Chapter 32: The Tipping Point

The door behind Viktor slams open with a thunderous crash, and before I can react, a squad of guards storm into the room like a force of nature, their weapons drawn and at the ready. The lead guard, a hulking man with a jagged scar slicing down his cheek, scans the room with a sharp, calculating gaze. His eyes land first on the unconscious Aryans sprawled on the floor, then flick to Viktor, who’s frozen in place, panic written all over his face. Finally, the guard’s gaze settles on me, his expression darkening.

“What the hell is going on here?” the lead guard barks, his voice rough and commanding, reverberating off the cold, concrete walls.

Viktor, usually so composed, starts to stammer, his voice trembling as the pressure bears down on him. “It—it was them! Mikhailov and the girl—they attacked us!”

The guard’s eyes narrow to slits as he steps closer to Viktor, the barrel of his rifle rising just enough to be threatening. “You expect me to believe that?” he snarls.

Viktor’s mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, but no sound comes out. He’s cornered, and he knows it. The slick, manipulative mask he usually wears is gone, replaced by the raw, desperate face of a man who realizes his game is up.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” I interject, keeping my voice level despite the adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. I can feel my knuckles aching where they connected with bone. “Viktor here tried to set us up. These Aryans were supposed to kill me, and probably Liberty too, if she got in the way.”

The lead guard turns his steely gaze on me, his eyes probing for any sign of deception. “Is that true?” he demands, his voice like a crack of thunder in the tense silence.

Viktor flinches under the guard’s scrutiny, his face paling to a sickly shade of gray. “I—I didn’t have a choice! They threatened me!” His voice is shaky, his usual bravado nowhere to be found.

The guard’s expression hardens, and he takes another step forward, closing the distance between himself and Viktor. “That doesn’t explain why you’re standing here while your so-called allies are unconscious on the floor,” he growls, his tone laced with disdain.

Viktor’s eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape that doesn’t exist. He’s like a rat trapped in a corner, realizing there’s nowhere left to run. The guards have him boxed in, and there’s no talk smooth enough to get him out of this one.

“Take him,” the lead guard orders, his voice cold and final. Two of the other guards step forward, grabbing Viktor by the arms and wrenching them behind his back.

“No! You don’t understand!” Viktor’s voice rises in a panicked plea as he struggles against their grip, but the guards hold firm. “I can help you! I have information! Just don’t—”

His frantic words are cut off as the guards drag him toward the door, his desperate protests echoing down the corridor. I watch him go, a complex mix of satisfaction and cold anger simmering in my chest. Viktor made his choice when he betrayed us, and now he’s facing the consequences. In Frigid Rock, trust is a luxury we can’t afford, and Viktor gambled it all away.

The lead guard turns back to me, his expression unreadable. “You okay, Mikhailov?” he asks, his voice gruff but with an undercurrent of concern.

I nod, wiping a trickle of blood from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m fine,” I reply, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind.

The guard shifts his gaze to Liberty, who’s still gripping the metal pipe, her knuckles white around the handle. “And you?” he asks, his tone softening just a fraction.

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes flicking to me before she nods. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice a little shaky, but there’s steel beneath it.

The guard grunts, then gestures to the unconscious Aryans strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. “We’ll take care of them. You two should get back to your quarters,” he advises, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I glance at Liberty, who gives me a small nod, her eyes still wide but determined. She’s shaken, but she’s holding it together. We’ve both been through worse, and we both know this isn’t over yet.

As we leave the storage room, the weight of everything that just happened presses down on me like a vise. Viktor’s betrayal stings, a sharp reminder of the harsh realities of this place. Trust is a rare commodity in Frigid Rock, and I should have known better than to rely on someone like him. But what gnaws at me more is the fear in Liberty’s eyes, the fear that even now, she’s trying so hard to hide.

Liberty walks beside me, her steps quick and purposeful, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s trying to process everything. I want to say something to reassure her, to tell her that we’ll get through this, but I’m not sure what to say. Words feel inadequate in the face of what we’re dealing with, and I’ve never been great with words anyway.

We continue down the dimly lit corridor, the silence between us heavy but no longer one of fear—more like shared resolve. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. That’s the unspoken agreement that binds us now, forged in the heat of battle.

When we reach the entrance to the main wing, I stop, turning to face her. “You did good back there,” I say, my voice gruff but sincere. “That swing with the pipe—couldn’t have done it better myself.”

She gives me a small, almost shy smile, the tension in her face easing just a bit. “Thanks. I just—reacted, I guess.”

“Instinct,” I say with a nod of approval. “It’ll keep you alive in here.”

She looks up at me, her bright blue eyes steady, searching my face as if trying to understand me. “And what about you?” she asks quietly. “What’s keeping you alive?”

The question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m at a loss for words. What is keeping me alive? The desire for revenge? The need to protect those I care about? Or something else, something deeper that I can’t quite put into words?

Before I can answer, the door to the main wing swings open, and Captain Hayes strides out, his expression dark and foreboding. He takes one look at us and frowns, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene. “What the hell happened? You both look like you’ve been through a war zone.”

“Close enough,” I mutter, my tone laced with sarcasm as I wipe the last of the blood from my face.

Hayes’ frown deepens, and he glances at Liberty, who’s still holding the metal pipe like a lifeline. “What’s going on?” he demands, his tone sharp.

I give him a quick rundown of what happened, keeping it as brief and to the point as possible. Hayes listens in stony silence, his jaw tightening as I describe Viktor’s betrayal and the Aryans’ attack. By the time I finish, he looks like he’s ready to explode.

“That son of a bitch,” Hayes growls, his fists clenching at his sides. “I knew Viktor was trouble, but I didn’t think he’d go this far.”

“He did,” I reply flatly, my tone cold. “And he’s not done yet. The Aryans are going to retaliate, and they’re not going to be subtle about it.”

Hayes nods, his expression grim as he absorbs the information. “We’ll increase security, double the patrols. But we can’t let this escalate into an all-out war.”

“It might be too late for that,” Liberty says quietly, her voice filled with a mix of dread and determination.

Hayes looks at her, then back at me, his eyes hardening with resolve. “You two need to stay out of sight for a while,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Let us handle this.”

I want to argue, to insist that I can take care of myself—and Liberty—but I know he’s right. We’re too exposed right now, too vulnerable. If the Aryans are planning something, they’ll come for us first, and we need to be ready.

“Fine,” I say after a moment, my tone grudging. “But if things go south, don’t expect us to sit on the sidelines.”

Hayes nods, a silent agreement passing between us. We’re all in this together, whether we like it or not. There’s no escaping the storm that’s brewing, and when it hits, we’ll need to be ready for anything.

As Liberty and I head back to our quarters, I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning. Viktor’s betrayal was a warning, a glimpse of the darkness that lurks beneath the surface of Frigid Rock. And if we’re not careful, that darkness will consume us all.

But for now, we’re still standing. And as long as we’re standing, we’ll keep fighting.

And whatever happens next, I know one thing for sure—I won’t let anyone take Liberty away from me. Not Viktor, not the Aryans, not anyone. She’s mine to protect

, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

Even if it means burning this place to the ground.

As we reach the corridor that leads back to our quarters, the reality of what just happened begins to sink in, and with it, the weight of what’s to come. I can feel Liberty’s tension next to me, the fear and resolve battling for control in her mind. I wish I could take that fear away, but I know that’s impossible. All I can do is make sure she knows I’m here, that I’m not going to let anything happen to her.

She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes focused on the floor as we walk, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Finally, she speaks, her voice soft but firm. “Do you think they’ll come after us again?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine, searching for answers.

I consider her question, weighing the possibilities in my mind. “It’s hard to say,” I reply after a moment. “The Aryans won’t take this lying down, and neither will Viktor, if he manages to worm his way out of this. We need to be prepared for anything.”

She nods, absorbing my words with a determined expression that makes me feel a flicker of pride. Despite everything, she’s not backing down. She’s ready to fight, and that, more than anything, gives me hope that we might actually make it through this.

As we continue down the corridor in silence, the tension between us shifts, no longer one of fear, but of shared purpose. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. That’s the unspoken agreement that binds us now, forged in the heat of battle.

When we reach the entrance to the main wing, I stop, turning to face her. “You did good back there,” I say, my voice gruff but sincere. “That swing with the pipe—couldn’t have done it better myself.”

She gives me a small, almost shy smile, the tension in her face easing just a bit. “Thanks. I just—reacted, I guess.”

“Instinct,” I say with a nod of approval. “It’ll keep you alive in here.”

She looks up at me, her bright blue eyes steady, searching my face as if trying to understand me. “And what about you?” she asks quietly. “What’s keeping you alive?”

The question catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m at a loss for words. What is keeping me alive? The desire for revenge? The need to protect those I care about? Or something else, something deeper that I can’t quite put into words?
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