Free Web NovelChapter 150: Chapter 150 - Gone
A shot cracked from the far end of the alley and the sound slammed between the brick walls, close enough to make the air vibrate.
Men in black uniforms moved into formation, rifles rising as they sealed the exit.
Whitewater.
"Fuck," Reya muttered.
Across from them, several of the Chosen in civilian clothes flattened themselves against the opposite wall, trying to shrink into brick and shadow.
The shard shifted.
"Ah—" Iyisha inhaled sharply as the glass dragged along her neck while Reya jerked her backward. Her shoulder blades scraped hard against the rough wall.
The alley was short. With both ends blocked, it felt suffocating.
Reya pinned her there, forearm tight across her chest, the shard angled just beneath her jaw.
On the opposite wall, Malcolm stood slightly in front of Marybeth, placing himself between her and the rifles without making it obvious.
"Reya!" the man at the far end called. "Come here."
Whitewater’s commander barked from behind Malcolm. "Drop the weapon and kneel, or we shoot!"
Rifles shifted.
The air thickened.
Reya’s breathing lost its rhythm. This wasn’t clean anymore. Not the way she imagined it.
Iyisha didn’t fool herself — Reya could cut her without hesitation if fear tipped the scale.
Her gaze lifted to Malcolm.
He hadn’t moved.
But something in him had sharpened. The stillness wasn’t shock. It was restraint. His eyes tracked the line of Reya’s arm, the pressure at Iyisha’s throat, the space between them.
Their eyes met.
No signal passed between them.
None was needed.
She watched his eyes go down to her arm nodding. She breath in understanding him.
Iyisha let her shoulders loosen as much as the shard allowed.
Between Whitewater at one end of the alley and the Chosen at the other, the only thing she trusted was him.
"Reya!" the man at the far end shouted. "Get your ass here!"
Reya reacted immediately.
She dragged Iyisha backward, pulling her away from the brick and toward the Chosen, keeping her body between the rifles and herself. The shard never left Iyisha’s throat. It shifted, scraping slightly as their footing slid over gravel.
Whitewater had already adjusted.
Two men dropped to one knee, rifles braced. Others remained standing, forming a staggered line. Their commander stood behind them, one arm raised, fingers flicking small, controlled signals.
The alley seemed to tighten around them, the walls pressing closer without actually moving.
Sound thinned first. The shouting blurred at the edges, like it was being pulled underwater.
Her heartbeat didn’t race.
It dropped.
Each pulse landing slow and deafening against the glass at her throat.
She saw one of the Whitewater soldiers lower to a knee.
Malcolm. Her mind screamed.
Another adjusted his grip.
The commander’s arm lifted, not dramatic, just a small movement of authority. Two fingers extended. A subtle angle shift.
Malcolm.
She wanted to look at Malcolm. Tell him to save her but her mouth wouldn’t move, her eyes are glued to them.
Sunlight caught along the rim of a rifle barrel and flashed once into her eyes.
This is where it happens, she thought.
She’s going to die.
Reya’s breath hitched against her ear. Not confidence now. Something tighter.
Iyisha felt the shard press harder, then hesitate — not because Reya softened, but because her focus split.
The commander’s hand moved.
Forward.
Iyisha closed her eyes tight.
Then the shot tore through the alley.
Reya’s grip broke.
At the same instant Iyisha was yanked sideways by Malcolm. She collided into him hard, twisting her body as they both went down.
Concrete tore at her palms.
He rolled with the fall, dragging her into the corner where brick met brick, turning his body so his back faced the open alley.
Another gunshot cracked past where her head had been seconds earlier.
"Stand down!" someone shouted.
"Hold your fire!"
The ringing in her ears drowned everything for a moment.
Malcolm’s weight pressed solid over her, one arm braced above her head against the wall, the other locking her close beneath him.
She couldn’t breathe.
"Breathe," he whispered close to her ear.
Her lungs refused.
"Breathe."
She dragged air in, sharp and uneven, as the world snapped back into sound — boots pounding, men shouting, metal scraping against concrete.
Malcolm didn’t move.
The shot tore through the alley.
For a suspended second Iyisha did not know whether it had already entered her.
If she’s alive or dead.
Her fingers dug into Malcolm’s jacket as he drove her down and turned his body over hers, shielding her from the open line of fire. Concrete scraped her cheek. The air left her lungs in a sharp burst.
This was the closest.
She had faced death before, but never like this. Never with rifles aligned and a signal given.
Her eyes stung. She hadn’t noticed the tears until they blurred her vision. She pressed her face into Malcolm’s chest and breathed him in, grounding herself in the familiar warmth of him while boots thundered past.
"Breathe," he whispered against her hair.
She forced air into her lungs.
Whitewater rushed forward, chasing the Chosen down the alley. Orders overlapped. Metal scraped. Someone shouted to secure the perimeter.
Iyisha opened her eyes.
Reya lay on the ground a few feet away.
Blood spread beneath her in a dark, steady pool.
Her eyes were open and fixed on nothing.
Iyisha choked.
Malcolm lifted her carefully, steadying her when her knees weakened. She couldn’t stop staring.
Marybeth stood frozen near the opposite wall, her face drained, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides as she looked at Reya like she could not understand what had just happened.
The alley felt hollow now.
The gunfire had moved farther down the block, fading into scattered shouts and the echo of boots turning corners.
Reya did not move.
The shard of glass lay near her fingers.
Blood continued to spread, dark against concrete.
Malcolm pulled Iyisha upright and into his arms before her legs failed completely. His hand settled at the back of her head, pressing her gently against his shoulder, steadying the tremor running through her body.
Marybeth dropped to her knees beside Reya.
"Reya..."
Her voice wavered.
She touched Reya’s hand first, lightly, like she was testing temperature. When there was no reaction, she gripped it tighter.
"Hey," she said, forcing a small breath of a laugh that didn’t land. "Come on. Get up."
Nothing.
"We need to leave," she insisted, glancing once toward the alley mouth as if danger would be enough to wake her. "Reya, this isn’t the time."
She shook her shoulder gently.
"Stop pretending. Get up."
Reya’s head rolled slightly with the motion.
Marybeth froze.
Her fingers moved to Reya’s cheek, brushing hair away from her face.
"Please," she whispered. "Please get up."
Her voice thinned.
"Reya... hey... we’re going."
The words lost strength halfway through.
Her breathing broke first.
Then the denial.
Marybeth bent forward, her forehead nearly touching Reya’s shoulder as the first sob tore out of her chest. It wasn’t loud at first. Just a sound that collapsed in on itself.
"She can’t..." she whispered, shaking her head. "She can’t..."
Iyisha buried her face into Malcolm’s shoulder, bracing for blame.
None came.
Only the sound of Marybeth finally understanding.
And the sob that followed.
