The higher they climbed, the thinner the air became—not only in breath but in patience. Cain's boots ground against steel grates slick with condensation, the whole tower groaning as though resenting their ascent. Below, the city had shrunk to a sprawl of lights stitched along the river's edge, a reminder of what still pulsed, still demanded choices.
Susan lagged for the first time, her hand pressed to her ribs where the binding had loosened. She didn't complain, but Cain noticed. He always noticed.
"Keep your pace," Roselle said sharply, though her voice carried less steel than before. "The Daelmonts didn't build this spire for us. They built it to keep themselves untouchable."
"And we're touching," Susan rasped, forcing a grin. "So let's see how much they bleed."
Hunter kept his eyes upward, expression unreadable, though Cain caught the flick of calculation behind it. He was measuring every turn, every stairwell, every corridor—whether to betray or to save, Cain couldn't yet tell.
The stairwell ended in a hatch, unmarked but humming faintly with electricity. Steve crouched, tools clicking in rapid succession as he pressed sensors to the seam. "Locked six ways. Military grade. Someone didn't want a visit."
Cain's fingers brushed the handle of his blade. "So we knock."
Steve shot him a look. "You knock, and alarms sing across every deck. Give me sixty seconds."
Time crawled. Susan leaned against the wall, Roselle paced, Hunter stood still as stone. Cain listened—not just to the faint buzz of power, but to the silence that pooled underneath it. Silence that wasn't natural. Silence that pressed.
"Thirty seconds," Steve muttered, sweat beading on his forehead. "Almost through."
The hatch clicked. Then it sighed open, revealing a corridor lined with glass walls. Behind the glass were rooms, lit sterile white. Not offices. Not council chambers. Cells.
Inside them, people sat or lay chained, their faces pale with hunger, eyes clouded with despair. The sight hit Susan hardest—she swore under her breath, biting down on fury.
Cain stepped forward, jaw set. "So this is their bargain."
Roselle's gaze hardened. "They built a spire on bones."
One of the prisoners lifted his head, voice hoarse but steady. "Are you here to free us, or to trade us again?"
The question hung in the air like smoke, heavier than any weapon.
Cain didn't answer immediately. He couldn't. The truth was sharper than the blade he carried: if they freed these people, the Daelmonts would know. If they didn't, then Hunter's kind of bargain had already won.
Susan's voice broke the silence. "We don't leave them. Not this time."
Cain closed his eyes briefly, then nodded once. "Then we burn both bargains."
The glass hummed, waiting to be broken.
---
Steve hesitated. "These walls aren't just glass. They're reinforced, alarmed, and probably linked to the spire's central feed. Break one, you don't just free a prisoner—you announce yourself to the whole tower."
Cain drew his blade, the steel catching the sterile light. "Then let them hear us."
Hunter's hand snapped out, grabbing Cain's wrist. "You'll doom us all."
Cain turned his head slowly, gaze hard as iron. "You already tried to doom us quietly." He tore free and drove the blade forward. The strike landed with a thundercrack, splitting reinforced glass into spiderwebs before it burst outward.
The alarm wailed immediately—shrill, merciless, alive. Red light flooded the corridor, painting the prisoners' faces like wounds. Chains rattled as they stirred, some staring in disbelief, others crawling forward.
Roselle surged into the nearest cell, cutting through bindings with her knife. "Get up. Get out. You're free, for now."
Susan followed, ignoring her pain as she braced a prisoner to his feet. "Move fast. Don't wait for strength—borrow ours."
Hunter stood rigid, eyes darting between freed captives and the flashing alarms. His voice dropped low. "You just turned this spire into a warzone."
Cain's blade swept another lock apart. "Good."
---
Boots thundered from above—guards responding, weapons clattering as they formed ranks. Steve cursed, pulling a compact device from his pack. He slammed it against the wall and sparks flared, frying circuits. "That'll stall their cameras, not their bullets. We need an exit route."
"Up," Cain said.
Roselle's head snapped toward him. "Through more floors of guards?"
"Through whoever waits," Cain replied. His eyes swept the freed prisoners. "Anyone who can fight—take what you can carry. Everyone else—stay behind us and don't fall."
For the first time, the silence broke—not with despair, but with the sound of men and women straightening, even in weakness. One grabbed a fallen baton, another a shard of shattered glass. They were fragile, but they had teeth again.
---
The first wave of guards stormed the corridor, rifles raised. Cain moved first, his blade a silver arc through the red haze. Gunfire exploded, but Susan and Roselle were already in motion, dragging prisoners down and returning fire with stolen weapons.
Hunter didn't shoot. He watched. Judged. Then, finally, he tore a sidearm from a fallen guard and fired once, clean through a visor.
The corridor became chaos—smoke, blood, bodies pressed against the sterile walls. Cain cut a path forward, each strike deliberate, merciless. Susan's curses kept rhythm with her gunfire, Roselle's precision cut through gaps Cain left open.
By the time the last guard fell, the corridor was unrecognizable. White walls smeared crimson. Chains scattered like brittle bones. The freed prisoners stared at their liberators with something between awe and fear.
---
Steve wiped blood from his cheek, his hands trembling. "We can't hold this pace. The spire will lock down soon."
Cain's voice was steady, cutting through the panic. "Then we don't stop." He turned toward the next stairwell, the way higher. "Every floor we take is one less secret the Daelmonts get to keep."
He glanced once at Hunter. "And no more bargains. From here on, the only currency is blood."
Hunter met his gaze, but this time said nothing.
They moved again, prisoners in tow, alarms howling above and below. The spire had noticed them now. The city would notice next. And Cain, blade dripping, welcomed the storm to come.