CHAPTER 26

Following the Ghost's Trail

The abandoned base rises from the earth like a corpse that never finished decomposing—its bones twisted metal, its skin peeling concrete. Nature has started reclaiming it, vines slithering over rusted gates, trees pressing against crumbling walls. But there's something else. A presence.

This place isn't as dead as it should be.

Riley steps out of the vehicle first, gun drawn, scanning the perimeter with a practiced eye. I follow, instincts humming, every nerve on edge. The air here is thick and stale, carrying the scent of decay and old secrets.

The Oath left this place behind years ago and burned everything they could on their way out. But someone—someone—has been here since.

We step inside.

The silence is oppressive, but silence can lie. It can hide things. Bury them beneath the surface.

Dust coats the floor in uneven layers, broken by footsteps. Some fresh, some old. Some leading further in.

Riley kneels, pressing two fingers into the print of a boot. "Recent," she murmurs. "Less than a week."

I nod. "We're not the only ones chasing ghosts."

The corridors stretch ahead, dark and yawning. The kind of dark that isn't just an absence of light but a presence—something watching, waiting.

My pulse is steady, but my grip on the gun tightens.

We move deeper.

Every step we take is swallowed by the weight of the past.

Bullet holes scar the walls. A rusted chair sits in the center of an interrogation room, its restraints still attached. I remember stories about this place, the whispered warnings from men who had seen things they never spoke of again.

Riley moves to an old console in the main control room, brushing dust off a monitor. "If there's anything left, it's here."

I stand watch as she works, scanning the doorways, the broken windows, the long-abandoned corridors. My reflection catches in a shattered mirror—fractured, distorted.

I almost don't recognize myself.

Then—

A beep. Faint. Weak. But there.

Riley straightens, eyes sharp. "I've got something."

She adjusts a frequency knob, static hissing through the speakers. The sound is ancient like a voice trying to claw its way out of a grave. The words filter through, broken and strained but unmistakable.

"… If you hear this… they're not who you think. The Oath… compromised. Don't trust… even yourself…"

The voice cuts out.

But I don't need to hear the rest.

I know that voice.

"…Elias." His name tastes like rust on my tongue.

Riley meets my gaze, understanding flickering between us. Elias had been one of The Oath's best operatives. Until he vanished. Until they said he was dead.

Except maybe he wasn't.

"This transmission—it's not old enough," Riley says, frowning. "It couldn't have been sent before he disappeared."

I don't need her to finish the thought.

Elias was alive.

Until recently.

A sharp chill settles in my gut. If he had survived, if he had been hiding… what else did he know?

Riley stands, scanning the room. "He left this for a reason. We're missing something."

That's when I see it.

A mark on the far wall, etched into the concrete. A single symbol, one that makes my stomach tighten with familiarity.

An old code. One used by deep-cover operatives in The Oath.

I step closer, tracing my fingers over the groove.

The message is simple.

"Trust no one. Not even yourself."

A slow exhale leaves my lips.

Elias knew something. Something dangerous.

And now he's gone.

Riley pulls out her phone, taking a picture of the symbol before scanning the rest of the room. Her expression is sharp and calculated. But there's a flicker of something else behind her eyes.

She doesn't like this any more than I do.

"This was a warning," she says, tucking the phone away. "He was trying to tell us something before he—"

She doesn't finish the sentence. Neither of us do.

Because we both know the odds.

Elias wouldn't have left this message unless he was running out of time.

Unless he was already dead.

I glance back at the console, at the dead screen, at the dust layering the keys. I can almost picture him here, fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes darting to the entrance, knowing every second was borrowed time.

He sent this message expecting someone to find it.

But not just anyone.

Me.

Riley touches my shoulder, grounding me. "We need to move."

I nod, snapping back to the present.

We turn toward the exit, but just as we take a step—

A sound.

Distant. Faint.

Footsteps.

Not ours.

Not old echoes from the past.

Real. Present.

My body goes still, instincts flaring. Riley's gun is up in an instant, her movements sharp and silent. We exchange a glance, a silent understanding passing between us.

We're not alone.

I motion for her to move left, toward the broken stairwell, while I take the right flank. We move in tandem, careful, deliberate, our steps nearly soundless against the cracked concrete.

The footsteps are coming from the far end of the corridor, just beyond the collapsed ceiling.

A shadow shifts.

Riley spots it first, freezing. I barely catch it—just a flicker of movement in the dim light.

Someone's here. Watching.

I grip my gun tighter. "Show yourself."

No response.

Only silence.

Then—a scrape.

Something moving fast.

Riley fires. A controlled shot, aimed to disable, not kill.

A figure darts between the wreckage, vanishing into the darkness before the bullet can land.

"Damn it," Riley hisses. "They're running."

I'm already moving.

We chase, feet pounding against the ground. The corridor twists and opens into a cavernous storage bay. The scent of old oil lingers, mixed with dust and rot. The figure is ahead, slipping between rusted crates, almost impossible to track.

Almost.

I push harder, closing the distance. Whoever they are, they're fast—but I've spent my life hunting ghosts in the dark.

They try to take a sharp turn, but I'm there first, cutting them off. My shoulder slams into theirs, sending us both crashing to the floor.

A struggle.

I pin them down, knee pressing into their chest, gun at their temple.

Then I see their face.

And everything stops.

"…Julian?"

My grip falters for half a second. Just half a second.

It's all they need.

A sharp twist—a knife flashing toward my ribs. I react on instinct, grabbing their wrist and twisting hard. The blade clatters to the ground.

They snarl, eyes wild.

But it's not Julian.

Not really.

The face is close. Too close. The same sharp jawline, the same piercing eyes. But wrong.

I barely have time to process before the butt of a gun slams into my skull.

Pain explodes through my head. My vision blurs, my body lurching sideways.

I hear Riley shout my name, hear the rapid crack of gunfire—but my limbs won't move fast enough.

The last thing I see is the figure slipping into the shadows.

Then everything goes black.