The subway air pressed heavy, damp with mold and the faint tang of ozone. Jack's boots splashed through shallow water, each step echoing like a heartbeat against the tunnel walls.
Behind him, Victor's rifle barrel brushed his shoulder. Not by accident. He was that close.
Jack didn't comment. He could feel the weight of Victor's silence without looking back.
Graffiti sprawled across the tunnel walls, crude crowns and jagged words, some old, some so fresh the paint dripped into the puddles. Every tag carried his name. Or Marcus's. At this point, the difference blurred.
The deeper they went, the louder the city above seemed to fade. The tunnels swallowed noise, leaving only water drips and the occasional crackle of broken wiring. Jack's hand twitched near his blade. Not because he saw movement. Because he didn't.
Victor finally broke. "Jack." His voice was low, tight.
Jack kept walking. "What."
"You didn't answer me back there."
Jack let the silence stretch. The puddles reflected fractured light, breaking his face into pieces with every ripple.
Victor's boots splashed faster until he was beside him. "If Marcus takes you—if you stop being you—I need to know what you want me to do."
Jack's jaw worked. He didn't stop walking.
Victor grabbed his arm, spinning him half around. The splash echoed sharp. "I'm not asking as your lookout. I'm asking as the only one left who—" His voice cracked. He bit it off, but his hand didn't let go.
Jack's eyes flicked down at the grip. For a second, the heat under his skin surged, that dark electric hum rising like it wanted out. He pulled his arm free too fast, water spraying.
Victor's eyes widened. He'd felt it—that unnatural current pulsing beneath Jack's skin.
Jack muttered, "Don't touch me."
Victor's laugh was bitter, shaky. "Yeah, that's the problem, isn't it? I don't know if it's you I'm touching anymore."
The words lodged between them like broken glass. Jack turned away, breath sharp, but before he could answer—
The tunnel lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then cut.
The dark was total.
For a heartbeat, only dripping water. Then, a metallic scrape echoed ahead, too deliberate to be chance.
Victor snapped his rifle up, back against the wall. Jack's eyes adjusted faster than they should have, veins humming with the Blood Oath, the world sharpening into outlines. Shapes moved in the dark. Crawling. Watching.
Marcus's voice bled through the static in Jack's head, slick and amused. "You brought him here? Brave. Or cruel."
Jack hissed through his teeth. "Shut up."
Victor stiffened. "What?"
"Not you," Jack muttered, but it was too late. The air shifted. Shadows peeled themselves from the walls—Constructs, smaller than the ones above but faster, their frames jagged, faces covered with shattered visors that glowed faint red.
They circled like wolves.
Victor fired first, the shot deafening in the tunnel. One Construct staggered, then crawled forward anyway, metal fingers clawing the ground.
Jack's blade slid free with a hiss, the glow of its edge painting his face in fractured light. He moved before Victor could blink, slicing through the first Construct's neck. The body twitched, sparks raining.
But the hum inside him didn't fade with the kill. It grew louder.
Marcus whispered again, but this time it wasn't just in Jack's head. The tunnel carried it, bouncing off walls, seeping through cracks. "Faster, Jack. Show him what you really are."
Jack's grip tightened until his knuckles split. His strikes blurred, each one cleaner, quicker, less human. He didn't hear Victor shouting until a hand grabbed his shoulder.
"Stop!"
Jack spun on instinct, blade arcing.
Victor's rifle clattered to the ground. His palm was raised, blade an inch from it, the heat of Jack's swing slicing air across his skin. His breath hitched, but he didn't flinch back.
"Jack," Victor whispered. Not pleading. Warning.
Jack froze, chest heaving. For half a second, the reflection in Victor's wide eyes wasn't him—it was Marcus, grinning with Jack's mouth.
Jack stumbled back like he'd been burned. The blade dipped, sparks dripping into the water.
The Constructs hesitated, heads cocking at the shift. Then, as if answering some unheard command, they retreated into the dark, metal claws scraping until silence swallowed them again.
Victor's breathing was ragged. He stooped, retrieved his rifle with shaking fingers, and kept it lowered.
Jack wiped water and sweat from his face, refusing to meet his eyes.
Victor finally said, voice raw, "You almost killed me."
Jack didn't deny it. He couldn't. His blade trembled faintly in his grip.
The silence after was worse than any fight. Heavy. Choking. Like ash suspended in the air, refusing to settle.
Victor was the one who broke it. His words weren't sharp this time. They were flat. "If it happens again, I won't wait for you to pull back. I'll put you down before Marcus finishes the job."
Jack looked at him then, eyes shadowed, unreadable. The puddle at their feet reflected both their faces—Jack's fractured, Victor's steady but strained. For once, neither spoke over it.
Because something had shifted.
Not whispers. Not graffiti. Not just doubt.
A line had been drawn.
And both of them knew it couldn't be taken back