Chapter 56: The Gates and the Mask
The wind outside the rebel base stung with dry cold, but Elira barely felt it.
She stood still, wrapped in the aftershocks of the morning. The kind of morning that branded the skin and fogged the mind. Warmth had turned electric, and everything else—missions, cores, danger—had dissolved into heat, breath, and whispered relief.
The blackout protocol had ended.
So had the shadow mask.
Everyone watching Virex systems now believed exactly what she and Fenrir had allowed them to: that the two of them had vanished off the grid… and spent the last twenty hours tangled in nothing but lust.
The truth was dangerously close.
She hadn't considered the optics until the rebel gates loomed in front of her, locked and waiting.
And she was still standing there, blinking stupidly at the metal doors, when Fenrir stepped ahead of her.
Without hesitation, he reached out—not physically, but through the interface now living in his skin.
The gates shuddered.
Steam hissed. Steel groaned. And then the doors peeled open with slow, reluctant weight.
Elira's eyes darted to him.
He only gave her a glance. Controlled. Focused. But there was something new there—quiet power. He looked like someone who'd stepped through a storm and come out wearing a part of it.
"We'll talk later," Fenrir said, and walked past her into the base.
She followed, silent.
The inner courtyard was a mess of ice-tracked boots, distant welding sparks, and a line of servitors in rebel colours training rifles toward the perimeter.
They were expected.
And waiting.
Vranos was leaning against a crate just ahead, arms folded. His grin was wide enough to stretch to the tundra.
"Well, well," he drawled. "Look who finally decided to come up for air."
Fenrir's face remained unreadable. Elira just gave Vranos a look that could have frozen oxygen. He laughed anyway.
"Hope it was worth disabling comms for an entire day."
Brakka stood further back, data tablet in hand, already working. He didn't look up as he spoke. "You left a signature trail on re-entry. Not clean. But you brought what we needed."
There was no judgment in his tone. Only quiet, cold certainty.
Elira felt a surge of something half-defensive. But before she could speak, Brakka continued, "We don't have long."
He turned away without another word.
Before their departure, Elira found herself once again walking the narrow metallic corridor toward Makel's chamber.
She didn't knock.
Inside, the rebel commander was hunched over a wall console, lips pulled tight. He turned as she entered, eyes narrowing.
"You have it?" he asked.
Elira didn't speak. Instead, she engaged the shadow mask, folding herself into the persona she'd shaped.
A flicker passed across Makel's HUD. He leaned back, cautious.
"The unit you sent after Pattern Core," Elira said quietly, "was obliterated. The Core is mine now."
"I told you—"
"I don't take orders from you," she cut in. Her voice didn't rise, but the pressure behind it deepened. "It's coming with me. To Virex."
"That's not your decision." Makel reached for his firearm—faster this time.
Elira didn't blink. She disabled it with a thought. The weapon clicked, then went dark in his hand.
"I said stay in your limits," she said flatly.
Makel stared at the weapon, then at her—gauging, recalculating. He didn't speak again.
"I'll be back with it when it's safe. If you want it before then…" She let the words hang. "Try."
She turned and walked out, the air in the chamber pulsing with unspoken war.
The platform outside was prepped.
The four commanders—Elira, Fenrir, Vranos, and Brakka—stood at the base of the waiting Virex craft. The wind kicked up around them, but none moved.
No one spoke of what had happened in the past day.
No one had to.
As they stepped aboard and the hatch closed behind them, Elira let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
They were headed back.
But everything had changed.