Chapter 52: The Switch

Silas had broken a dozen laws before breakfast.

By noon, he was prepared to break a dozen more.

The containment facility stood like a monolith against the coastal cliffside. Its gleaming walls weren't built for prisoners, but for prototypes. Test subjects. Contaminated assets with inconvenient rights.

Sienna had been inside for five days.

Five days too long.

She hadn't spoken to him since they dragged her out of the east wing under biohazard protocol. He'd tried to see her. Been blocked by retinal gatekeepers and access logs he himself had signed into place months ago—fail-safes meant for corporate enemies, not the woman who had once sewn his fractured mind back together with silver needles and silence.

Now she was in a glass box.

And the board called it "medical ethics."

Bullshit.

He strode into the back corridor of Sterling Medical HQ, bypassing the retinal scan with a signal override. The forged command token—a stolen key from his father's personal vault—glowed faint blue on his palm.

Level 5 access granted.

Inside the archive vault, a single climate-controlled shelf held every classified test result from the biogenetic containment division. An entire drawer labeled:

Subject SC-∞ / Class: Mutation Risk / Status: UNSTABLE

He slid the drawer open.

Inside: vials. Reports. Genomic charts.

And the one page that mattered most:

Anomaly Alert: Subject exhibits spontaneous antibody synthesis without immune trigger. Antibodies may cause involuntary gene edits in proximal subjects. Risk level: RED.

He read it three times.

Then took it.

Ripped it into quarters.

Fed the pieces into the silent incinerator unit.

And replaced it with something else.

Something he had written himself.

Forged with the precision of a surgeon and the recklessness of a man with nothing left to lose.

He slipped the fabricated report into the system:

Revised: Subject SC-∞ exhibits antibody patterns consistent with post-radiogenic immunity. No evidence of mutation propagation. Risk level: GREEN.

Then he injected the matching barcode into the database log with his own biometrics.

No deniability.

No safety net.

He would own this crime forever.

He stood in the shadows for a long time after the deed was done, listening to the silence hum around him like a verdict.

Then he turned.

And walked into war.

—

Jenna met him in the elevator.

She didn't need to ask what he'd done. She could see it in the way he stood—like he was bracing for a punch that might never come.

"Do I want to know?" she asked dryly.

"No," Silas said.

She nodded.

"Good. Then let's talk about fallout."

She handed him a folder—slim, elegant, deadly.

It contained a formal summons for a board hearing.

In 48 hours.

His signature had triggered an automatic ethics review. Even without a whistleblower, the system flagged the change. The AI didn't know it was a lie.

But it knew it was irregular.

"You bought her freedom with your future," Jenna said flatly.

"I bought her another day," he replied.

"And after that?"

He met her eyes.

"I'll burn the world if I have to."

She didn't smile.

But she didn't stop him.

—

Sienna woke to the sound of her cell hissing open.

Her first instinct was to lunge, ready to fight.

But it wasn't Dr. Ives at the threshold.

It was Silas.

Half-wrung. Pale. Eyes like thunderclouds.

She blinked, groggy. "How did you—?"

He didn't answer.

Just crossed the room and lifted her into his arms.

Not as a rescue.

But as a reclamation.

"You're not a prisoner," he said hoarsely. "You're mine."

She didn't cry.

Didn't fight.

Just gripped his coat as if it anchored her to the world.

He carried her out of the room.

Through the corridor.

Up the stairs.

Past the guards who dared not meet his gaze.

And when they reached the top deck, the sunlight shattered against her like a rebirth.

Her skin ached under the light.

But she didn't flinch.

Because he was there.

And even if everything was wrong—at least something was real.

—

They returned to the safehouse by dusk.

She ate.

He watched.

She didn't ask why he was shaking.

Didn't comment on the way his fingers trembled when pouring tea.

She knew the cost.

Later that night, when he thought she was asleep, she heard him whispering into a private channel.

"No. I don't care. Let the board vote."

A pause.

Then—

"I won't stand down."

Another pause.

Then quieter.

"If it's between her and the company… there's no contest."

—

At 2 a.m., Sienna slipped out of bed and opened the encrypted medical log Jenna had left on her tablet.

She found the report.

The one that cleared her for release.

And her stomach dropped.

Because she recognized the formatting.

The handwriting.

The signature line.

It was his.

Silas had rewritten the truth.

Buried her blood under a fabricated label.

For her.

For them.

She didn't know whether to scream, or kiss him, or run.

So she did none of the above.

She sat back down.

And whispered into the dark:

"Your hands are dirty now."

Then, softer:

"Just like mine."

And somewhere, in the quiet corner of her war-torn heart—

That felt like love.