CHAPTER THREE

My consciousness collapsed the moment the radio static fell silent, like a branch severed by a blade. There were no dreams, no trace of time slipping by, only the raw ache radiating through my ribs. My ribs seemed to awaken before my mind did. It felt as though an immense weight had settled onto my chest, and I struggled desperately to draw air into my lungs. All that escaped my throat was a dry, ragged rasp. The spot on the right side of my neck where the injector had pierced my skin was still burning. The deafening fire alarm was gone. In its place came the roar of an engine. The deep growl of a massive engine running without pause filled the space around me. Whatever I was lying or sitting on shook violently, its relentless vibrations jolting my entire body. My right hand shot up on instinct, reaching for the man's throat. Hours upon hours of training. Every close-quarters combat stance I'd memorized until it became second nature... None of it had been enough. He was operating on an entirely different level, one far darker than mine. My chances of defeating him had been slim from the very beginning. My muscles obeyed only half-heartedly; all I could feel was a faint tingling at my fingertips. Forcing myself to move, I dragged my fingers across the floor until they met thick, rough, ice-cold metal, while my cheek scraped against the ridged steel beneath me. The pressure against my jaw finally forced my eyelids apart. I opened my eyes to the inside of an iron cage in the back of a vehicle, surrounded by the relentless drone of its engine. The first thing I could make out was the filthy red glow of a dim overhead light. I blinked repeatedly, trying to distinguish the shadows drowning in that crimson haze. Directly in front of my face, thick iron bars stretching upward slowly came into focus. The sharp smell of diesel and burnt oil filling my nose helped the last missing piece fall into place. The rhythmic pounding of the tracks beneath me. The low growl of the engine. I was inside the narrow, caged rear compartment of an armored vehicle, separated from the personnel. They had tossed me in here like cargo. My riding gear offered little protection against the raw cold of the metal beneath me. My flawless discipline had begun to crumble before that lawless, shadowed experience. My focus shifted as a burst of robotic static cut through the roar of the engine from outside the cage. Someone pressed the radio transmitter. "Shadow Moon Company - Börü 1A. Entering the final quarter before reaching the field entry checkpoint." ✵ The APC's tracks had been grinding over the uneven terrain for hours. Entering the final quarter was supposed to mean we'd arrive within a couple of hours, wasn't it? I'd been hauled around for hours already, yet the journey still wasn't over. It had been well over an hour since they'd announced they were in the final quarter. Either something was seriously wrong here, or the person on the radio had lied. There was no logical way a "final quarter" could last more than an hour. There had to be a camera in here somewhere... but where? Armored vehicles were usually fitted with small, armored night-vision cameras so the crew could monitor the cargo compartment or anyone being transported inside it. They were typically housed in rugged green or black military casings with impact-resistant displays. The monitor was usually mounted in the front of the vehicle, either to the driver's right or on the command console where the vehicle commander sat. I let my eyes wander around the compartment as though I were simply looking around. If I lingered on any one spot for even a second too long, I could give myself away. The places they hid them were usually the same. To maximize the field of view and keep whoever was inside from reaching the camera, they were typically mounted high in the rear corners or tucked into blind spots. Another common location was just above the inside of the rear access door. That way, the moment the…