Ch.40: The New Alliance

The rain was relentless, washing the grime of the tunnels from our skin but doing nothing for the cold that had settled in our bones. We stood in an alley three blocks from the subway exit, catching our breath.

The city was screaming. Sirens wailed from every direction. Overhead, drones crisscrossed the sky like angry fireflies, their searchlights sweeping the streets.

"We need a car," Silas said, checking the street. "Something nondescript."

"No time," Julian said. "They've locked down the transit grid. Any vehicle with a chip will be flagged instantly."

"So we walk?" I asked, shivering.

"We run," Julian corrected. "To the river."

We moved through the shadows, avoiding the main thoroughfares. Every time a drone passed overhead, we froze, pressing ourselves against the wet brick.

My phone buzzed. Not the burner. My real phone, which I had retrieved from the evidence bag along with the shard.

I looked at the screen. A news alert.

**BREAKING: ATTORNEY HARPER VANCE WANTED FOR QUESTIONING IN MURDER OF WITNESS.**

"They're moving fast," I said, showing the screen to Julian.

"Sterling isn't wasting time," Julian said. "He's pinning Rats' death on you. He's building a narrative where you're unhinged, violent."

"It's working," I said, scrolling through the comments. *'She killed her own brother's killer? No, she killed the witness to save him!'* *'Lawyer goes rogue.'*

"Don't read it," Julian said, taking the phone from my hand. He dropped it onto the pavement and crushed it under his heel. "It's noise. Focus on the signal."

"The signal?"

"The servers," he said. "Chimera Solutions. If we get those files, none of this matters. The truth will be undeniable."

We reached the riverfront. The water was black, churning.

"How do we get across?" I asked. "The bridges will be blockaded."

"We don't cross," Silas said. "We go under."

He led us to a storm drain, half-submerged in the rising tide.

"This connects to the old industrial sector," Silas explained. "It comes out right behind Sterling's building."

"It's flooded," I said, looking at the dark water.

"It's low tide," Silas said. "There's an air pocket. Maybe two feet."

"Maybe?"

"Do you want to wait for the drones?"

I looked up. A searchlight swept the street behind us, illuminating the rain.

"Let's go," I said.

We waded in. The water was freezing, smelling of oil and sewage. It rose to my chest, then my neck. We had to tilt our heads back to keep our noses in the air.

It took an hour. An hour of claustrophobic terror, of scraping against rough concrete, of praying the tide didn't rise faster than we could move.

When we finally emerged, we were covered in filth, shaking uncontrollably.

But we were there.

Sterling's building loomed above us, a monolith of glass and steel piercing the night sky. The penthouse at the top was dark.

"How do we get in?" I asked, my teeth chattering. "The lobby will be a fortress."

"We don't use the lobby," Julian said. He pointed to a construction elevator clinging to the side of the adjacent building. "We jump."

It was insane. It was suicidal.

It was perfect.

We climbed the scaffolding of the neighboring tower. The wind whipped at us, tearing at our wet clothes.

At the top, we looked across the gap. Twenty feet of empty air separated us from Sterling's balcony.

"Silas goes first," Julian said. "He sets the line."

Silas fired a grapple gun. The hook bit into the railing of the penthouse balcony. He tested the line, then clipped on and swung across.

He landed silently. He secured the line.

"Your turn," Julian said to me.

I looked down. Eighty stories of nothing.

"I can't," I whispered.

"Yes, you can," Julian said. "You walked into a lion's den with a wire. You broke into a prison. You dug up your mother's grave. This is just gravity."

He clipped me in.

"Don't look down. Look at me."

I looked at him. His eyes were the only steady thing in the world.

I jumped.

The wind screamed. The line hummed. For a second, I was flying.

Then I hit the railing. Hard.

Silas grabbed me, pulling me over. I collapsed onto the balcony floor, gasping.

Julian followed a second later, landing with a grace that belied his injuries.

We were in.

The penthouse was silent. Dark.

We moved inside. It was vast, cold, impersonal. Modern art on the walls. White leather furniture.

"The servers," Julian said. "Where are they?"

"The library," I said, remembering Kael's text. "She said he was in the library."

We found the library. It was lined with books, but there was no computer. No terminal.

"A hidden room," Julian said. "Check the shelves."

We searched. Nothing.

Then I saw it. A book that looked worn. *The Prince* by Machiavelli.

I pulled it.

The bookcase clicked and swung open.

Behind it was a steel door. A vault.

"Biometric," Julian said, examining the lock. "Retinal scan. Voiceprint. Handprint. We can't crack this."

"We don't have to," Silas said.

He pulled a small canister from his pack. Thermal paste.

"We burn it."

He applied the paste to the hinges. He lit it.

The metal glowed white-hot, then melted. The door groaned and fell inward.

We stepped inside.

It was a server room. But it wasn't just servers.

The walls were lined with screens. Live feeds.

I saw the courthouse. I saw the police station. I saw my apartment.

And I saw the alley.

Sterling had cameras everywhere. He had been watching everyone.

"He's not a lawyer," Julian whispered. "He's a spider."

He went to the main terminal. He plugged in the shard.

"Downloading," he said. "This is it. The black ledger. The bribe list. The hit orders. Everything."

"Hurry," I said, watching the door.

"It's encrypted," Julian said. "I need the password."

"It's not my birthday," I said. "Mia said there was a second layer."

"Think, Harper," Julian said, his fingers hovering over the keys. "What would Liam use? What did he love?"

"Music," I said.

"We tried the mixtape."

"No," I said. "Not his music. His favorite song. The one he played on the guitar. Over and over."

"What was it?"

I closed my eyes, remembering the sound of his guitar drifting through the thin walls of our apartment.

"Blackbird," I whispered. "The Beatles."

Julian typed it in. **BLACKBIRD.**

Access Denied.

"Try the lyrics," I said. "Take these broken wings..."

Julian typed. **TAKE THESE BROKEN WINGS.**

The screen flashed green.

**ACCESS GRANTED.**

Files began to stream across the screen. Thousands of them.

"We got it," Julian breathed.

"Download it and let's go," Silas said.

But then the screens on the wall flickered.

The live feeds cut out. Replaced by a single image.

Sterling.

He was sitting in the back of a car. He looked tired, but smug.

"Congratulations," he said. "You found the cookie jar."

"It's over, Marcus," Julian said. "We have the files."

"Do you?" Sterling asked. "Look closely."

I looked at the download bar. It was stuck at 99%.

"What did you do?" Julian demanded.

"I initiated the purge," Sterling said. "You have ten seconds before those servers melt down. And you along with them."

A siren began to wail inside the room. A red light strobed.

"Run!" Silas shouted.

We sprinted for the door.

But as we reached the library, the floor shook. An explosion rocked the building.

Fire erupted from the vault, chasing us.

We dove through the balcony doors just as the windows blew out.

We landed on the cold stone, glass raining down around us.

"The drive!" I shouted. "Did you get it?"

Julian held up the shard. It was glowing hot.

"I got it," he said. "But the servers are gone."

"We have the copy," I said. "That's all we need."

"We need to get out of here," Silas said. "The fire department is coming. And the police."

We looked over the railing. The streets below were filled with flashing lights.

We were trapped. Eighty stories up. A burning building behind us. An army below us.

"There's no way down," I said.

Julian looked at me. He took my hand.

"There's always a way," he said.

He pointed to the helipad on the roof.

Sitting there, rotors spinning, was a black helicopter.

"Yours?" I asked.

"No," Julian said. "His."

We ran for the stairs to the roof.

I was a fugitive now. Running to the only place safe: Julian's penthouse.