Jason saw the paths before he moved.

  Bullets tore through the air from both sides, crossing lines of fire that mapped themselves in his mind. He anticipated each step, each shift of weight, each opening.

  He moved.

  A shot passed between his legs as he stepped. Another skimmed over his head as he ducked. One cut the air just in front of his chest as he twisted aside. Every motion was measured, deliberate.

  Behind him, Nico and Aleksey watched in tense disbelief as Jason crossed more than half the distance.

  Then a man beside Aleksey took a bullet in the shoulder.

  He cried out and collapsed, his weapon clattering across the floor and stopping at Aleksey’s feet.

  “Give them no ground, my comrades!” Aleksey shouted, snatching up the gun. “Fight for your freedom—this will not come easy!”

  He fired back in short bursts.

  “Drag him back,” he ordered. Two prisoners moved immediately, pulling the wounded man to cover.

  Aleksey turned and spotted Sergei pushing through the prisoners toward the front. “Sergei—throw the rocks!”

  Sergei glanced down. Chunks of stone littered the ground, rubble blasted loose by gunfire. Each piece was heavy, jagged, nearly the size of his hand.

  He gathered them quickly.

  His frame tensed as he hurled the first.

  The impact was sickening. A guard screamed as his knee burst open, bone and blood spraying across the floor. The others faltered, panic rippling through their line.

  The opening was enough.

  Jason sprinted.

  He reached the scanner control room and slid the keycard through the reader beside the door. A green light flashed. The lock disengaged with a click.

  Inside, two guards rushed forward, scrambling to shut the door again. They carried only batons—shock weapons. They were afraid of a real fight.

  Jason kicked.

  The force was uncontrolled. The door flew inward, slamming both guards off their feet. They looked up just as Jason stepped into the room.

  White light burned in his irises, stark against the red glow of the alarm flooding the chamber. His face was empty—no anger, no hesitation. Only the next move. And the one after that.

  One guard recovered first.

  He swung wildly, the baton crackling with energy as it aimed for Jason’s cheek. Jason saw the spark at the tip. He saw the opening on the guard’s right side. He saw the second guard closing in behind him.

  He stepped back.

  Jason leaned just enough for the baton to pass, then shoved the attacker’s arm forward. The swing overextended, momentum carrying it nearly full circle.

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  The baton struck the second guard square in the chest.

  Electricity surged. The man locked in place, convulsing before collapsing forward in a heap.

  The first guard froze—panic flooding his face.

  Jason didn’t.

  He flowed forward, using the same arm to drive his palm into the man’s throat, slamming him backward. The guard’s head cracked against the edge of the control panel, and he went limp.

  Silence.

  Jason turned to the console. The scanner gate display glowed on the screen—active, green.

  He pressed it.

  The indicator vanished. The scanning light died.

  Jason turned back toward the prisoners, who had forced the guards farther down the hall.

  “Aleksey—go, now!” he shouted.

  Aleksey snapped his gaze toward him. A grin cut through the blood and exhaustion.

  “Run, comrades,” he roared. “Freedom is near!”

  They withdrew in order, just as planned—firing short, controlled bursts to conserve ammunition. First the unarmed. Then those with melee weapons. Then the shooters, retreating step by step.

  Jason waited until the last man passed.

  Then he ran.

  The doorway flooded with light as he burst outside.

  Snow slammed into him immediately, white and blinding. Wind howled through the mountain caverns surrounding the prison. He realized they stood atop a remote peak, utterly isolated.

  To his right—the ship.

  The prisoners were already boarding.

  Jason pushed forward—

  —and collapsed to his knees.

  Pain exploded behind his eyes. His hands screamed as sensation rushed back into torn flesh. Cold air filled his lungs, frost biting deep into his veins.

  The white glow in his vision flickered.

  Then vanished.

  His irises returned to normal.

  Just like hyperfocus, the state exacted its price.

  Jason clenched his teeth and forced himself up. One step. Then another. His vision swam.

  He saw Aleksey at the ramp, waving frantically.

  Then the shot came.

  The impact tore through Jason’s shoulder, spinning him forward into the snow. His strength was gone. He barely managed to turn his head.

  Guards were already spilling out onto the open field, boots crunching through the snow. Weapons were raised toward the ship, which hovered just above the ground, engines straining against the storm. Visibility was poor, the snowfall thick and blinding, but the shapes were still clear enough.

  Gunfire erupted.

  Sparks flared briefly as rounds struck the rear plating of the ship, flashing and vanishing in the white haze.

  Jason didn’t have the strength to look up. His focus stayed behind him—on the source of the shot.

  Vindarion stood there.

  Blood streaked his throat, bruised and swollen. He couldn’t speak—but the fury in his eyes said enough. A handgun trembled in his grip as he approached, boots crunching through the storm.

  Aleksey tried to leap from the ship, but hands dragged him back. The engines were already igniting. More guards would arrive any second.

  Jason met Vindarion’s gaze. The trigger tightened. Then the wind changed.

  A violent gust tore across the field, snow lifting in a blinding wave that rolled through the open ground. The force of it burned against exposed skin, driving ice and air into every gap. Vindarion and the guards raised their arms instinctively, shielding their faces as the gunfire stuttered and fell silent.

  Through the howl of the storm, a new sound cut through.

  Engines.

  Low. Heavy. Close.

  Something struck Vindarion with tremendous force.

  His body slammed into the ground, snow erupting outward as a large double-bladed spear impaled him clean through the torso.

  Vindarion didn’t move again.

  Jason looked up.

  A ship drifted down through the storm, its rear hatch was open as it hovered above him.

  Tahuuk stood there, massive and unmoving.

  A smirk crossed his face.

  “Good to see you, brother.”