The first man through the door didn't see Elara.
That was his last mistake.
He moved with training—quiet, precise, weapon raised—but his eyes tracked Cael, not the shadow to the left of the doorway.
Elara stepped in behind him and drove her elbow into the base of his neck.
Not brutal.
Not flashy.
Efficient.
He dropped without a sound.
Cael was already moving.
Two more operatives flooded the room, formation tight, muzzles steady. They weren't panicked. They were confident.
They shouldn't have been.
Cael slid across the concrete floor, coming up behind an exposed cable cluster. A sharp pull—sparks exploded, lights dying in half the room.
Darkness swallowed one side.
Elara felt it instantly.
The shift.
The way the dark wrapped around her like it recognized her.
She moved.
A shape rushed her. She ducked, rolled, came up behind him. Her hands knew where to press, how to twist. The man grunted and went down hard.
She froze for half a second.
I know how to do this.
The realization hit harder than the fight.
Gunfire cracked.
Cael disarmed one operative mid-lunge, slammed him into the wall, and knocked him unconscious with a single calculated strike.
Silence followed.
Not relief.
Suspicion.
They stood amid fallen bodies, breathing controlled, listening for the next wave.
"They didn't try to kill us," Elara said.
Cael wiped blood—not his—from his knuckles. "No. They tried to contain us."
"That's worse, isn't it?"
"Yes."
A low rumble vibrated through the walls.
Not alarms.
Movement.
"The facility is re-routing," Cael said. "Cutting losses."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning they're done pretending."
The lights flickered back on—dim, amber, emergency-level.
And with them came a sound that didn't belong underground.
Applause.
Slow.
Mocking.
Deliberate.
A figure stepped into the doorway.
No armor. No weapon raised.
Just a man in a tailored dark coat, hands clasped behind his back like he was inspecting an exhibit.
"Well," he said pleasantly. "This is disappointing."
Elara's stomach tightened.
Cael went still.
Dangerously still.
"You," Cael said.
The man smiled. "Still alive. I hate loose ends."
Elara glanced between them. "Friend of yours?"
"Hardly," Cael replied. "He signs death certificates."
The man chuckled. "Oversimplification. I prefer architect."
He took a step closer, unafraid.
"Elara," he said, smoothly.
Her blood ran cold.
"You know my name," she said.
"Of course I do," he replied. "I chose it."
The world tilted.
Cael snapped, "You don't get to say her name."
The man raised a brow. "Still territorial, Cael Vance? Even after everything?"
Elara stared at Cael. "He knows you."
"He knows the version of me he tried to bury," Cael said.
The man sighed theatrically. "You make it sound so cruel. We saved you both."
"By erasing us?" Elara demanded.
"By refining you," he corrected. "You were liabilities before. Emotions. Attachments. Memories."
His gaze lingered on her.
"Especially you, Elara."
Her head throbbed.
Images tried to surface—rooms, voices, choices she didn't remember making.
"You were the hardest to wipe," the man continued. "Do you know why?"
She clenched her fists. "I don't care."
He smiled wider. "Because you asked too many questions."
Cael stepped forward. "Step away from her."
The man didn't.
Instead, he tapped something on a device in his palm.
The floor beneath Elara vibrated.
A panel slid open at her feet.
She staggered back just as a holographic display projected upward.
A file.
Her file.
ASSET: ELARA
STATUS: UNSTABLE
PRIORITY: RECAPTURE
Her breath caught.
"You weren't just erased," the man said gently. "You were owned."
Cael's voice dropped to something lethal. "Touch her again, and you won't leave this level."
The man laughed softly. "You think this is a confrontation? No, Cael. This is a reminder."
He met Elara's eyes.
"You ran once," he said. "You won't get far again."
Then the lights died completely.
When they came back—
He was gone.
Only the file remained, flickering.
Elara stared at it, chest tight.
"Cael," she said quietly. "What did I do before they erased me?"
He looked at her like the answer terrified him.
"You started asking," he said, "who the shadows really belonged to."
The walls groaned.
Far above them, systems shifted.
The hunt had changed.
This time—
It was personal.