South Wing. The reinforced door loomed before them, sleek, black, and out of place in the rundown building.
Vey pressed his ear against it.
"Silence."
Cael crouched near the console beside the door.
"Can you disable the lock?" Vey asked.
"I'll try."
Cael tapped the keypad, pulling a small tool from his pocket. His fingers moved quickly, familiar with outdated systems. Wires sparked once, then again, then the console gave a soft click.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the air was colder. Darker.
Varn's private chamber was filled with monitors, maps, and filing cabinets stacked to the ceiling. A smell of cologne lingered faintly in the air. The lights were dim, but enough to see,
"No one here," Vey whispered.
Cael stepped forward, checking the desk.
"Files are gone. Even the chair's cold. He left."
Vey walked to the monitors. The feed was still live, various angles of the building flickered. One screen showed the clone being shot by guards in the upper hallway. Another showed an empty loading dock.
Then…
"There," Vey said, pointing.
Cael squinted. A tall man with a scar down his cheek, moving through a side exit. Surrounded by two bodyguards.
"Bastard's running."
"He knows," Cael muttered. "He knew someone was after him."
Vey's fists clenched.
"He's hiding something. We came this far, we're not letting him vanish."
Cael looked at the screen again. Then at the blueprints hanging on the far wall.
"There's a shortcut," he said. "Through the ventilation shaft behind this office. Leads directly to the exit stairwell."
Vey stared at him, eyes wide.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Vey smiled, tired, determined.
"Then let's finish this."
---
They turned, heading toward the back wall.
Cael swept aside a dusty shelf, revealing a narrow ventilation grate. With a quick jerk of his tool, he popped the cover off and crawled in first, the metal groaning under their weight.
The shaft was tight, barely enough space to move on hands and knees, but it sloped downward. The air inside tasted like rust and oil. Their breath came in quiet huffs, trying not to echo through the metal tunnel. Dim emergency lights flickered occasionally through slits in the vents, casting long, crawling shadows.
"Almost there," Cael muttered over his shoulder.
Behind them, Vey grunted softly. "Let's hope he hasn't already slipped away."
They reached a junction, and Cael tapped twice on the grate to test its give. The bolts popped loose easily. Below them was a concrete landing with a rusted stairwell door. Beyond it, freedom. Or a trap.
Cael dropped down first, landing in a crouch. He looked both ways. The corridor was empty except for the distant sound of boots slamming against stairs, fast and urgent.
Vey landed beside him.
"Left," Cael said. "That's the side exit. He'll be…"
"Already there," Vey finished grimly.
They sprinted.
Their boots pounded the floor in sync, shadows flashing past as they raced down the dim hallway. Around the final corner, the exit loomed open, daylight spilling in from the city outside, grey and overcast.
And just beyond the threshold, Varn and his two guards.
Varn turned mid-step, coat flaring. His scarred face twisted in surprise, then fury.
"Stop them!" he barked.
The guards stepped forward immediately, drawing shock batons. Heavyset, armored in thick padding and glass visors.
Cael didn't hesitate, he slid forward low, slamming into the knees of the first guard. The man stumbled, off-balance, and Vey struck high, his elbow cracking hard against the man's helmet. The first guard crumpled.
The second guard surged forward, baton crackling blue.
Vey ducked the first swing, narrowly avoiding the electric jolt. He twisted and drove his fist into the man's ribs, but the blow barely registered. The guard grabbed Vey by the collar and slammed him into the wall.
Cael swore and rolled to his feet. He pulled the knife from his belt and slashed toward the guard's exposed side, not deep, but enough to draw a grunt and loosen his grip. Vey dropped to the ground, coughed once, then delivered a clean sweep kick that sent the guard sprawling.
They stood over the groaning man, panting.
"Where is he, " Cael started,
Too late.
Varn had already turned the corner.
"Dammit!" Cael shouted.
They gave chase again, tearing through the side alley.
Varn wasn't fast, but he was smart. He ducked into a narrow maintenance passage and began scrambling up a rusted fire escape that clung precariously to the warehouse's outer wall.
The sky above had turned a pale gray, wind howling between the concrete towers surrounding the district. Smoke curled from distant chimneys. Somewhere far below, a siren wailed.
"Go around!" Vey shouted. "I'll follow up the stairs!"
Cael nodded and broke left, disappearing around the building's side. Vey lunged for the ladder, climbing fast.
Varn reached the rooftop first. He spun and aimed a compact pistol down the ladder.
Vey flinched back just as a shot rang out, metal sparked beside his hand. He ducked flat against the side of the wall, breathing hard.
Above, Varn's voice echoed.
"You're not getting anything from me! Not now. Not ever!"
Another shot pinged harmlessly off the scaffolding.
But Vey wasn't climbing anymore. His fingers danced again, weaving a shimmer into the air. Beside him, a ghostly projection rose, another Vey. It climbed, fearlessly, straight up the ladder.
Varn fired again. The bullet went clean through the illusion.
"What, ?" he muttered.
Too late.
The real Vey had already pulled himself over the ledge from the side, flipping over the rooftop rail.
Varn turned, eyes widening. He tried to raise the gun again, but Vey was faster.
His palm slammed into Varn's wrist, twisting hard until the weapon dropped. It skittered across the gravel-strewn rooftop.
They struggled, Varn surprisingly strong for a man his age. He landed a sharp elbow into Vey's ribs, then shoved him back against an old vent fan.
Cael appeared from the opposite end of the roof, out of breath, eyes blazing.
"Move!" he yelled.
He charged, shoulder lowered.
Vey stepped aside at the last second, and Cael slammed into Varn full force, knocking the man off his feet. The impact sent all three of them sprawling across the rooftop.
Cael rolled first and pinned Varn down with a knee to the chest.
The man fought, his eyes wild, teeth bared. "You don't know what you're doing, !"
"No," Cael snapped. "But you do."
He raised the hilt of his knife and brought it down, not to kill, but to knock the man unconscious.
The blunt impact echoed across the rooftop.
Varn's body went slack.
Silence returned, broken only by the wind.
Vey stood, dusting himself off. He exhaled sharply and looked down at the unconscious man.
"Got him."
Cael nodded, chest rising and falling.
"Let's get the hell out of here."
---
Later That Evening , Cael's Apartment
The door slammed shut behind them.
Cael and Vey dragged the limp form of Elar Varn into the small living room, sweat streaking their faces. They dropped him onto a battered couch.
Cael moved quickly, wrapping thick cords around the man's wrists and ankles. Duct tape around the legs for good measure. Then he stepped back, wiping his brow.
The apartment was dim, shutters closed, lights low. Outside, the sun had long dipped behind the skyline. Rain ticked faintly against the windows.
Vey stood by the sink, pouring cold water into a chipped glass. He walked over and splashed it against Varn's face.
The man stirred with a sharp inhale, coughing. His eyes fluttered open, then narrowed as he realized his situation.
"Untie me," he growled.
Cael raised an eyebrow. "You're in no position to make demands."
Varn's eyes scanned the room, taking in the surroundings, the tools on the table, the broken lamp, the concrete walls.
"This your place?" he muttered to Cael.
"Yeah," Cael replied. "And I don't like uninvited guests."
Varn leaned back against the cushions, breathing heavily.
"You made a mistake."
Vey stepped forward.
"No, you did. Back at the warehouse. We saw the shipment."
Cael nodded. "Foreign weapons. Smuggling codes from the Red Line. And your name was on the manifest."
Varn didn't flinch. But his jaw tightened.
"You think you understand what that means?" he asked coldly.
Vey crossed his arms. "You tell us."
A long silence passed.
The older man sighed and looked down.
"I warned them this would happen. You meddling brats digging where you shouldn't. You don't realize who you've angered."
Cael leaned in.
"Try us."
Varn looked up, the lines of his face suddenly deeper in the low light.
"This isn't about smuggling anymore. Not about black-market deals or bribes. What I'm part of... it's older than you think. It's survival."
Vey frowned.
"Whose?"
Varn stared at him.
"Everyone's."
Cael and Vey exchanged a glance.
Varn smirked, bitter and tired.
"You think Elar Varn is the top of the chain? I'm a middleman. Disposable. They'll erase me like a chalk mark if I talk."
"Then talk fast," Cael said quietly.
Vey stepped forward again, voice low.
"Tell us who runs it. Names. Locations. Why the shipments are marked for Arven Sector."
Varn's eyes flickered.
"That's classified for a reason."
Cael crouched closer.
"Then give us a reason not to hand you over to the Internal Circle."
Varn let out a dry laugh. "They're in on it."
Silence.
Cael froze.
"What did you say?"
Varn nodded, smile fading. "You heard me. You think corruption ends at the warehouse? The Circle's been using smugglers to move weapons through the fractured zones for months. To prepare."
"Prepare for what?" Vey said sharply.
Varn met his eyes.
"War."