The war room lights were dim, the only glow coming from the screens on the far wall. Morgana stood beside Callen, eyes locked on the offline monitors displaying Black Net. The trap she had built was finally working.
The pings appeared like falling stars—each one a silent alarm showing who had taken the bait. At first, they appeared in ordinary areas: analysts' workstations, secondary terminals. But then a new signal flared, bright and urgent.
"Level Four," Callen said. "That's near the armory."
Morgana's hand tightened on the edge of the table. "He's going for weapons. This ends now."
---
The Hunt
She left the room at a run, her boots silent against the metal floor. She took the maintenance tunnels, the ones only ghosts knew. The signals pulsed on the small tablet in her hand, each one leading her closer to her target.
The corridors narrowed, colder and darker the deeper she went. Somewhere above, alarms began to sound, slow at first and then building as security realized someone was accessing restricted systems.
She didn't wait for backup.
---
The Encounter
The final door slid open with a hiss, revealing a wide steel corridor leading straight to the armory. At the far end, a single figure stood, calm and unhurried, typing into a wall console.
"Step away," Morgana said.
The man froze, then turned slowly. Elias Kane's unremarkable face smiled faintly at her.
"You," she whispered.
He tilted his head. "It took you long enough, Morgana."
And in that moment, she knew. The way he said her name, the cadence, the chill crawling up her spine. Emil.
---
Masks Off
"I wondered if you'd recognize me in time," he said, peeling the false badge from his chest and dropping it to the floor. "This place hasn't changed. Same walls. Same arrogance."
"Marcus," she said, her voice low. "You killed him. Just to hurt me."
He smiled, but it was empty. "You think this is about you? I'm burning the House to the ground. You just happen to be standing in it."
Her gun was already raised. "You're not leaving this floor."
---
Close-Quarters Combat
The moment stretched—and then shattered. Emil moved first, a blur of speed. The first shot went wide as he slammed into her, sending the gun skittering across the floor. They crashed into the wall, striking at each other in a frenzy.
Morgana's knee drove into his ribs. He grunted but caught her wrist, twisting. She broke free, spinning to slam an elbow into his jaw.
"You've gotten better," he said between breaths, blood on his lip.
"I had to," she hissed.
He tried to get to the console again. She dragged him back, and the fight spilled into the corridor, all fists, elbows, and fury. There was nothing clean about it—only rage and history.
---
The Trap Within the Trap
Finally, she drove him to the floor, her knee pinning his chest. She reached for her fallen gun—but he smiled.
"You're too late."
Her eyes darted to the console. A timer blinked down from 90 seconds.
"What did you do?" she shouted.
"Set the board," he whispered.
She grabbed him by the collar. "You'll die with me if you've armed the armory."
"That was always the plan," he said, shoving her hard enough to break her grip. He rolled backward, scooping up a small smoke grenade from his pocket.
The grenade burst, filling the corridor with thick gray fog.
---
Decision
Coughing, half-blind, Morgana crawled to the console. Through the haze she could barely make out Emil's silhouette vanishing into the shadows.
The timer hit 45 seconds.
Callen's voice came over the comm: "Morgana! You need to get out!"
"Not without shutting it down," she rasped, fingers flying over the keys. Noor's training, Noor's codes—she used them all.
The timer froze at 00:07. Sweat rolled down her face as she disabled the primary charge.
Then she saw it: a second sequence, hidden, locked out of her reach. Another trap.
"Damn it," she whispered. Emil was gone.
---
Aftermath
When the smoke cleared, the armory was secure—but the second hidden sequence remained active, waiting for another day. Emil had escaped, and the House knew now, beyond any doubt, that he was inside.
Morgana picked up her gun, her knuckles white. She had stopped the first bomb. But she had also lost her chance to end him.