THE POLARIS CYCLE

HARVEY BENNETT THRILLERS

BOOK 17

NICK THACKER

CONTENTS

1. Strakov

2. Doyle

3. Doyle

4. Sergei

5. Doyle

6. Ben

7. Ben

8. Ben

9. Julie

10. Ben

11. Ben

12. Strakov

13. Ben

14. Ben

15. Ben

16. Julie

17. Ben

18. Ben

19. Julie

20. Ben

21. Strakov

22. Julie

23. Ben

24. Julie

25. Ben

26. Strakov

27. Ben

28. Julie

29. Voss

30. Voss

31. Ben

32. Holt

33. Holt

34. Ben

35. Ben

36. Julie

37. Ben

38. Ben

39. Julie

40. Julie

41. Strakov

42. Ben

43. Ben

44. Julie

45. Julie

46. Ben

47. Julie

48. Ben

49. Julie

50. Julie

51. Ben

52. Julie

53. Ben

54. Ben

55. Julie

56. Ben

57. Julie

58. Ben

59. Ben

60. Strakov

61. Strakov

62. Ben

63. Julie

64. Ben

65. Ben

66. Strakov

67. Ben

68. Julie

69. Julie

70. Ben

71. Ben

72. Ben

73. Ben

74. Julie

75. Julie

76. Ben

77. Ben

78. Ben

Afterword

Books by Nick Thacker

About the Author

CHAPTER 1

STRAKOV

The underwater facility groaned like an old beast being roused from a long, restless sleep.

Deep beneath the Bering Sea, Admiral Anton Strakov stood motionless in the command center, watching as ancient machinery sputtered back to life. The room felt alive in a way that was almost unnatural — hums of struggling power shuddered through the grated floor, flickering lights danced across cracked consoles, and a steady drip-drip of condensation fell from corroded pipes overhead.

Strakov thrived in places like this. Forgotten places. Places abandoned by lesser men.

He was technically no longer an Admiral, just as those around him were not technically part of the Russian navy. But most still held onto their career titles, like Strakov. And no one dared call him by any other title.

He stood tall, wiry and sharp in his fitted black coat, his silver hair slicked back with military precision. Mid-fifties, though he moved with the careful grace of a much younger man. Everything about him — the calm, unhurried steps, the cold flicker in his pale eyes — spoke of a man who valued control above all else.

Around him, a small team of engineers worked frantically at their stations, their hands darting over outdated panels and cracked monitors that blinked erratically. The air smelled of rust, dampness, and oil — an oppressive mix that seemed to cling to the skin.

To most, this place would have been suffocating, claustrophobic. But Strakov saw something else. Potential.

“Status?” His voice cut through the low hum of the room like a scalpel — soft but precise.

One of the engineers, a thin man with trembling hands and oil-streaked coveralls, looked up from his console. His face was pale and drawn, beads of sweat forming at his brow despite the cold that lingered in the station. “Reactor core is functional, sir. But…” He hesitated, as though the next words might cost him something.

Strakov turned his head slowly, fixing the man with an icy stare. “But what?”

The engineer swallowed hard. “The systems are unstable. They’ve degraded — badly. This station was not built to last this long.”

Strakov’s expression remained impassive, as though the information didn’t concern him in the slightest. “It does not need to last,” he said quietly. “It needs to work.”

He turned back to the central reactor console — a hulking monstrosity of Soviet engineering, its cracked screens blinking red with intermittent warnings. The hum coming from beneath it was uneven, rising and falling in irregular patterns.

Strakov reached out, his gloved hand brushing the console’s metal surface. It vibrated faintly under his touch, a reminder that this place — this forgotten relic — was alive again.

Behind him, a sudden burst of static crackled through a nearby speaker. One of the technicians flinched, nearly knocking over a stack of old manuals as he turned to assess the source. Another man, taller and sturdier than the others, hurried toward Strakov, a thin tablet clutched in his hand.

“Sir,” the man said, his tone clipped. “We’ve got a problem.”

Strakov didn’t look up. “Explain.”

The man hesitated for the briefest moment, then stepped closer. “The system — when we brought it back online, it sent out a signal.”

Now, Strakov looked at him. His pale gaze sharpened, like a knife edge catching the light. “A signal?”

“Yes, sir. Automated. It’s part of the system’s fail-safe protocols. We couldn’t stop it.”

For a long, silent moment, Strakov said nothing. Around the room, the other engineers worked even harder, avoiding his gaze as though their lives depended on it. The only sound was the hum of the reactor and the occasional drip of water hitting the grated floor.

“Where did it go?” Strakov asked finally, his voice low and cold.

“Up,” the man said, gesturing vaguely toward the ceiling. “Directly above us. Anyone within range would have received it — ships, satellites, maybe even surface monitoring stations.”

Strakov’s expression didn’t change. He considered the information for a moment before asking, “And the encryption?”

The man straightened slightly, as though he were eager to deliver good news. “The signal was encrypted, sir — same algorithm we’ve been using. Anyone outside of immediate range won’t be able to make sense of it. To them, it’ll just sound like jumbled interference.”

Strakov turned his gaze back to the reactor console, his face unreadable. “And the Americans?”

The man hesitated. “It’s possible they picked it up, but only if they were close. The encryption will hold.”

Strakov allowed a faint smile to curve his lips — just the ghost of one. “Then let them listen.”

The man blinked, confused. “Sir?”

Strakov’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “If they’ve heard the signal, then they’ll come. That is inevitable. What matters is that we finish what we started before they arrive.”

The man nodded quickly, clearly eager to agree. “Of course, sir.”

Strakov turned away from him, his pale gaze sweeping the room once more. He took in the engineers hunched over their consoles, the warning lights flashing on the reactor panel, the way the walls seemed to groan under the weight of the sea pressing in from all sides. This place was a ruin, held together by rust and desperation.

But it would serve its purpose.

One of the engineers muttered something under his breath as he struggled with a malfunctioning console, his voice carrying just enough for Strakov to hear.

“This place is cursed…”

The man froze as soon as he realized the words had escaped him, his face turning ashen.

Strakov turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Cursed?”

The engineer stammered, his hands shaking. “I — I meant no disrespect, sir. It’s just… the systems, the way they’re behaving — ”

“You think this is superstition?” Strakov interrupted, his tone soft but dangerous. “A curse?”

The engineer opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

Strakov took a step toward him, the sound of his boots on the metal floor unnervingly loud in the otherwise silent room. “This station is not cursed. It is forgotten. Abandoned. That is not the same thing.”

The engineer nodded quickly, looking anywhere but at Strakov.

Strakov turned back to the reactor console, his expression hardening. Forgotten, yes. But no longer.

This place had been left to rot at the bottom of the world, buried under ice and darkness. But now, through his will and patience, it was alive again. That signal — the one his men had been unable to stop — was proof of that. The system was waking up, and its reach extended far beyond the Bering Sea.

They might not have full control yet, but that was temporary. Soon, the station would be theirs — truly theirs.

“Focus on the reactor,” Strakov said, his voice low and commanding. “I want stability in the next hour. Do not disappoint me.”

“Yes, sir,” the engineers replied in unison, their hands flying back to their tasks.

Strakov took one last look at the reactor console, its screens glowing faintly red. Lines of distorted data scrolled across its surface, unreadable to anyone but those who knew what to look for.

Let them come, he thought. The Americans. The fools who could not leave well enough alone.

By the time they found this place, it would already be too late.

CHAPTER 2

DOYLE

The sea takes no prisoners.

Captain Raymond Doyle recited the words told to him long ago by a commanding officer. It wasn’t meant to invoke fear, but respect. The ocean doesn’t gamble. It doesn’t negotiate.

And tonight was shaping up to be the sort of night that reminded Doyle of the phrase. It was late March, but the temperatures here were well below freezing. One hundred fifty miles north of the Aleutian Islands in the Bering Sea, the icebreaker Resolute of the U.S. Coast Guard was painstakingly working its way through a large sheet.

It was routine work. The plane of ice that extended around them in all directions often made the scenery seem calm. Pleasant.

But Doyle knew all too well the sorts of nightmares lurking just beneath the ice, which wasn’t very thick here. A man could walk across it, but falling overboard would only lead to slipping into a fresh crack the Resolute had made in the ice… then disappearing forever.

The Arctic conditions weren’t the worst he’d ever seen, but it was clear a storm was forming to the northwest. Too early to tell if it would head toward them, but Captain Doyle knew from experience never to underestimate a fresh storm. It seemed they always targeted ships.

Lieutenant Jackson Miller, Doyle’s second-in-command, was in the latter part of his thirties and had served with Doyle for years. He looked up and waited for Doyle to meet his eyes.

“Winds are whipping up to fifty knots, sir,” he said.

Doyle could barely feel the pinprick of waves lapping against the sides. The fact that there even were waves to strike their hull meant that not only was the ice thinner than he’d thought, but the winds — and the ocean itself — were growing restless.

Doyle repeated the thought he’d previously had. “We’ve seen worse. Maintain our heading. This flow leads to open water, and we should be able to get there soon enough to navigate away from the storm.”

Miller didn’t respond, instead going back to his task as Doyle once again looked out the bridge, over the deck, and across the moonlit expanse of ice. He stroked his thick beard with a hand. Late forties, gruff and hardened from years at sea, his crew respected him — perhaps even liked him — though he didn’t care one way or another if they did. He was good at his job, diligent and hardworking. Perfect attributes for a man who spent half his life at sea.

Just then, the radio crackled to life.

“…Polaris reactivating… problems… countdown engaged…”

Doyle turned around, seeing Miller once again look up at him, frowning. Next to him, Petty Officer Collins — about ten years younger than Miller — seemed nervous.

“The hell was that?” Doyle asked.

“It’s appearing digitally as an encrypted transmission as well, probably for long-range purposes. But we can hear it because… we must be close to it.”

Collins picked up the transponder and provided a response. “This is the Resolute, responding on channel 16. Identify yourself. Repeat, this is the Resolute. Do you require assistance?”

Silence.

For a moment, all was still. The winds died back down in a brief respite.

All three men in the bridge — on deck, the weather, the sea itself — and the radio had gone silent.

Then the radio crackled once more — though no words could be heard — and the winds picked up again, this time with a vengeance.

Doyle glanced to his left, out to the northwest. It seemed the weather system had grown three times in just the last minute.

It’s going to be on us before we can get out of this break.

Still, the Resolute was a hardy ship. It had a hardy crew — trained and experienced. They’d been through plenty of storms, and though this one was large, he doubted it was anything they couldn’t handle. As long as it didn’t force them to list at an odd angle, the ice might even help them if they had to batten down the hatches and wait it out.

He thought briefly of his cabin — the tiny coffee maker he could fire up in an instant, his stack of worn paperbacks on a shelf, ready and waiting…

Yes, perhaps a storm was just what they needed. Something to force them all to have a bit of downtime. A bit of a break.

They hadn’t seen land in about a week, and while that was certainly not the longest any of them had gone, the steady rhythm of normal day-to-day ship operations wore down even the most wet-behind-the-ears recruit. For a career man like Doyle, it meant he got bored easily.

While he wouldn’t wish for bad weather, it did give them something different — a change of pace. If they happened to get stuck here for a few extra hours, or even a day, his crew could handle keeping the ship operating while he took an hour to himself.

He turned back to Collins. “Anything?”

Collins shook his head. “No, sir. Just that one transmission. What did it say? Polaris reactivating?”

“That mean anything to you?” Doyle asked, his eyes flicking between his two men.

Both shook their heads.

He grunted. “Me neither. Well, hail them a few more times, then forget it. Not our circus, not our monkeys.”

Technically, being a U.S. Coast Guard vessel meant this very much was their circus — and quite potentially their monkeys as well. But without any more information — nothing on radar, nothing picked up by sonar — there was little else they could do but wait for another transmission.

He smiled to himself. Not like we’re going anywhere anytime soon.

CHAPTER 3

DOYLE

Captain Doyle turned back to his post, standing sentinel, looking out over the bow of the ship. He kept the storm in his peripheral vision, watching it, trying to analyze its next move, guessing which way the warmer winds were coming from that had caused it to cycle up in the first place.

He had grown fond of being a closet weatherman and had gotten quite good at reading the skies. With all the state-of-the-art equipment on board, there was something visceral about looking to the heavens for answers. Something that hearkened back to his predecessors in time — generations of seafaring individuals like himself, having nothing but a compass — sometimes not even that — to guide them.

The sea takes no prisoners.

Oh, the stories that could fill the paperbacks in his cabin. He longed to read the accounts of the men lost at sea, of their final thoughts, their final reckoning with what was about to happen. He knew there would be fear, sadness, despair. But he wanted their stories — to know their lives, their pasts, the loved ones they left behind. Now that would be good reading.

Instead, he had to rely on the modern-day masters of the craft. Though he’d come across plenty of phenomenal authors able to weave tales of seafaring adventure and exploration. Wayne Stinnett was a favorite, as was Clive Cussler, of course. His current book was the latest by a fellow named Douglas Pratt — someone he wouldn’t mind having a drink with should the opportunity ever arise.

“Sir.”

Doyle frowned again, turning to Collins. It wasn’t often he sensed hesitation in their voice, so it must be something on radar — or perhaps a sonar ping. That could be the source of the strange transmission they’d received.

Thankfully, Collins spoke again before Doyle had to ask him to spit it out. “Sir, there’s an issue — something’s going on with — ”

Doyle had half a mind to walk over and wring the kid’s neck. But something had him shook, so he simply walked over and peered down at the instrument panel. Sure enough, he saw the screen flickering. A few seconds on, then off, then back on…

Miller added his own hesitant reply. “I’m seeing it here, too, sir. Engines showing weird anomalies.”

“What sort of anomalies?”

Miller didn’t need to answer.

A deep, resonant hum began reverberating through the ship — something that seemed to come from the sea itself. Doyle felt more than saw the lights flicker, as if all of the electricity on board the ship was in the air. Resolute dipped, and then came back.

“What the hell is this?”

“We’re losing engine control,” Miller added. “I’m trying — ”

“Radar’s down completely, sir,” Collins added. “I’m trying — ”

“Force a reset. Reboot navigation systems. Call down and see if there’s anything going on in the engine room. Try to keep them running as long as possible. I don’t want to do a restart if we can help it.”

Doyle looked out again and saw that the storm was still growing. Being stuck in a storm in an ice flow in the middle of the Bering Sea was par for the course.

But being stuck in the Bering Sea in inclement weather, with no power, was a different story altogether.

He waited, an excruciating five seconds. “Anything?” he snapped at Collins.

Collins was frantic now, his hands shaking as he worked over the instrument panels. Some were just monitors, the actual computers running them sitting in a server rack behind them. Worst case, they could flip a switch and restart the entire box — but that would take an extra few minutes they likely didn’t have.

“Nothing, sir,” Collins said, his voice hoarse, weak. Still, he worked diligently. He might be young, but he was highly trained and very capable. He’d been through plenty of situations with Doyle and Miller, as well as most of the rest of the crew. If anyone could figure out what was going on with their systems, it was Collins.

Doyle, of course, knew his way around the bridge just fine, having served the Coast Guard in multiple positions over the years. Originally a navigator — most recently before his stint as captain of the Resolute — he’d spent his entire life on boats. He could drive them, fix them, and certainly use the navigational tools on them.

But the Resolute was as much a mainframe supercomputer as it was a floating vessel. It was crucial to have specially trained individuals like Collins and Miller at the helm of their own stations.

Another thirty seconds passed, the humming beneath them growing in intensity, swelling and then dying back down like an engine revving up the entire planet. He had no idea what the noise was, but there was no way it could be coming from his relatively small ship.

Finally, Collins looked up at him, then shook his head. “I can’t get anything to work, sir. Screens are flickering, but it’s not the screens themselves. It’s the system. It’s like it’s being interfered with — digitally, and remotely.”

“We’re being hacked?” he asked.

“Hacked? I don’t think… I mean, that’s what it seems like, but there’s no one — ”

“Just see what you can do. If we need to go silent for a bit, we can. But I need to know that you can keep them out of the system.”

Collins swallowed, nodded, then got back to work.

Just then, Miller caught his attention. “Sir, we’ve lost all — ”

“Lost all what?”

But Doyle felt it at the same time Miller answered.

The engines on board the Resolute died.

The humming that was very clearly coming from somewhere else filled the space immediately, the otherworldly vibration causing something in Doyle he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Fear.

CHAPTER 4

SERGEI

The modified submersible hummed like a restless beast as it descended into the dark waters of the Bering Sea.

Sergei Ivanov gripped the controls, his jaw tight. The reinforced glass dome in front of him revealed nothing but blackness — a void that swallowed light and sound with terrifying ease. They were only a few hundred feet down, not miles into the abyss, but it hardly mattered. Here, beneath the freezing waves, the world was dark, still, and cold enough to kill a man in minutes.

The hum of the engines vibrated through Sergei’s bones, the familiar sound doing little to soothe his nerves. He’d been on deep-sea dives before, had piloted craft through worse waters, but something about this mission unsettled him. He didn’t know if it was the trench itself, the station they were approaching, or the fact that he had no idea who was truly pulling the strings.

He glanced at the young man seated beside him — Dimitri. Fresh-faced, maybe late twenties, and far too green for a dive like this. Dimitri’s hands fluttered over the control panel, his movements quick but uncertain, betraying the nerves Sergei could hear in his voice.

“Depth at one hundred meters,” Dimitri reported, his eyes darting between the instruments. “Magnetic interference is climbing, and sonar’s acting strange.”

Sergei grunted, more to himself than Dimitri. He stared straight ahead, his narrowed eyes searching the black void beyond the submersible’s headlights. “It’ll get worse the closer we get.”

Dimitri swallowed, the sound audible even over the hum of the engines. “I still don’t see why we’re here. You know this station is a ruin, right? Should be a ruin, I mean.”

Sergei ignored him. He didn’t have answers — at least, not ones that would satisfy the kid.

He’d been recruited into The Faction only months ago. At first, Sergei had assumed it was a Russian operation, something buried deep in the remnants of Cold War intelligence networks. But he’d quickly realized it wasn’t that simple. The Faction was something bigger — something more dangerous. It had no flag, no borders, and no loyalty to any nation.

And Anton Strakov? He was the worst of them. The man wasn’t just embedded in The Faction — he thrived in it. He was ruthless, calculating, and fanatical about their goals, whatever they truly were. Sergei had followed orders from hard men before, but Strakov was different. He operated on another level entirely.

Who was really giving the orders? Sergei didn’t know. He wasn’t sure anyone in The Faction did — other than Strakov, perhaps. But Strakov didn’t explain himself. Not to Sergei, and certainly not to Dimitri.

“Two hundred meters,” Dimitri reported, his voice pitching slightly higher. “Sonar’s blipping again. Look at this.”

Sergei glanced at the monitor, where the sonar display stuttered and pulsed irregularly. It was like the sub’s instruments couldn’t decide what they were seeing.

“It’s the station,” Sergei said flatly.

“The station,” Dimitri echoed, his tone doubtful. “The one that’s been buried for fifty years? The one Strakov says is still down here?”

Sergei flicked him a sharp look. “It is still here.”

Dimitri’s lips tightened, but he didn’t argue. Sergei turned back to the view in front of him, his eyes narrowing as the submersible pushed through the darkness. He knew Dimitri was scared. Hell, Sergei was scared, too. But he didn’t have the luxury of showing it. Men like Strakov noticed things like fear.

The engines thrummed louder as Sergei adjusted their course, lowering the sub another twenty meters. Then, faintly — almost imperceptibly — the station appeared.

“There,” Sergei muttered, pointing to the screen.

The outline was faint at first, no more than a shadow against the black water, but it grew clearer as the sub drew closer. Lights from the craft’s floodlamps swept forward, cutting through the murk to reveal the hulking silhouette of something massive — something that shouldn’t have been there.

Dimitri leaned forward, his face pale in the glow of the instruments. “Bozhe moi…”

Sergei didn’t reply. He knew what Dimitri was seeing — he was seeing it, too.

The station emerged from the darkness like a nightmare dragged from the depths of time. It was vast and jagged, its brutalist design unmistakably Soviet in origin. Portions of it were sunken into the seabed, smothered by decades of silt and shifting currents, but the core structure remained intact.

Faint lights pulsed weakly along its edges — ancient, flickering beacons that cast eerie shadows against the trench floor. It was as though the station itself were alive, its heart beating faintly after all these years.

Dimitri’s voice trembled. “This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be here.”

Sergei shot him a sharp glance. “We finish the job.”

Dimitri’s gaze snapped to him. “And what is the job, Sergei? Do you even know?”

Sergei’s jaw tightened. “We follow orders.”

“Orders from who?” Dimitri pressed, his voice rising. “Strakov? The Faction? Who’s really in charge here?”

Sergei didn’t answer. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t about to admit that to a kid who was already teetering on the edge.

The submersible’s console flickered. A faint shudder rippled through the craft, followed by a brief dip in the hum of the engines. Sergei tensed, his fingers tightening on the controls as the lights flickered violently.

“What the hell?” Dimitri yelped, his hands flying to his console.

The darkness rushed in, swallowing the sub whole for a terrifying moment. For a single heartbeat, Sergei could hear nothing but his own breath, harsh and ragged in the confined cabin.

Then, as suddenly as it had failed, the power returned. The lights flared back to life, and the sonar display sputtered into motion once more.

Dimitri exhaled shakily, slumping back into his seat. “Systems glitching. Power surges…” He paused, then added quietly, “This place is cursed.”

Sergei ignored him, keeping his eyes locked on the station. The lights pulsing along its structure seemed brighter now, almost as if the station were aware of their presence.

“Others are coming,” Sergei said suddenly, his voice low.

Dimitri turned to him, frowning. “What others?”

“The Americans,” Sergei replied. “Strakov wants them to find this place.”

Dimitri’s brow furrowed, confusion and fear warring on his face. “Why let them come? Why bring them here at all?”

Sergei shrugged, his gaze never leaving the station. “Because Strakov wants witnesses.”

“Witnesses?”

“And bait,” Sergei added quietly.

Dimitri stared at him, his face pale. “Bait for what?”

Sergei didn’t answer. Instead, he eased the controls forward, guiding the submersible closer to the station’s main structure. The vastness of it loomed larger with every meter, its brutalist walls disappearing into the silt.

He thought of Strakov’s cold confidence, the way he’d spoken of the Americans like they were pieces on a chessboard. Sergei didn’t know the game Strakov was playing, but he didn’t need to. He had his orders.

And if the Americans were coming, well…

“They’ll come,” Sergei murmured, more to himself than Dimitri.

Dimitri turned to him, his voice trembling. “What did you say?”

Sergei’s eyes narrowed as he stared through the viewing glass, at the station waiting for them in the dark.

“And we’ll be waiting.”

CHAPTER 5

DOYLE

The sea takes no prisoners.

Captain Raymond Doyle knew the saying, but tonight it felt less like wisdom and more like a threat. The Resolute sat frozen in its tracks, trapped amidst the thickening ice of the Bering Sea, as though nature itself had reached out to hold the ship still.

Then there was the sound. That deep, resonant hum, vibrating through every deck, every bulkhead — seeming to come from beneath the sea.

And now, something else.

Doyle stood on the bridge, tense as a steel cable, when a crackling voice came through the intercom. Petty Officer Collins.

“Sir, you need to see this. On deck.”

Doyle glanced to Lieutenant Miller, still pale and agitated from their earlier struggle with the failing systems. Miller gave a weak nod. “Go, sir. I’ll hold things down here.”

Doyle didn’t feel reassured. Systems were dropping faster than they could troubleshoot, and no explanation — not for the interference, the power anomalies, or the godforsaken hum — had presented itself. Still, whatever was happening outside demanded his attention.

Bundling up, Doyle stepped out into the frigid night, the wind slicing at his face. Several crew members stood near the bow, dressed in bulky winter gear, their heads down, hands shoved into pockets for warmth. But they weren’t focused on the cold.

They were staring at the ice.

“Captain, look…” one of them muttered, voice muffled beneath a scarf. “It’s moving.”

Doyle followed their gaze. At first, it looked like nothing more than the familiar expanse of white, a sheet of ice stretching out in every direction. But as he stepped forward, the unnatural became unmistakable.

The ice was moving — buckling. Large sections shifted in slow, rhythmic pulses, as though something enormous churned deep beneath the surface. Doyle’s breath froze in his throat.

“Hold your position,” he ordered, though none of the men had moved. They were too transfixed.

And then they saw it.

A glow. Faint, at first — just a flicker of pale blue radiating from beneath the shifting ice. It pulsed, in time with the hum that filled the air, sending an eerie light dancing across the snow-dappled deck. Doyle couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“What the hell is that?” whispered a crewman, his voice barely audible.

Doyle said nothing. He stepped forward, boots crunching in the thin layer of frost. “Collins,” he barked into his radio, his voice sharper than he intended, “I need sonar readings. Now.”

There was a beat of static before Collins responded, sounding strained. “Sonar’s — uh — jammed, sir. Some kind of interference. It’s not picking up anything.”

The glowing pulses grew brighter, casting eerie shadows against the Resolute’s hull. The ice cracked and groaned in response, fissures creeping outward like veins. The hum became a low vibration Doyle felt in his chest, rattling his ribs. He turned back toward the bridge.

“Get me Miller,” Doyle snapped over the radio. “We’re — ”

“Sir!” Collins shouted back, panic seeping into his tone. “Lieutenant Miller — he just collapsed!”

Doyle froze. “Collapsed? What do you mean collapsed?”

“I think… I think it’s the air, sir. Something’s — ” A burst of static cut the rest of Collins’s words short.

Doyle didn’t waste another second. He spun on his heel and stalked back toward the bridge, his breath coming in short bursts. He tried not to think about Miller — or what Collins had said about the air. Whatever was happening was growing worse, faster than he could react.

By the time Doyle pushed through the door to the bridge, the hum was so loud it seemed to drown out thought itself. The lights were flickering. Instruments across the control panel were dead or useless, screens blinking in and out. The ship felt… ill, somehow. As though its guts had been hollowed out and replaced with something alien.

Miller was slumped over his station, a thin trickle of blood running from his nose. Petty Officer Collins stood over him, his face pale and stricken.

“I — I didn’t know what to do,” Collins stammered. “I just found him like this.”

Doyle’s gut clenched. “Seal the bridge,” he barked, striding forward. “Shut off ventilation to this compartment and get the damn fans running. If there’s something in the air — ”

The words died in his throat. A shape flickered across the bridge’s front-facing window.

Not a shape — a shadow.

Doyle stepped closer, his heart pounding hard enough to hurt. Outside, the ice churned violently now, cracking apart in jagged shards. The glow beneath had intensified, sending columns of shifting blue light through the water.

Then he saw it.

A massive, dark silhouette moved below the ice. It was impossible to make out its full form — like trying to glimpse the moon through clouds — but it was there. Vast and alive, pushing against the ice as though testing its strength.

“Something’s under us…” Doyle murmured, his voice hoarse.

The hum roared into a crescendo. The lights flickered twice, then died. The bridge plunged into darkness.

And then, with a sickening groan, the Resolute lurched violently to starboard. Doyle grabbed onto the nearest console as Collins cried out and Miller’s limp body slid from his chair. Metal screamed, the sound of it echoing through the bridge.

The final thing Doyle saw before the world went black was the ice giving way — exploding upward as something vast began to rise from beneath the ship.

CHAPTER 6

BEN

The smell of chili drifted lazily through the warm air of the cabin, wrapping itself around the space like a favorite blanket. It was the kind of smell that could trick a man into believing the world outside didn’t exist — the snow-capped peaks, the restless hum of the wind through the trees, and the faint growl of something humming beyond the old log walls.

Ben leaned against the kitchen counter, staring into the pot bubbling away on the stove. He gave it another slow, deliberate stir, his wooden spoon scraping across the bottom in a steady rhythm. Years of trial and error had honed this recipe to perfection. Not bad for a guy who’d once survived on instant noodles and cafeteria eggs during his bachelor days.

“Needs more cumin,” he muttered, scanning the tidy row of glass jars on the counter. Each one had a neatly written label in Julie’s perfect handwriting — “Ground Mustard,” “Turmeric,” “Paprika (Smoked)” — the sort of thing that might appear in a high-end cooking blog.

“Fancy labels,” Ben grumbled, reaching for the jar of cumin. He shook in a pinch, pausing to mutter under his breath. “What happened to ‘MYSTERY SPICE #2’ and the old Sharpie method?”

He smirked to himself, tasting another spoonful. Julie’s eye for detail had spread across the entire cabin, from the vintage rugs layered under the coffee table to the carefully chosen curtains in the living room. It was tasteful, intentional… and far more civilized than anything he’d ever managed alone. Left to his own devices, Ben would’ve been perfectly content living like a guy whose interior design philosophy was “Does it come in one box?”

The thought made him smile — until something small collided with his leg.

“Daddy!”

Hope barreled into the kitchen, her chubby cheeks flushed pink from play. She clutched a wooden spoon in both hands like a knight wielding a sword, her socks skidding on the floor as she made a dramatic stop right beside him.

“I’m helpin’!” she declared, proud as could be.

Ben looked down, eyebrows raising as she held up the spoon for inspection. “You’re helping, huh? And what’s this? The fancy spoon?”

Hope nodded vigorously. “I do stir.”

Ben couldn’t keep from grinning. He crouched, scooping her up and setting her down on the counter, her tiny legs swinging as she gripped her “tool.” “I thought you were building a spaceship with Reggie.”

“Can’t.” Her voice dropped to a small, frustrated pout. “Reggie said no rockets inna new room.”

Ben winced in mock sympathy. “No rockets, huh? Sounds rough.”

She nodded gravely. “He said ‘stop touchin’ buttons.’”

“Smart man,” Ben murmured, ruffling her hair. “Last time you ‘helped,’ we had alarms going off for hours.”

Hope giggled, unconcerned. Her eyes lit up as she spotted the bowl of chocolate chips resting beside the stove.

Ben leaned in conspiratorially. “I need a special helper to guard these. Think you’re up for it?”

She gasped as though he’d handed her the Crown Jewels. “Me?”

“You,” Ben confirmed, plopping a chocolate chip into her outstretched hand. “But only one. Helpers need focus.”

She popped the chocolate into her mouth and swayed back and forth, legs kicking against the cabinets. For a moment, everything felt steady, still. Outside the window, snow drifted lazily down, dusting the pines like powdered sugar. The peaks of the Chugach Mountains loomed silent and indifferent in the distance, but here, in this warm little pocket of the world, the world felt manageable.

Ben allowed himself a rare moment to soak it in: the steam rising from the chili, Hope humming softly as she swung her legs, the faint sound of Julie’s footsteps down the hall.

Julie entered a moment later, brushing a smudge of paint from her jeans and looking mildly amused at the scene before her.

“I leave for five minutes,” she said, leaning against the counter, “and suddenly she’s in charge of dinner?”

“Big promotion,” Ben said, straight-faced. “She’s on chocolate security detail.”

Hope held up her spoon triumphantly. “I’m workin’!”

Julie raised an eyebrow. “And chocolate counts as wages, I’m guessing?”

Ben gave her a look that managed to be both sheepish and self-satisfied. “World-class chili cancels out chocolate. That’s science.”

“Is it now?” Julie smirked, tugging the chocolate bowl just out of Hope’s reach. “Your chili might be famous, but I’m not explaining cavities at her next appointment.”

Hope pouted dramatically, letting her spoon clatter onto the counter. “Moooom.”

Julie hoisted her off the counter with practiced ease. “Dinner first, sugar tornado. Let’s go get your hands cleaned up.”

As they headed toward the hallway, Hope craned her neck to shout back, “Don’t burn it, Daddy!”

Ben raised a hand in mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

The cabin settled back into calm as Ben gave the chili another stir, the steam rolling up in waves. He glanced at the old wooden clock on the wall — from Ben’s mother’s house, one of the few things Julie hadn’t replaced. Dinner would be on the table in fifteen minutes, tops. Chili night was sacred, and it was shaping up to be a good one.

The door to the addition clunked open with a hydraulic hiss, and Reggie burst into the kitchen like a man who’d seen a ghost.

“Ben!”

Ben turned, startled by the urgency in his voice. “Whoa, what’s the rush? Dinner’s not even — ”

“Forget dinner!” Reggie blurted, shoving his glasses up his nose with one hand while the other flapped frantically toward the sealed door. “You need to see this!”

Freddie followed on his heels, as calm and unruffled as ever, though the seriousness in his expression made Ben’s stomach tighten. He was a massive man — almost as tall as Reggie, but far wider. And all muscle. His broad, brooding frame nearly filled the doorway, the glow of a tablet lighting up his face as he held it out.

“Sorry to interrupt chili night,” Freddie said. “But Reggie’s right. This is big.”

Ben frowned. He glanced back at his pot of chili, bubbling innocently on the stove. Whatever was on that tablet, it wasn’t going to wait.

With a sigh, he grabbed the dish towel and tossed it over his shoulder. “Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s see what’s so important it couldn’t wait one night.”

Reggie spun around, already halfway to the addition’s sealed door. Freddie followed, tablet in hand, leaving Ben no choice but to trail after them.

“Better be worth it,” Ben muttered under his breath. And I swear, if it’s another one of Reggie’s ‘accidental discoveries’…

The cabin’s warmth faded behind him as the door to the addition hissed open, spilling cold, sterile light into the cozy kitchen.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t going to be good.

CHAPTER 7

BEN

The sealed door to the addition hissed shut behind Ben, cutting off the warmth of the cabin — the smell of chili and the sound of Hope’s laughter — like someone flipping a switch. The hum of servers filled the quiet here, vibrating faintly through the steel floors, the walls cold and unyielding.

The transition never felt natural. Inside the addition, Ben couldn’t pretend to be just a husband or a dad. This was the other half of his life — the part where Harvey “Ben” Bennett led a team that operated in the cracks where no one else could.

At the far side of the room, Reggie was already hunched over the command table, his hands flying across the glowing holographic interface. “Ben!” he called, without even looking up. “This is big — like ‘cancel-chili-night’ big!”

Ben didn’t rush. He’d learned long ago not to let Reggie’s nerves wind him up. He trusted his best friend, but he’d also learned an important life lesson from him: trust, but verify.

As such, Ben crossed the steel floor with deliberate calm, glancing at Freddie as he went.

Freddie stood near the table with his arms crossed, sharp eyes fixed on the screens. He didn’t move or speak yet — just watched, steady and quiet. The kid was the youngest member of the CSO, but you wouldn’t always know it by looking at him.

Ex-Army, Freddie carried himself with a stillness that spoke of training and discipline. He had the same sharp jaw and buzzed haircut as a hundred other soldiers, but his eyes were different — focused, thoughtful, like he was always putting pieces together. Maybe that was why he fit here. Freddie didn’t have the blind bravado some young recruits came with. He had something to prove, sure, but Ben got the feeling it was mostly to himself.

That probably had something to do with his uncle, General Nathaniel Rollins. A big name. A big shadow. Freddie didn’t talk about him much — just enough for Ben to know the man was a career Army heavyweight, and Freddie’s place on this team came with added pressure. If the kid ever stumbled, the world would notice.

“Freddie,” Ben said, nodding in greeting.

Freddie dipped his chin in return. “Ben.”

“Still nothing good, I take it?” Ben asked.

Freddie’s expression didn’t waver. “No, sir.”

“Will someone please look at this!” Reggie exploded, flailing toward the screen as though it might disappear if no one paid attention. His eyes were wide, the characteristic massive grin plastered across his face. It wasn’t that he was happy, just excited.

Ben sighed, stepping up to the command table. “Reggie, start at the beginning. I’m not telepathic.”

Reggie shot him a look over his glasses, then jabbed at the holographic controls. “Fine. Beginning. Ready?”

The main monitor above the table flared to life, and Ben immediately understood why Reggie was so worked up.

A ship — massive, with its hull coated in jagged ice — sat motionless in a dark, frozen expanse. Its deck lights were dark. It looked abandoned, like a monument to something that had gone horribly wrong.

“That,” Freddie said, stepping forward, “is the Resolute. Coast Guard icebreaker. Last logged position: one hundred fifty miles north of the Aleutian Islands.”

Ben frowned. He didn’t know the ship personally, but he knew the type. Icebreakers were designed for brutal conditions — they were the backbone of Arctic navigation. If one of them stopped moving, it wasn’t because of a little bad weather.

“What happened?” Ben asked, his tone sharper now.

Reggie swiped the console again, pulling up a garbled audio file. Static hissed through the speakers — fractured, distorted, like a whisper dragged from the depths. Then the voice came, broken but unmistakably human:

“… Polaris… reactivating… problems… countdown engaged…”

The voice dissolved back into static, leaving the room eerily silent.

“What the hell was that?” Ben asked, his eyes fixed on the screen.

“The last message from the Resolute,” Freddie answered. “It cut out right after this transmission. The ship hasn’t moved since.”

“And the encryption?”

Reggie pushed his glasses up and nodded grimly. “That’s… the bad part. Remember the work Julie did a while ago on that encryption algorithm? How it was being used in multiple transmissions she found on the dark web, as well as others around the world?”

Ben nodded. His wife was a computer genius, and he remembered hearing something about it.

“Well, she identified the encryption as something unique, custom. It’s not an off-the-shelf sort of… well, I don’t really know how else to describe it.”

“It belongs to someone? They’re using it multiple times?”

Reggie nodded. “Exactly. And they keep doing it because they have no idea it’s been intercepted, and certainly have no idea it’s been reverse engineered.”

Ben held up a hand. “There’s a three-year-old stirring my chili right now. Cut to the chase?”

Freddie jumped in. “Ben, it’s the Faction.”

Ben’s stomach tightened at the mention of the Faction. The name alone carried weight. They weren’t just a group — they were an ideology, a network, an invisible war moving beneath the surface of governments and armies. When they had come head-to-head with the most nefarious antagonists Ben had ever heard of, it turned out that more often than not they had been dealing directly with The Faction.

The CSO had crossed paths with them before, and it had never ended cleanly.

Freddie picked up where Reggie left off, his voice steady. “Julie’s code flagged the transmission as soon as it hit. It’s the same encryption we’ve seen before — the same tech the Faction used last year.”

Ben nodded slowly, the pieces starting to line up. He remembered the months Julie had spent breaking the Faction’s system. Their encryption had been buried under layers of noise — signals designed to be undetectable. But Julie had found the patterns. She’d built software to recognize it, no matter how they tried to disguise the message.

“So the Faction’s behind this?” Ben asked.

Reggie’s lips twisted. “Sort of? They’re in the mix, but here’s the thing — they didn’t send the transmission.”

Ben turned to Freddie, eyebrows raised. “Explain.”

Freddie nodded toward the screen, where distorted sonar data flickered into view. It was corrupted and patchy, but Ben could still see the shape lurking beneath the surface.

“The Resolute intercepted that signal,” Freddie said, his voice low. “But they didn’t generate it, and neither did the Faction. They just… found it. Whatever sent that message is down there.”

Ben leaned closer to the display, his jaw tightening. The shadow on the screen was enormous — far bigger than any vessel he’d ever seen.

“And now it’s moving,” Freddie added.

Ben straightened, his mind already working. “Moving where?”

“That’s the problem,” Reggie said. “It doesn’t have a clear path. It’s erratic — doubling back, shifting directions. It’s like… I don’t know. Like it’s searching for something.”

The sharp ping of an incoming call jolted them all.

Reggie froze, his hands hovering mid-motion. “That’s not the Resolute. And it’s coming through… shit, I don’t know what Julie calls all this stuff. It’s a… private line, or whatever.”

“Is there a Caller ID on this private line?” Ben asked.

“Sort of. A number, but the fact that it’s come through to us means it can only be one person.”

Ben straightened instinctively, tension rolling through his shoulders. “Who?”

“Mr. E.”

Ben felt a chill creep through him, though his expression didn’t change. Mr. E — the man who funded the CSO, the man who always knew what was coming. The man who’d once admitted he was somehow tied to the Faction.

“Patch it through,” Ben said.

Reggie swallowed and tapped the controls. The main monitor flickered, the screens going black. For a moment, there was nothing but faint static. Then came the voice — smooth, clipped, and impossible to mistake.

“Good evening, Mr. Bennett.”

Ben straightened, his tone steady. “Mr. E.”

“I see you’ve been catching up,” Mr. E replied.

“You already know about the Resolute,” Ben said. “And the signal. So tell me — what’s under the ice?”

There was a pause — just long enough to make Ben’s skin crawl. “Something ancient,” Mr. E said finally. “And something that should have stayed buried.”

Ben’s fists clenched. “The Faction thinks otherwise.”

“They always do,” Mr. E replied, his voice turning colder. “They believe it’s a key. A weapon. Something that can reshape the world in their image. But they don’t understand it.”

“And you do?”

Another pause. Then: “I know enough to warn you. They’re waking something up, Harvey. I urge you to stop them — before it’s too late.”

“You’re part of the Faction, right? Why don’t you stop them?”

“Don’t be naive, Harvey.”

The transmission cut out, leaving only static.

Ben exhaled slowly, turning back to Reggie and Freddie. “Track that signal,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Find me a location.”

Reggie nodded, already at work.

Freddie met Ben’s gaze, unshaken. “We’re going after it, aren’t we?”

Ben looked back at the screen, where the shadow beneath the ice seemed to grow darker.

“If we don’t,” Ben said quietly, “I’m afraid no one else will.”

CHAPTER 8

BEN

The Resolute looked wrong.

Frozen in black water and surrounded by fractured ice, it loomed on the display like a photograph of something mid-collapse. The deck was empty. The lights were dark. Even without the jagged ice pressing against its hull, it felt abandoned.

Ben stared at the image, hands braced on the edge of the table in the center of the communications room. The hum of the servers filled the silence, a steady, mechanical pulse that somehow made the room feel smaller.

He didn’t like what he was looking at. And he liked the feeling sitting in his gut even less.

“You’re quiet.”

Ben didn’t turn at the sound of Julie’s voice. He didn’t need to. “Doesn’t happen often. Figured I’d try it out.”

Julie stepped into the room, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t suit you.”

Ben exhaled, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth as he finally glanced at her. She’d tucked her hair up in a messy knot, sleeves pushed back on an old sweatshirt that might have been his. She looked like she should be holding a cup of coffee and watching the snow outside — not standing in a high-tech communications room, staring at a Coast Guard ship that had no business being where it was.

“Reggie’s analyzing everything he can pull from the Resolute,” Julie said, nodding toward the display. “Freddie’s prepping the gear. What’s got you stuck?”

Ben pushed off the table, pacing a few steps across the narrow space. “We can’t just fly out there blind.”

Julie watched him, curious. “You’re worried about the Faction?”

“I’m worried about everything.” Ben turned back to her, his voice tight but calm. “That ship didn’t get stuck there on accident. The Faction’s up to something, and whatever they’re chasing is big. But what are we supposed to do — fly out to the middle of the damn ocean and hope we bump into a Faction flag waving in the breeze?”

Julie tilted her head, arms crossed. “So we need more information.”

“We need help,” Ben said bluntly. “We’re not oceanographers. We’re not scientists. Hell, half the time, we’re barely qualified for the jobs we take.” He gestured toward the display. “We need someone who knows what to look for. Someone who can tell us what’s under all that ice.”

Julie raised an eyebrow. “And where exactly are we supposed to find someone like that?”

Ben didn’t have an answer.

The vibration of his phone in his pocket broke the silence. He frowned, pulling it out to check the screen. Unknown number.

Julie caught the look on his face. “You expecting a call?”

“No.”

Ben tapped the screen, opening the text message. It was short and to the point:

> You need answers. Meet me. – Ilya

He stared at the name for a moment, brow furrowing. “Who the hell is Ilya?”

Julie leaned closer to read over his shoulder, her expression shifting from curiosity to suspicion. “Friend of yours?”

“Never heard of her.” Ben’s voice was flat, but his mind was already kicking into high gear. The timing was too perfect. Too deliberate.

“Let me guess,” Julie said, folding her arms again. “Mr. E?”

Ben grunted. “Has to be. Who else would know we need someone?”

Julie’s mouth twisted as she considered it. “And this Ilya person just… texts you out of nowhere? No backstory? No credentials?”

“Looks that way.”

“That doesn’t scream trustworthy.”

“It doesn’t scream anything.” He typed a quick response.

> Who is this?

Ben dropped the phone back into his pocket, his thoughts turning over like gears locking into place. Before he could take his hand back out of his pocket, the phone vibrated again.

> Dr. Ilya Markopov.

Reggie was there, and read the text. He immediately pulled his own phone out.

“But if Mr. E sent her, we don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Ben asked.

Julie didn’t respond.

The truth sat heavy between them — all of them. Ben, Julie, Reggie, Freddie. They didn’t work for Mr. E, not officially. The CSO wasn’t a government outfit. They weren’t tied to any agency, any rules, or any uniforms. That was the whole point.

But Mr. E had been the one to set the CSO in motion. He’d provided the funding, the tech, the addition to their cabin. He’d pulled them all together, one way or another. Now, they were a team. And while Ben had made it clear from the start that they’d only take the jobs they chose, Mr. E had a way of putting his thumb on the scale.

And now there was Dr. Ilya Markopov.

Was she someone Mr. E wanted them to work with? Or was this some sort of trap.

“What do you think?” Julie asked, breaking the silence.

Ben thought about it for a moment. “I think we don’t have the luxury of turning her down. Not yet.”

Julie sighed. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Ben met her gaze, his tone light but firm. “If it turns out to be a trap, we’ll shoot our way out. That’s how we solve problems, right?”

Julie rolled her eyes, but the edge of her mouth twitched up. “Glad to see you’ve thought this through.”

He glanced back at the display one last time. The Resolute hung there like a ghost — still, silent, and waiting.

Whatever the Faction was chasing out there, it wasn’t going to stay hidden forever. And if Mr. E was meddling already, trying to hook them up with some of additional help, it meant the stakes were higher than Ben was ready to admit.

“Looks like I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

“And I’ve got a toddler to get back to.”

Julie turned to leave, but Ben stopped her.

“Hey.”

She paused in the doorway, raising an eyebrow.

Ben smirked faintly. “What do you think we should do?”

CHAPTER 9

JULIE

“I think we should call her.”

Julie watched her husband’s face as he listened to her response.

“Call her?” Reggie asked, still standing near Freddie in the CSO communications room.

“Why would I call her?” Ben asked. “I still don’t even know who this is.”

“She’s a geologist,” Freddie blurted out, looking up from Reggie’s phone. “He Googled her.”

“And she’s…”

Julie waited, predicting what Reggie was about to say.

Reggie cleared his throat, and Freddie took over. “He was about to say, she’s hot. But he can’t say that, because he’s whipped.”

“‘In an adult relationship,’ you mean,” Reggie added.

Julie rolled her eyes. “Anyway,” she interrupted, “I say we call her. It’s Mr. E. I mean, she’s not Mr. E, but Mr. E is behind it. Has to be him.”

Ben nodded, and Julie continued. “This is exactly the way he does things. He keeps his cards close to his chest.”

Reggie smiled. “This would be the way he would set things up. He is inside the Faction, remember? We learned that in Russia, the last time you two spoke.”

Ben was still staring at Julie. “I know, but…”

“You don’t know if you can trust him?,” Julie asked.

Ben looked at her, and she saw the answer in his eyes.

“Ben, if he wasn’t someone we could trust, this all would have been over long ago. And we’d probably all be dead.”

“A bit dramatic,” Reggie said wryly, “but she’s not wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean we can trust him now,” Ben replied. “Or maybe he’s been compromised somehow. When he was taken… by the Faction… right before my eyes. That was… a game they were playing.”

“Ben,” Reggie said, “that’s what they do. They play games. Sure, this might be a game, but you said it yourself: if we don’t do it — if we don’t go to wherever these transmissions are coming from, poke around a little bit — no one else will. And if the Faction is involved…”

“I’m positive they are,” Ben said. “I just don’t know Mr. E’s involvement with them. What’s he truly trying to do?”

“Maybe this Ilya person will have some answers.”

Julie reached out and grabbed the phone from Ben’s hand. He didn’t fight it. She could sense his anxiety building. He was always so calm and content when it was just the three of them — her, her husband, and their beautiful daughter. But he’d been ripped away from that, forced to come in here and make a decision.

Decisions like this led to fatigue, and though her husband was the most resilient man she’d ever met, she knew that fatigue was always there, hiding just beneath the surface.

“Let me do it,” she said softly.

Freddie and Reggie backed away a step, involuntarily, as if acknowledging her leadership and agreeing with her decision.

Ben looked like he might argue for a moment, but she was already tapping his passcode into the phone and navigating to the text message. She pressed Call and held the phone up to her ear.

It connected almost immediately.

“Hello, Harvey Bennett.”

“Actually, this is his wife. Juliette Bennett.”

“It will be a pleasure to meet you, as well,” came Ilya’s reply.

Julie analyzed her voice. It was low, deeper than Julie’s. She sounded American, with just a hint of Russian. A parent, or both, had perhaps been from Russia. Maybe Ilya had been born there?

“Will be?” Julie asked. “Dr. Markopov, we don’t have a meeting set up. If you’d like to — ”

“I know who your benefactor is. I was involved with the same group he’s involved with, and I want the same thing he wants — the same thing you want.”

Julie tightened her hand over the phone, her voice lowering further. “And what exactly is that?”

“We want to end the Faction, once and for all.”

Her eyebrows raised as she peered across at her husband. Ben was close enough to hear both sides of the conversation, but she couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Okay… you have our interest, Dr. Markopov. When do you suggest we meet?”

“How about 15 minutes?”

Julie sucked in a breath. It wasn’t a question, but more of a statement.

“Fifteen — ? We’re over an hour from Anchorage in this weather.”

It was late March, but it might as well have been the dead of winter. This far north, there was only ever one thing on the radar: snow, and lots of it. Alaska’s highway system was well equipped to handle snow, but the route northeast to Anchorage — the closest international airport to them — was still treacherous in places.

“I am driving to you,” Ilya chuckled.

“You’re driving to us? How do you know where — ”

“I told you. I also know Mr. E. I understand this may be alarming, as he often likes to… how would you say it? Dangle one piece of the carrot at a time?”

Julie smiled at the somewhat butchered metaphor, but she understood the point. “Yes, I agree he can be like that. And we happen to have meeting space here.”

When she said this, Reggie and Freddie bristled. She saw them out of the corner of her eye, turning to each other and whispering. Ben walked over to join them. She put a hand over the microphone of Ben’s phone and said quietly to them, “Boys, relax. We’ve got security cameras to make sure it’s just her in the car and that it’s just one vehicle. Even if she is here to cause us harm, well, let’s just say this additional improvement to the cabin has seen worse.”

This didn’t seem to assuage the men’s fears, but it sounded as though this meeting were happening one way or another. She uncupped the phone and answered Dr. Markopov.

“Fine, we will be here. But please understand that situations like this make us all rather tense. We will be armed, just as a way to take extra precaution.”

“I am not scared away by guns,” Dr. Markopov said. “I understand, and I accept. I truly just want to talk, to tell you what I know and ask to come with you.”

Ask to come with us? How does she know we just decided to go find this mysterious place in the Bering Sea? They hadn’t even told Mr. E that —

She stopped. Looked at the bank of computers and monitors covering most of the wall in front of her. Looked at all the cutting-edge technology, communications equipment manufactured by the very company Mr. E used to run, had built and run for years.

He bugged this room.

Of course Mr. E had never set foot inside this room, but she’d learned to understand how great the man’s reach truly was. If he wanted a contractor to install a particular piece of equipment, or more likely, a tiny device somewhere no one would think to check, it would be as easy as sending an email for him.

Besides that, he had built this place — twice. She should have guessed that Mr. E would try putting some sort of listening device in the room somewhere. Frankly, it was the smart thing to do. What better way to keep an eye — or an ear — on someone’s investments?

But still, Mr. E must have known this would be the decision they’d make, or perhaps he thought they would still be discussing it when Ilya arrived. No matter where she’d come from, it had to be a long drive, which meant she had been put into motion by Mr. E long before they’d even heard the encrypted transmission, long before they’d considered the Bering Sea, and long before Reggie and Ben had even Googled it to find out where the hell it even was.

Okay, Mr. E, she thought. It sounds like you really want this to happen. Let’s see what Dr. Markopov offers.

CHAPTER 10

BEN

The conference room was quieter than it had been in a long time. The hum of the addition’s systems under the steel floor seemed louder in the silence, a subtle vibration that Ben had long since stopped noticing. Today, though, it gnawed at the edges of his nerves.

Ben sat at the head of the table, arms braced on the surface, fingers interlaced. He stared across the stark, functional room at the woman who had just arrived — Dr. Ilya Markopov — and waited. He’d spent a lifetime sizing people up, and right now, he was working overtime.

Ilya sat with the kind of poise that made him uneasy — too still, too composed, like a marble statue in a museum. Her posture was straight-backed, her hands resting lightly in her lap, and she met his gaze head-on with a steady, confident calm that spoke volumes.

She was younger than he expected — early thirties, maybe — but there was an edge to her that wasn’t young at all. Her sharp blue eyes were the kind that didn’t miss details, scanning the room like they were cataloging every face, every movement, every potential weakness. Her hair, dark and swept back, framed high cheekbones and a mouth that looked like it didn’t smile often.

Ben didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. People like this — you let them know you were watching right back.

Julie stepped into the doorway a moment later, lingering there with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t say anything, but Ben knew Julie’s version of “quiet” was the one where she was figuring someone out. Her gaze lingered on Ilya the same way Ben’s did: cautious, analytical, waiting.

For a few seconds, the only sound was the faint, rhythmic hum of the addition — the steady undercurrent of technology working in the walls, the floor, the ceiling.

Finally, Ilya spoke, breaking the silence with her low, measured voice.

“My name is Dr. Ilya Markopov,” she said.

Her tone was precise, every word clipped just enough to show she chose them carefully. It wasn’t a nervous voice. It was the voice of someone who was used to being heard.

“Russian-American,” she continued. “Dual citizenship. Deep-sea geologist. I’ve spent the last ten years researching sub-oceanic tectonic anomalies — what most people call ‘underwater earthquakes.’”

The words hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop.

Ben didn’t move. He let the words settle, studying her as though looking for a crack. Her expression didn’t change. If the silence bothered her, she didn’t show it.

From across the room, Reggie shifted in his chair. Ben didn’t need to look to know Reggie was about to say something.

“Don’t — ” Ben started, but it was too late.

Reggie leaned back, draping one arm over the back of the chair like he owned the place. “We know,” he said, letting the words hang out there like a fishing line. “Google’s pretty thorough.”

Ben cut his eyes toward him, unamused.

Reggie shrugged like this was a casual meeting over coffee. “What? I’m just saying, she’s got an impressive resume.”

There was no missing the grin he shot Frankie, who stood near the far wall, arms folded. Frankie ignored him, giving Reggie the kind of deadpan look that had silenced lesser men.

But Ilya didn’t seem fazed. Her sharp gaze flicked to Reggie, and for half a second, Ben swore he saw the faintest curve of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

“Then you also know,” she said smoothly, “I don’t waste time.”

The grin slid off Reggie’s face like someone had yanked the rug out from under him. He straightened up slightly, clearing his throat. “Right. Good point.”

Frankie smirked, but didn’t say a word.

Julie, still in the doorway, tilted her head slightly and allowed herself a small, knowing smile.

Ben exhaled quietly, running a thumb over the edge of the table as he turned his attention back to Ilya. The woman didn’t blink. Didn’t fidget. She just sat there like she’d done this a hundred times before, like it didn’t matter that she was in the middle of nowhere, sitting in the high-tech wing of a cabin surrounded by three strangers with enough weapons stashed nearby to arm a small country.

Most people, when they walked into this room, acted one of two ways: either too confident or too nervous. Ilya was neither. And that alone made Ben uneasy.

“You don’t waste time,” he repeated, his tone as flat as hers. “Good. Neither do I. But if you’re here to talk about underwater earthquakes, you might want to start explaining why that’s suddenly my problem.”

Ilya tilted her chin slightly, those blue eyes narrowing just enough to signal she’d been waiting for that. She didn’t answer right away, though. Instead, she looked around the room — at Julie, still leaning in the doorway, then at Frankie and Reggie. Her gaze settled back on Ben, and when she spoke, her voice was quieter, more deliberate.

“Because your benefactor sent me,” Ilya replied.

She let the words land, but Julie didn’t blink.

“Our benefactor doesn’t usually share names,” Julie said, her tone carefully neutral.

“He didn’t,” Ilya said simply. “But he sent me all the same. And I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think you’d listen.”

The room went quiet again.

Ben watched Ilya carefully, his instincts gnawing at him like they always did when things moved too fast. A Russian-American scientist showing up at their doorstep wasn’t exactly something he could shrug off, especially when her explanation felt incomplete.

“Let me guess,” he said, letting a trace of sarcasm slip into his voice. “You’re here because of that transmission we picked up.”

Ilya didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“And you’re the expert we didn’t ask for?”

Her lips twitched faintly. “I suppose I am.”

Ben rubbed his jaw, his gaze never leaving hers. “Convenient.”

“Necessary,” she corrected.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Reggie mouth the word whoa at Frankie, who just rolled his eyes.

Julie glanced back at Ben, one eyebrow raised as if to say, What now?

Ben didn’t answer the unspoken question. Instead, he looked back at Ilya, his voice calm and steady. “All right, Doctor. You’ve got about five minutes to convince me you belong here.”

Ilya leaned forward just slightly, her hands still folded in her lap. For the first time since she’d walked into the room, Ben saw something flicker in her gaze — something hard, sharp, and urgent.

“I don’t need five minutes,” she said quietly.

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Then start talking.”

CHAPTER 11

BEN

Ilya’s blue eyes flicked up to meet his. She didn’t blink. Didn’t falter. “Because someone has reactivated something that should have been left buried.”

Her words landed like stones in still water, rippling outward into the room.

Ben remembered Mr. E saying almost exactly the same thing.

Ben didn’t react — not outwardly. He’d sat through plenty of conversations that started this way, and most of them ended with more questions than answers. The trick was to let the other person do the talking and see how much rope they gave you.

“Something buried,” Ben repeated slowly, his voice deliberately skeptical. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Ilya straightened slightly, though her hands remained folded neatly on the table in front of her. “My father,” she said, “was a Soviet scientist. His name was Dr. Pyotr Markopov.”

Ben’s brow furrowed slightly, though he said nothing. He’d spent enough time studying history to know the Cold War was a breeding ground for strange, secretive projects, many of which had been buried so deep they never saw the light of day again.

Frankie, still leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed, frowned. “Soviet scientist?”

“Yes,” Ilya replied, turning her gaze to him. “During the Cold War.”

Reggie, who had been lounging in his chair like this was just another Tuesday, let out a quiet whistle. “The Cold War, huh? We talking nukes? Missiles? Laser beams from space?”

Ben shot him a look that could’ve nailed him to the floor. “Reggie.”

“What?” Reggie said defensively, holding up his hands. “It’s not like they didn’t try weird stuff back then.”

“Enough,” Ben said sharply, his focus returning to Ilya. “Keep going, Doctor.”

Ilya turned her attention back to Ben, her face unreadable. “My father worked on a project known as Polaris. It was classified. Few outside the Soviet Union knew it existed.”

“Polaris,” Ben repeated, letting the word sit on his tongue. “What was it?”

Ilya’s expression hardened, her voice lowering slightly, as though what she was about to say weighed on her. “The Polaris Project was an experiment designed to manipulate oceanic currents and tectonic pressure.”

She paused for half a beat, her gaze sweeping the room as though she expected disbelief. “For military purposes.”

Ben’s fingers stilled against the table. Across the room, Frankie shifted his weight, his frown deepening.

“You’re telling me,” Frankie said, his voice carefully measured, “that they were trying to weaponize the ocean?”

“Yes,” Ilya replied, turning to look at him. “The United States had satellites, nuclear bombs, and the ability to target almost anything from above. The Soviet Union wanted something different — something no one could see coming. A weapon of nature.”

The room went quiet. Even Reggie wasn’t quick with a joke this time.

Ben’s eyes narrowed slightly. “The ocean as a weapon,” he said, skepticism threading through his words. “That’s a hell of a story.”

“It’s not a story, Mr. Bennett,” Ilya said firmly. “It’s history. My father and his team believed they could manipulate pressure along tectonic fault lines — triggering earthquakes, tsunamis, and collapses where they wanted them. Controlled destruction.”

Julie, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her voice calm but sharp. “And they thought they could control that?”

Ilya’s gaze shifted to her. “They did. Or, at least, they thought they could.”

Reggie let out a low breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me the Soviets were out there building an earthquake machine? Seriously?”

“It wasn’t a machine,” Ilya corrected, her tone cool but steady. “It was a system. A network of devices, strategically placed on the ocean floor, designed to create pressure and release it where needed. Small tremors could destabilize entire regions. Fault lines could collapse.”

Reggie blinked, his earlier sarcasm faltering. “Jesus.”

Frankie pushed off the wall, stepping closer to the table. “And it worked?”

Ilya turned to him, her blue eyes sharp. “The early tests were successful — too successful.”

“What does that mean?” Ben pressed, his tone flat.

“It means the system was unstable,” Ilya said. “The calculations were perfect in theory, but in practice, the ocean doesn’t behave like an experiment in a lab. One miscalculation could trigger a chain reaction. Pressure didn’t stop where they wanted it to.”

Frankie’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “And they realized they’d built something they couldn’t control.”

“Yes,” Ilya said quietly. “My father realized it first. He tried to warn his superiors that Polaris was too dangerous, but they wouldn’t listen. The project continued. More tests were conducted.”

“And what happened?” Julie asked softly, her arms still crossed as she studied Ilya.

Ilya’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for the first time, Ben thought he saw a flicker of something in her eyes — regret, maybe, or something darker.

“One test,” she said, her voice quieter now, “triggered tremors far beyond the intended location. They believed the fault line was isolated, but the pressure cascaded. A town on the Kamchatka Peninsula — hundreds of miles away — was leveled.”

The silence that followed was absolute.

Ben felt the weight of it settle in his chest like a stone. A Soviet project so unstable that one test had leveled a town? It sounded impossible. But the look on Ilya’s face told him she wasn’t lying.

Reggie finally broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. “So what’d they do? Shut it down?”

“Yes,” Ilya said, her gaze steady again. “My father sabotaged the project. He buried his research, decommissioned the station where Polaris was housed, and ensured that it would never be activated again.”

Ben sat back slightly, his jaw tight. “The station?”

Ilya turned her gaze back to him. “Polaris wasn’t built on land. The system was housed in an underwater research station, deep on the ocean floor.”

Reggie groaned quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “An underwater station. Of course it’s an underwater station. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Frankie ignored him, his focus still locked on Ilya. “And now someone found it.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, her voice firm. “The transmission you intercepted — the one from the Resolute — matches the activation protocols my father designed. Someone reactivated Polaris.”

Ben’s gut twisted. This wasn’t a conspiracy theory. This wasn’t someone connecting dots that didn’t exist. This was real. And if what Ilya said was true, they were already running out of time.

Frankie shook his head slowly. “Why now? After all this time, why wake it up now?”

Ilya’s expression hardened, her blue eyes like ice. “Because secrets don’t stay buried forever. My father’s sabotage was never perfect. Someone found Polaris. Someone pieced it back together.”

Ben didn’t move, but his mind was already racing. He didn’t like coincidences. He didn’t trust stories that sounded too big to be true. But the facts were stacking up, and they all pointed in the same direction.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “And you’re here because you think we can stop it.”

Ilya met his gaze head-on. “I’m here because we have to stop it.”

CHAPTER 12

STRAKOV

The reactor pulsed faintly, its glow spreading uneven shadows across the rust-streaked walls.

Anton Strakov stood still as stone at the edge of the catwalk, staring down at the machine below. The reactor core sat like an ancient leviathan at the center of the chamber, its casing marred with the scars of decades spent in the dark. Every few moments, it flared brighter, the light flickering erratically, illuminating the decaying pipes and trembling catwalks before fading again.

The hum that followed the light was low and dissonant, a vibration that rattled through the chamber like the fractured heartbeat of something waking up.

Strakov’s gloved hands rested on the railing, his pale face impassive as he watched the glow rise and fall. It was unstable — he could see it, hear it, feel it — but it was alive again. That was all that mattered.

Behind him, the chief engineer stood rigid, sweat beading on his brow despite the chamber’s bone-chilling air.

“Admiral,” the man said hesitantly.

Strakov did not turn. “Report.”

The engineer stepped closer, though he still kept a cautious distance from the admiral. His voice wavered slightly, betraying the nerves he couldn’t hide.

“The reactor is fighting itself, sir,” he explained, gesturing to the sputtering consoles below. “It’s building power — more than it can handle. The failsafes are triggering, collapsing the output before it stabilizes.”

The glow flared brighter again, as if to punctuate the engineer’s words. Another pulse rippled through the room, shaking the catwalk under their feet.

“And if it stabilizes fully?” Strakov asked, his tone measured.

The engineer hesitated, glancing nervously at the reactor as though it might hear him. “If it stabilizes fully, Admiral… it will surge. The energy will overpower the entire system.” He licked his lips. “We’ll lose containment. The core will collapse into meltdown.”

Strakov’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then we will all die.”

The engineer froze, his face blanching. He opened his mouth to respond, but Strakov continued, his voice calm and deliberate.

“That is what happened to the original project, isn’t it? The same instability doomed it. The machine worked — too well.”

The engineer nodded, his throat bobbing. “Yes, Admiral. That’s why the project was abandoned. The energy output cannot be controlled at full stabilization. It was designed to create massive pressure fluctuations — tectonic destabilization — but if we push it too far…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Strakov allowed the silence to settle between them for a moment. He could hear the faint drip of water from somewhere high above, the hissing release of steam escaping corroded pipes. The reactor hummed again, a low, deep sound that seemed to vibrate through the very bones of the station.

“I am not interested in full stabilization,” Strakov said at last, his tone like steel wrapped in ice.

The engineer blinked, startled. “Sir?”

Strakov turned his head just slightly, his pale gaze locking onto the man. “We do not need perfection. We need effectiveness.” He turned back to the reactor, his hands tightening briefly on the railing. “The machine is a weapon. It does not need to last. It needs to function — long enough to accomplish what we require.”

The engineer’s brow furrowed as he tried to process the words. “But, sir, the balance — ”

“The balance is my concern,” Strakov interrupted. “Yours is to keep it from spiraling beyond that balance. Understood?”

The engineer swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yes, Admiral.”

Another pulse shuddered through the room, rattling tools on the consoles below. Sparks snapped briefly from one of the stations as an engineer swore and smacked his palm against the panel.

Strakov barely registered the commotion. He kept his gaze fixed on the reactor, watching the way its glow waxed and waned like a dying sun. The problem, he knew, was not waking the machine — it was keeping it awake without letting it run wild. It was walking a knife’s edge between control and chaos.

That was where lesser men had failed before. Strakov would not.

He glanced down at the workers below, men hunched over ancient consoles, their hands moving with desperate precision. They didn’t understand what they were playing with — how close they were to disaster — but they didn’t need to. He was here to ensure they succeeded, whether they understood it or not.

The faint vibration of the reactor pressed into the soles of his boots, up through his legs. It was alive, yes — but not yet awake. Not fully.

Not yet.

The hum deepened again, louder this time, and for a brief moment the lights overhead flickered violently. Strakov tightened his grip on the railing.

“Admiral!”

The shout came from below. One of the younger engineers was pointing at a monitor, his voice rising with panic. “Pressure’s spiking again! We can’t hold the output — !”

The chief engineer turned sharply, barking orders. “Reroute the feed! Stabilize the sub-circuit before — ”

Another pulse hit, stronger than the last. The chamber shuddered violently, the catwalk trembling beneath Strakov’s boots. Tools clattered onto the grated floor, and a distant pipe burst, sending a hiss of steam spiraling into the air.

Strakov’s expression remained unchanged. He turned his head slightly, watching as the engineers scrambled to contain the reactor’s instability.

“It’s close,” he said softly, almost to himself.

The chief engineer looked up, eyes wide. “Admiral, we need to ease off — ”

“No.” Strakov’s voice cut through the rising noise, cold and absolute. “You will hold it steady.”

The engineer gaped at him, disbelief writ across his face. “Sir, if we lose containment — ”

“You won’t.”

The words left no room for argument. The engineer hesitated, then turned back to his team, shouting for adjustments as his hands flew across the console.

Strakov returned his attention to the reactor, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could see it now — what the others couldn’t. The machine was fighting, yes, but it was waking. It was alive enough to pull at the sea itself, to send ripples into the world above.

He knew all too well how close they were to the Alaskan coastline. How close they were to America.

That was the point. The Americans would hear, and perhaps already had begun looking into the strange underwater noises.

Let them.

Strakov’s lips curled faintly, the ghost of a smile.

The hum grew louder, deeper, filling the chamber with its presence. It pressed against the walls, rattled the pipes, shook the air itself. And in that moment, Strakov felt a fleeting surge of something he couldn’t quite name — something that settled deep in his chest, where it ached faintly beneath his ribs.

“One day, Anton, it will be worth it.”

The words echoed from some distant memory — a promise he’d once believed. He could almost hear the voice that had spoken them, rough but kind, full of conviction.

Strakov let the thought linger for only a moment before pushing it aside. He could not afford sentiment, not now.

“Let them come,” he murmured, his voice nearly drowned by the machine’s hum.

The light from the reactor flared again, brighter than before, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the walls like grasping fingers. The chamber trembled around him, the vibrations rolling through the station like the warning rumble of a coming storm.

“Let them come,” Strakov said again, his voice as cold as the sea pressing in around them.

By the time they arrived, it would already be too late.

CHAPTER 13

BEN

“We have to stop it,” Ilya said again, her voice calm but unshakable, as if the weight of those words didn’t rattle her at all.

The statement hung in the air for a long second.

Ben stared at her, waiting. He didn’t like broad declarations without the details to back them up, and right now, details were in short supply. “Stop what, exactly?”

Ilya’s sharp blue eyes flicked toward the console, where the garbled recording still waited on the screen like a phantom. “That signal.”

Julie spoke up from her place near the table, her tone as measured as always. “We know it’s the Faction. The encryption matches their communications perfectly. I cracked it yesterday.”

Ilya turned to look at her, one eyebrow raising slightly, her professional composure momentarily faltering. “You cracked their encryption?”

Julie’s lips quirked upward — just a little. “We’ve had some practice.”

For the first time, Ben saw something flicker in Ilya’s expression: respect. She nodded slowly, as though reassessing the group in front of her. “Impressive. That encryption isn’t just complex — it’s layered, designed to self-scramble if it’s tampered with.”

Reggie couldn’t help himself. “Yeah, well, Julie’s a genius. You’ll get used to it.”

Julie shot him a glare. “Thank you, Reggie. That’s enough.”

Ilya ignored the interruption, turning back to the table and resting her hands lightly on its surface. “The fact that you decrypted it at all is significant. The Faction doesn’t encrypt their transmissions for fun. This was meant to stay hidden.”

Ben frowned. “Then why broadcast it in the first place? If they didn’t want anyone to hear it, why put it out there at all?”

Ilya’s gaze darkened. “Because they didn’t have a choice. That signal wasn’t sent manually. It was automatic — triggered by the system itself.”

“The system sent the signal?” Frankie asked, his tone sharpening.

Ilya nodded. “The Polaris system. When it’s activated — or worse, when it starts to fail — it sends an automated failsafe transmission.”

Ben felt something cold settle in his gut. “A failsafe,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed. “Think of it like an emergency alarm. The message is scrambled so that anyone intercepting it wouldn’t understand its meaning without the proper key. The Faction encrypted it afterward, to ensure that even if the failsafe broadcast was picked up, no one else would be able to make sense of it.”

Reggie let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Okay, so let me get this straight. The system itself sent the message because something went wrong, and the Faction scrambled it to keep it quiet. But Julie cracked the code anyway.”

“Yes,” Ilya said, glancing briefly at Julie again before returning her focus to Ben. “And the fact that you’re hearing this transmission — at all — means the system is active. Operational.”

Ben’s jaw tightened, the weight of her words settling hard in his mind. Operational. The Polaris system — the same Cold War weapon Ilya claimed could trigger earthquakes and tsunamis — wasn’t just some forgotten relic. It was up and running, sending out warnings.

“And the Faction knows this?” Ben asked.

“Of course,” Ilya said. “If they encrypted the signal, it means they’re monitoring it. They want to keep it quiet because they’re afraid someone else will find out what they’ve uncovered.”

“Too late for that,” Reggie muttered.

Ben ignored him, his gaze still locked on Ilya. “Why did the failsafe trigger? What’s wrong with it?”

Ilya’s face was unreadable again, but something flickered in her tone when she spoke — something close to urgency. “I don’t know yet. That’s what concerns me.”

Frankie pushed away from the wall, pacing the length of the room as he thought it through. “So the Polaris system activates, sends out this emergency broadcast, and the Faction scrambles it to cover their tracks. But if something’s wrong with it — if it’s malfunctioning — what does that mean for us?”

“It means it’s unstable,” Ilya replied without hesitation.

The word hit like a punch to the gut.

Reggie sat up straighter, his bravado slipping. “Unstable? As in… ready to blow?”

Ilya turned her gaze to him, her blue eyes colder than before. “Possibly.”

The room fell into silence. Ben didn’t move, didn’t let his expression shift, but his mind was already turning over the implications. If the system was unstable — if it was on the verge of failing — then it wasn’t just a matter of stopping the Faction. It was a matter of stopping the system before it triggered a catastrophe no one could contain.

Julie broke the silence, her voice calm but edged with tension. “You said the transmission proves the system is operational. Does it also tell us where it is?”

Ilya looked at her, and for the first time, hesitation flickered across her face. “Not directly.”

Frankie turned, his brow furrowing. “What do you mean, ‘not directly’? Either we know where it is, or we don’t.”

Ilya exhaled, straightening slightly. “The failsafe transmission originates from the system itself. If we had the right tools — detection equipment, triangulation models — we could trace its source. But the signal itself is… complicated. The Faction designed their encryption to mask the precise origin.”

“So you don’t know where it is,” Reggie said flatly.

Ilya shot him a look. “Not yet. But we know the signal came from somewhere in the Bering Sea. The Resolute picked it up there.”

Frankie frowned. “But the Faction’s already there, so they know the exact location?”

“They’d have to. It can’t be anyone else,” Ilya said. “Plus, they’ve had years to study my father’s work — longer than I have. If they’ve activated the system, we can be sure they’ve found the station.”

Ben leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze fixed on the console. The recording — garbled and broken — seemed to stare back at him like a warning.

“So what we have,” Ben said slowly, “is proof that Polaris is active, evidence the Faction is trying to cover it up, and no idea where the station actually is.”

Ilya didn’t flinch. “That’s why I’m here. To help you find it. To stop it.”

Ben didn’t look at her right away. Instead, he stared at the screen where the garbled words — Polaris… reactivating… countdown engaged — seemed to burn in his mind.

Finally, he turned back to Ilya, his voice low and steady. “Then we find the station, and prevent them from flipping the switch.”

CHAPTER 14

BEN

The team burst into motion over the next 15 minutes. After the bombshells from Ilya Markopov, the CSO group split, and each began performing their assigned duties.

Normally, an operation would require them to fly from Anchorage, but because they were heading somewhere in the Bering Sea, they wouldn’t need the fuel capacity the long-haul airliners provided. Even better, it meant they could leave from a private regional airstrip nestled in the Chugach Mountains. It was something Ben had discovered almost by accident when a plane had crashed on the land behind his cabin, and he had begun investigating the area more. The plane hadn’t taken off from the airstrip, but he’d discovered the tiny runway nonetheless and found that it was owned by a friendly, reclusive old pilot who was happy to lend his expertise and small plane to the group in exchange for a bit of cash.

Ilya stayed close to Ben, asking questions as they moved through the cabin and prepared for the operation. At first, her constant inquiries threw him off — he wasn’t used to someone keeping up with him step for step. But it didn’t take long for Ben to notice something about her: she wasn’t just talking to hear herself. Her questions were sharp and specific, forcing him to think through the logistics in ways he hadn’t yet considered. She had a way of filling in the gaps without overstepping, her voice calm and steady as she pointed out details others might miss.

Ben quickly adjusted to her presence, realizing how valuable her insights really were. This wasn’t some inexperienced academic tagging along for the ride. If he had to guess, she’d been through her share of difficult situations and had learned the hard way how to plan for what could go wrong. By the time they finished their back-and-forth, Ben appreciated her input. She wasn’t slowing him down — she was keeping him sharp.

Julie had returned to the cabin area, but she was busy calling her parents on the phone. It was one thing to have a set of doting grandparents who would literally drop anything at any moment to watch their only grandchild. But it was another thing entirely to be able to offer them private flights from wherever they may be at any point, to bring them to her. Mr. E. had sanctioned the arrangement, urging them to take advantage of the fact that Julie’s parents very much wanted to help their daughter and son-in-law in this way.

Ben certainly wasn’t about to argue — it meant they could go anywhere at the drop of a hat, with at least a few hours’ notice. Or, Ben could get a head start on whatever it was the CSO team was supposed to do, and Julie could meet him there once her parents were settled into the cabin.

Reggie and Freddie hadn’t stopped bickering, though Ben was partly appreciative of that — if it weren’t for Freddie’s presence, Reggie would be bickering with him instead. However, Ben had tasked them with something only they could pull off: finding a group of men and women who knew better than to ask too many questions, could be paid in cold, hard cash, and were capable and experienced at the sorts of things the CSO would ask of them.

In this case, they needed skilled divers — ex-military, preferably — and scientists. Men and women who knew what they were looking at. Men and women who could get the job done.

The problem — and the reason only Freddie and Reggie could solve it — was that Ben couldn’t tell them exactly what the job was. He didn’t know.

He assumed submersibles would be involved, but he didn’t know the first thing about a submarine. Through Mr. E’s connections, he was confident they could acquire one for this mission, but still, that was a detail better left in Reggie’s hands.

Freddie was connected, and though he had retired from active duty, much to the chagrin of his uncle, he seemingly knew everyone who had ever served. They needed a crack team of ex-Navy personnel, specialized in electronics, digital communications, mechanical engineering, and who knew what else.

But Ben didn’t need to micromanage this — Freddie was whip smart and knew every bit about the job as Ben, and Ben trusted him with filling in the blanks for the remainder. Whoever he and Reggie chose, and whatever equipment they picked out, would be the right decision.

Everyone moved throughout the cabin and its addition with practiced efficiency. Even Ilya, now working in step with Ben, seemed to have landed into a distinct purpose. Her questions shifted from logistical inquiries to keen observations about the mission itself, offering suggestions Ben hadn’t yet thought of. It was like having an additional pair of eyes on the plan — eyes that missed nothing.

It wasn’t exactly a plan, but she was definitely going to be an asset. Ben appreciated that Mr. E had chosen so wisely.

That being said, he still didn’t know what the hell they were getting themselves into. That had become a theme in the CSO’s world, and he only hoped it didn’t mean the worst.

CHAPTER 15

BEN

A few hours later, the small plane hit the gravel airstrip with a jolt that sent every loose object on board rattling. For a second, Ben wondered if the whole thing was about to shake apart, but the pilot brought it to a stop with the practiced ease of someone who’d made landings in far worse conditions.

He released the armrest he’d been gripping and looked out the window as the engines wound down. Outside, the Aleutian landscape stretched out in all directions, gray skies hanging low over rolling green slopes that rose into sharp volcanic cliffs. Snow still clung stubbornly to the peaks, but here at the base, hints of spring were beginning to emerge — patches of green moss and scrubby grass pushing up through the softened ground.

Even with the drizzle of freezing rain and the ever-present wind, there was something striking about Akutan. It was beautiful in a way that felt untamed and wild, as if nature here wasn’t quite done deciding what it wanted to become.

“Okay,” Reggie groaned theatrically, pulling off his headphones. “I’m gonna need some clarification. Did we just land, or was that a crash disguised as a landing?”

Freddie shot him a flat look as he shoved his bag under his arm. “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”

“Barely,” Reggie muttered, twisting in his seat to glance out the window. “And what is this place? It looks like the end of the world meets the start of an Instagram post.”

Ben ignored them, rising to grab his pack as the pilot opened the rear cargo door. Cold wind punched into the cabin, bringing with it the sharp bite of salt air and rain. He stepped forward and descended the narrow ramp, his boots hitting damp gravel with a crunch.

The runway stretched behind him, a narrow band of flattened earth edged by patches of moss and hardy grass. It felt impossibly small — almost like an afterthought — surrounded by the steep volcanic ridges that loomed on either side. In the distance, the gray water of the Bering Sea churned and frothed, its waves crashing against the cliffs with rhythmic force.

The wind was relentless. Ben pulled his hood up and glanced toward the rusted hangar at the edge of the airstrip. It was large enough to house a small plane, its corrugated metal streaked with reddish-brown rust, though there was something almost dignified about it. A single bulb buzzed weakly above the entrance, casting pale light onto the gravel.

At least there’s shelter, Ben thought, shifting the weight of his pack on his shoulder.

Reggie stumbled down the ramp a moment later, pulling his coat tighter around himself as the wind hit him full-force. “Oh, fantastic,” he grumbled. “Alaska still hates me. I can feel it in my bones.”

Freddie followed more steadily, tucking his hands into his coat pockets as he surveyed the area. “Quit whining. It’s not that bad.”

Reggie shot him a look, then gestured dramatically to the cliffs and gray sea beyond. “Not that bad? This place looks like it’s auditioning to be the set of a horror movie. I’m half expecting something to crawl out of the ocean.”

Ben rolled his eyes, already walking toward the edge of the airstrip to get a better look around. The area was as empty as it seemed — no movement, no vehicles, nothing but the sound of wind and distant waves.

Freddie trailed after him, his boots crunching on the gravel. “You think the others are here yet?”

“They’re supposed to be,” Ben replied, scanning the ridgelines. “It’s not like there are a lot of options out here.”

Freddie nodded, then turned to glance at the hangar. “Think they’re inside?”

“Probably.” Ben squinted toward the dark windows. The light spilling from the entrance wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

Reggie ambled up to join them, still muttering under his breath as he surveyed the hangar. “This place better have heat. Or coffee. Or both.”

“Why don’t you check the perimeter?” Ben said, not bothering to hide the edge in his voice.

Reggie groaned. “Fine. But if I get hypothermia — ”

“You won’t,” Ben cut in.

Reggie didn’t argue further. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and trudged off toward the far side of the runway, Freddie following a few steps behind him. They weren’t in a hurry — there wasn’t exactly anywhere for someone to hide out here — but it was better to get a full look at the place.

Ben stayed put, his gaze lingering on the hangar. The longer he looked at it, the more out of place it seemed — like someone had dropped it here decades ago and forgotten to come back. The wind whistled faintly through the seams of its metal siding, and the single light above the door flickered as though it was hanging on out of spite.

“See anything?” Julie’s voice cut through his thoughts, and he turned to see her walking toward him. She’d pulled her hood up against the wind, though damp strands of dark hair still clung to her face.

“Nothing yet,” Ben replied. “Looks like the others are late.”

“Or we’re early,” she pointed out, her gaze following his toward the hangar. “You think they’re waiting for us inside?”

“Probably,” Ben said, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that the hangar looked emptier than it should. He shifted the strap of his pack and glanced toward Reggie and Freddie, who were circling back toward them. “They’ll let us know if they find anything.”

Julie came to stand beside him, her hands tucked into her coat pockets as she looked up at the building. “Charming,” she said dryly. “You sure this is the right place?”

Ben snorted. “It’s the only place.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The wind tugged at their coats, and the distant roar of the sea seemed closer than before.

Finally, Ben shifted his weight and nodded toward the hangar door. “Let’s check it out.”

Julie sighed, her breath clouding in the cold air. “Lead the way.”

They stepped toward the entrance together, the gravel crunching beneath their boots. As they neared the door, Ben’s eyes flicked to the single bulb still buzzing overhead. It cast just enough light to make the darkness inside look even deeper.

Julie paused beside him, one hand tightening around the strap of her bag. “Do you ever get tired of walking into places like this?”

Ben glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not yet.”

He reached for the handle, his fingers closing around the cold metal. Then he paused, glancing back one last time toward the runway and the cliffs beyond.

Still nothing. Just the wind, the rain, and the relentless gray of Akutan Island.

“Let’s roll,” he said, pulling the door open just far enough for the darkness to swallow them whole.

CHAPTER 16

JULIE

Julie stood next to Ben as he pulled the hangar door open, the creak of rusted hinges swallowed by the howling wind at their backs. The shift from the relentless storm outside to the stillness within felt like crossing an invisible boundary — one step, and the world changed.

The air inside the hangar was stale, carrying the faint bite of rust, old oil, and something damp. It wasn’t exactly welcoming, but compared to the wind whipping through Akutan’s cliffs, it felt almost calm.

Ben stood just inside the threshold, his frame silhouetted against the dull gray light spilling through the open door. Julie lingered a step behind him, her gaze sweeping across the cavernous space.

A single lightbulb buzzed overhead, its pale glow barely cutting through the gloom. Dust hung motionless in the air, the quiet punctuated by the distant sound of rain tapping against the roof and the rhythmic crash of the Bering Sea beyond the cliffs.

The first thing Julie noticed was the truck.

It loomed in the far corner of the hangar, military green and hulking, as though it had been parked there decades ago and forgotten. Water pooled beneath its tires, dripping steadily from the undercarriage. Crates were stacked haphazardly along one wall — gear boxes, heavy-looking trunks, and supplies that looked both used and ready.

But Julie’s focus shifted almost immediately to the figures standing near the center of the room.

Three people waited there, still as statues, their faces half-obscured in the low light. They weren’t bunched together, but their spacing wasn’t accidental either — far enough apart to look casual, but close enough to cover one another if things went south.

Julie felt the hair on her neck prickle slightly as she studied them. They weren’t on edge, not exactly, but there was an alertness to them — a sense that they were waiting, watching, taking the measure of the people who had just stepped inside.

Ben seemed to sense the same thing. He squared his shoulders, taking a step forward into the hangar with Julie close beside him.

The man in the center caught her eye first.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his frame solid beneath a weathered tactical jacket. His face looked like it had been carved from stone — lined, hard-edged, and unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his eyes tracked Ben with the kind of quiet authority that didn’t need to announce itself.

This one’s in charge, Julie thought immediately. She didn’t need to know his name to know that much.

Ben took the lead, closing the distance between them. “Ben Bennett. CSO.”

The man didn’t hesitate. He extended a hand, his grip firm and brief. “Carson Holt.”

Julie watched the exchange, taking in the unspoken read between them. Carson didn’t posture, and he didn’t waste words. He gave Ben a small nod, as though they’d silently agreed on something neither of them needed to say.

Julie’s attention shifted to the woman standing just to Carson’s left. She was lean and sharp-featured, with dark hair cropped close to her head. Everything about her — from her posture to the quick, scanning motion of her eyes — radiated efficiency. Her gaze flicked across Julie and Ben, lingering just long enough to weigh each of them.

Julie filed that observation away. I like her, she thought, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of her mind. I don’t trust her, but I like her.

The woman introduced herself as Rachel Voss.

Julie noticed a massive tarp nearby, covering something partially obscured by the old truck.

The third figure was younger — mid-twenties, maybe — standing slightly behind the other two as though he hadn’t quite earned the right to share their spotlight. He was wiry and restless, with sandy hair that stuck out at odd angles and a grin that looked entirely too cheerful for the setting.

“You guys are CSO, right?” he said suddenly, his voice carrying through the hangar. His face lit up like someone had just told him Christmas came early. “I’ve heard about you!”

Julie sighed internally, exchanging a quick glance with Ben. Great. We brought a puppy.

Reggie, who had entered just behind Freddie, snorted under his breath. “Well, isn’t that adorable. We’re famous.”

The young man’s grin widened, and he shoved his hands into his pockets as though he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “Tom Farrow,” he said, offering a little wave. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s yours,” Reggie muttered dryly, though his tone lacked any real bite.

Julie let the conversation move around her as she stepped slightly to the side, taking the opportunity to observe more closely. Carson and Ben had already shifted into a quiet discussion — low voices, steady tones, the kind of exchange where neither man needed to waste words.

Meanwhile, the sharp-eyed woman had gone back to her gear, only to have Reggie wander too close.

“Touch anything, and I’ll break your fingers,” she said flatly, not even looking up.

Reggie froze mid-reach, blinking at her. “Why does everyone say that?”

Freddie, who had moved toward the stacked crates, chuckled quietly. “Maybe because it keeps working.”

Julie stifled a laugh, her attention lingering on the woman for another moment. She still hadn’t introduced herself, but Julie suspected introductions weren’t high on her priority list. She operated like someone who had seen enough to know that trust was earned, not given.

Good. That was something Julie could appreciate.

Ilya had positioned herself near the far wall, her arms crossed as she watched Carson with cool interest. The two of them weren’t speaking, but there was something in the way they looked at each other — two professionals, each quietly sizing up the other without needing to say a word.

Interesting, Julie thought, filing that away too.

Her gaze drifted back to Ben, who stood near the center of the room, hands on his hips as he listened to Carson lay out whatever plan was forming. For a moment, Ben’s shoulders relaxed just a fraction, and Julie saw something familiar flicker through his expression — purpose.

He looked up and caught her eye across the room. Julie offered him a small, steady smile, and he nodded back, a flicker of warmth breaking through the focus on his face.

He’ll keep us moving forward, Julie thought, a quiet certainty settling in her chest. He always does.

Outside, the storm rattled against the hangar’s metal siding, but inside, it was quieter now. The team was here. The work was starting.

Julie took a breath and let herself settle into that moment — right at the edge of whatever came next.

CHAPTER 17

BEN

The hangar buzzed, a sort of calm before the inevitable storm. Around the folding table, Carson Holt’s team and the CSO group stood shoulder to shoulder, their voices low but purposeful as the plan began to crystallize.

Carson stood at the head of the table, his presence grounding the room like an anchor. With methodical precision, he spread out a large topographical map of the sea floor north of them, its contours gentle, but the geography a stark reminder of the unforgiving temperatures in the ocean nearby.

“This is where we’re going,” Carson said, planting a finger on a dark patch north of St. Matthew Island. “The trench drops fast here — three hundred feet to the seafloor. Shallow compared to deep-sea dives, but dangerous enough if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Julie leaned in slightly, her eyes narrowing on the marked location. “The Resolute’s last position.”

“Right.” Carson nodded. “They broke through a thin sheet of ice — nothing that should’ve been there. If that station exists, it’s buried somewhere here, under silt or seabed debris. But something triggered it. Something reactivated it.”

Ben studied the map, the black lines twisting downward into sharp, canyon-like trenches. Three hundred feet didn’t seem far on paper, but in water that cold, in conditions this unpredictable, it would feel like miles.

“And we’re using the submersibles,” Reggie said, his tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Carson gestured toward the far end of the hangar, where a massive tarp draped down like a heavy curtain. “One’s here. The second sub’s already on the yacht waiting offshore. Both are Triton six-seaters, rugged enough to handle the trench.”

All eyes turned as Voss and Tom Farrow moved to the tarp, Voss silently nodding to Tom before he yanked it back with a sharp tug. The heavy fabric slid to the ground, revealing the submersible beneath.

The Triton looked like a machine built for another world. Its sleek, curved body was designed to withstand immense pressure, its thick glass observation dome giving it the appearance of a giant, armored eye. Floodlights were bolted to its frame, and modular arms were folded tightly along its sides. It looked both sturdy and alien — something born for the darkness.

Reggie let out a low whistle. “Well, that’s… a little fancier than I expected.”

Tom grinned, slapping the sub’s smooth hull. “Capable of full maneuverability at this depth, redundant systems for oxygen and power, and a failsafe for external entry.” He glanced at Ben and added, “These subs were designed with contingency plans in mind. If there’s a bay or docking port down there, we’ll be able to trigger its locks remotely and get inside.”

Ilya, who’d been studying the submersible, spoke up. “And once we’re inside?”

Carson’s voice remained level, but his words carried weight. “Once we’re inside… we’ll have to figure that out as we go. Technically, that’s our boss’ job.” He glanced at Ben, who just winced.

The room fell quiet for a beat.

“No monitoring?” Julie asked, breaking the silence.

“The yacht will serve as a signal connection point,” Carson said. “It’ll keep comms between the two subs running while we’re submerged, but that’s it. There’s no topside team — no one to pull us back if something goes wrong. It’s all hands in.”

Freddie stepped forward, his voice calm as he addressed Carson. “What’s our fail-safe? If the subs lose power or comms go dark?”

Carson turned his attention to the team. “Both subs have redundant ascent systems — manual overrides, backup power cells, and portable diving gear. If we lose power, we’ll surface the old-fashioned way. But let me be clear: three hundred feet is still enough to kill you if you’re not careful. There’s no room for mistakes.”

Reggie muttered, “Motivational speeches are really your thing, huh?”

Voss didn’t look up from the tablet she was calibrating. “If you want to hear something comforting, try a bedtime story.”

Reggie opened his mouth to respond, but Freddie cut him off with a sharp look. “Focus.”

Carson ignored the exchange, returning to the map. “We’ll head to the yacht soon, and the auto nav system on board will be able to get us through the choppy waters and to the island of St. Matthew early morning. Both subs will deploy from the yacht at first light. Each team will sweep a section of the trench, following sonar readings. The goal is to identify the station’s location and gain access. Once we’re inside, we assess and shut it down.”

“And if we can’t?” Ben asked, his voice even.

Carson met his gaze without flinching. “We’ll find a way.”

Ben studied the man for a moment longer before nodding. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

Tom, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, spoke up again, his enthusiasm tempered this time. “We’re assuming the station’s bay still works, right? I mean, the system could be rusted shut, or… worse.”

Ilya tilted her head slightly. “If the station was reactivated, then parts of it are still functional. We’ll figure out the rest when we get there.”

Tom swallowed, nodding quickly. “Right. Sure.”

Ben let his gaze sweep across the room, taking in the details as everything fell into place. Carson’s team worked like clockwork — methodical, sharp, and focused. Voss was fine-tuning the equipment with a practiced efficiency that spoke of years of experience, while Tom was busy overlaying sonar readings onto navigation schematics. Whatever the kid lacked in maturity, he made up for with technical skill.

His own team was no less prepared. Freddie conferred quietly with Carson, reviewing personnel deployment and equipment redundancies, while Reggie circled the submersible, inspecting its features like he was cataloging them in his head.

Julie, standing near the map, caught Ben’s eye across the table and offered him a small, steadying smile. Ben felt the corner of his mouth twitch in response — just enough to acknowledge her reassurance. She was good at reading him, even when he didn’t say a word.

He turned to Ilya, lowering his voice as the others continued working. “What’s your read on Carson’s crew?”

Ilya’s blue eyes narrowed slightly as she looked across the room. “They’re capable. Experienced with this kind of work. But they’re not ready for what’s waiting down there.”

Ben nodded, his jaw tightening. “They’ll need to be.”

The wind outside howled, rattling the hangar’s walls and reminding them all just how far they were from anything resembling civilization. Inside, the room buzzed.

Ben stepped back from the table, his voice cutting through the noise. “We move out to the yacht in an hour. Get your gear prepped and get some rest.”

Carson’s sharp nod signaled his agreement, and the group began to scatter — Voss stowing her equipment, Tom muttering to himself as he double-checked navigation data, and Reggie trailing behind Freddie with a smirk still plastered on his face.

Julie moved to stand beside Ben as the others dispersed, her voice quiet but steady. “We’ll pull this off.”

Ben exhaled, letting the weight of it settle onto his shoulders. “We don’t have a choice.”

The hangar fell into a rhythm again — quiet, methodical, and ready. Outside, the wind carried on, but inside, the pieces of the plan had fallen into place.

For now.

CHAPTER 18

BEN

The Aurora was certainly a yacht, but it had been modified so heavily that the term “research yacht” was a more fitting description.

Ben stood on the bow, overlooking the choppy, white-capped waters of the icy Bering Sea as they pressed northward. After boarding and hauling crates of gear to be secured on the deck by Carter’s team, Ben had taken a tour up to the bridge of the vessel.

She was old, but you wouldn’t know it from looking around. Whoever Mr. E’s contact was, they had done a phenomenal job keeping the ship clean, modernized, and well-maintained. Computer terminals, neatly inset into the consoles, gleamed with a fresh shine.

Tom had been designated captain, given his experience piloting boats and submarines during his Navy career. Though he had downplayed his qualifications, claiming he was more of a dabbler than a career pilot, the others dismissed his humility. He was capable, and that was what mattered.

Tom demonstrated the modern navigation systems, including an autopilot feature that would guide them to just offshore St. Matthew Island at a steady pace, slowing when anything unexpected appeared — like one of the many icebergs or ice flows in their path. The state-of-the-art radar and sonar systems made everything above and below the surface as clear as daylight. Tom joked he could sit back, smoke a cigar, and wait until morning while the boat did all the work.

Satisfied, Ben headed back down to the main deck and took a quick stroll, eventually ending up at the forward rail. He leaned against it, bundled in his heavy winter coat, with a snug toque and parka hood cinched tight, leaving only his mouth, cheeks, and eyes visible.

A few minutes later, he sensed motion behind him and turned to see his wife. Julie had appeared as if out of nowhere, her petite frame illuminated in the soft yellow glow of the deck lights and moonlight. The ship was dimly lit, relying on just a few lights since the navigation system far outperformed human eyes, and the running lights provided sufficient visibility for any nearby vessels.

Julie was stunning. Even in the biting cold, wrapped in her winter gear, she carried an effortless grace. Ben had always thought she was gorgeous, though when they’d first met at Yellowstone National Park, her directness had thrown him off. She’d been fiery, sharp, and not one to mince words.

Her magic, however, had worn him down, and they’d become inseparable. The shared trauma of the Enigma incident — a virus that had threatened half the U.S. population — had bonded them faster than any traditional courtship, and they’d fallen madly in love.

“Penny for your thoughts, old man?” she asked, slipping her arm through his elbow and holding it tightly.

He chuckled. “I think we’re the same age, old lady.”

“I don’t keep track anymore,” she said, dismissively waving her free hand. “But you have a kid now. That means you’re an old man.”

Ben cocked an eyebrow and glanced down at her. “Fair enough. I was just thinking about everything we’ve been through. Remember running around the jungle?”

She scoffed. “Which time?”

He laughed louder. “I’m pretty sure we’ve only done the jungle once. The Amazon, in Brazil.”

“Are you forgetting Peru?” she asked.

Ben smacked his forehead with his free hand. “Yes. Yes, I am. And why not? Those ridiculous mech-suit, drugged-out soldiers Garza had down there…” He shuddered, but it wasn’t just from the cold.

Her smile thinned. “Yes, that was one for the ages. I do remember Brazil, though. The piranha, that snake…”

“Anaconda,” he corrected, shuddering again. He wasn’t afraid of snakes, necessarily, but when one stretched over 20 feet and could crush a grown man with a few squeezes, a little healthy fear seemed appropriate.

“That’s when we met Reggie,” she added.

He nodded. “He’s gotten us out of plenty of scrapes, too,” Ben said, thinking back to all the times he and his best friend had fought side by side — or at least against the same enemy.

There were too many instances to count where Reggie had come through, saving not just the day but the lives of Ben and his loved ones.

Not all of them, though.

He thought of the ones they’d lost along the way — Mrs. E., Joshua Jefferson. Those two stung especially hard, and he often relived the moments leading up to their deaths, wondering if there was something he could have — should have — done differently.

Unsurprisingly, Julie sensed his turmoil almost immediately. She squeezed his arm tighter, pulling him closer to her face.

“They’re safe at the cabin,” she said gently. “And we’re safe, too. As long as we stick together.”

CHAPTER 19

JULIE

While Ben stood reminiscing about old times, Julie couldn’t stop thinking about her family. Sure, Ben was part of that, but so were her parents and, of course, their amazing, exuberant little cherub named Hope.

Like any mother, all she wanted was to be with Hope. To watch her put together one of her puzzles or dismantle one of her toys for the thousandth time. To listen to her tiny giggles and quips as she began learning to parse the English language and form mostly coherent sentences.

She wanted this — all the time — yet she felt conflicted. She loved her work with the CSO, being able to stand side by side with her husband and friends. But whenever she was on a mission, she felt as though she was missing her daughter’s life and her role in it. Whenever she was with Hope and not on a mission, she felt left out.

“Your turn,” Ben said quietly.

The wind had picked up, and Julie found herself snuggling deep into the crook of her husband’s arm, which he had draped over her shoulders. From the beginning, she’d fit with him — literally and figuratively. They were a perfect match. Ben’s relatively quiet, reserved manner balanced against her outgoing, talkative personality. His ability to make quick decisions — sometimes rash — on the fly paired well with her knack for processing and piecing things together slowly. Together, they made a great leadership duo.

Best of all, Ben respected her, and she knew it. She felt it every time she was in the room with him. There was never second-guessing, never a question. If she disagreed with him, she would tell him, and he would listen. It worked both ways, but… she knew Ben had been put in charge of the Civilian Special Operations, and everyone else knew it. He didn’t have to take her opinions into such consideration.

But he did, and it meant the world to her.

Julie shook her head, pushing work thoughts away again, and answered her husband. “Hope. As always.”

Ben smiled, warmth radiating from him to her. “Yeah. She’s always there, isn’t she? In the back of my mind. Or, like, literally everywhere.”

Julie snorted in laughter. “She is a handful, isn’t she?”

“Two handfuls, most of the time.”

Julie thought of her parents, wondering if they were getting any sleep after putting Hope down hours ago. Chances were her dad was snoring peacefully while her mom lay awake, fretting over making sure Hope was perfectly comfortable and didn’t coo or stir for fear she might be getting a cold or in some sort of pain.

She partly envied the role of grandparents — their ability to swoop in and dote on their grandchild whenever they pleased, then leave as soon as the kid got fussy or they grew bored. But she knew the truth was her parents loved Hope as much as she and Ben did. The fact that Hope wasn’t their child meant they would worry every moment until Ben and Julie returned safely.

“She’s in good hands, Jules,” Ben said.

Julie nodded. “Oh, I know. I’m just wondering…”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I’m just wondering if we are. All this faction stuff… this strange signal from some ancient Russian base. We’re literally taking submersibles — that we’ve never been in, mind you — underwater. We’re literally going in over our heads.”

“Well, Tom and the others are pretty confident they can get us inside the base without even getting wet.”

She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t working. “I trust you guys — I always have, and always will. But is this rash? We’re parents, Ben. I get that this is our job, but couldn’t it just be one of our jobs?”

“You’re not saying you want to quit, are you?”

Not that quitting really meant quitting. They didn’t receive regular salaries, but stipends for living, and Mr. E didn’t ask any questions. Both she and Ben lived simply, so they didn’t require much. Any vacations or requests they had, they simply sent an email and found the funds deposited the next day. Mr. E had even encouraged them to set up savings accounts, promising to deposit whatever they felt necessary.

They’d never asked for more, but Julie wondered if that would change if she decided to stay off missions. She could always remain at home, as she had during past operations, handling communications and logistics from the cabin’s addition. That would keep her grounded — and close to Hope.

“No, I don’t think I’m saying that necessarily,” she finally answered. “I’m just wondering if this is smart. For both of us to go down there at the same time. What if we’re walking into a trap?”

Ben squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, gazing up at the stars peeking through thin, wispy clouds. There were no other lights in the distance, no boats or landmasses for miles.

“Jules, don’t think like that. We’re going to be fine. We’ve got a great team, bolstered by Carter’s group. And even if we are walking into a trap, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before. We’ll take every precaution possible. And, not sure if you noticed, but there’s plenty of gear in those crates we hauled aboard.”

“I saw what was in the crates,” Julie said. “Lots of guns.”

Ben shrugged. “Like I said, gear.”

She smiled, wider this time, but still not fully feeling it. Maybe it was the cold, constantly biting into her. Or the wind, hammering against her face, pushing her back from the railing. Maybe it was the mission itself — watching the inky blackness, knowing they’d be descending into it in mere hours.

It all felt ominous. Dark.

Ben hugged her tightly. “I’m right here, and always will be. I need you with us. Okay?”

Julie swallowed, then nodded. “I’m not going anywhere, Ben.”

Ben smiled, peering into the distance. “Good. On that note, I’m getting my ass frozen off out here. What do you say we go check out our bedroom and warm each other up?”

Julie pulled him down for a kiss, then released his face and grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

CHAPTER 20

BEN

The next morning came swiftly. Ben groaned, realizing how poorly he’d slept the night before as he sat up. Julie rolled over beside him, nearly smacking into him, and he suddenly remembered why. They’d slept at sea, the mattress thin and narrow. He’d hovered on the edge all night, not wanting to bump into her or disrupt her sleep.

He rubbed his eyes and stretched as Julie propped herself up beside him.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked, her voice drowsy.

He grunted.

“Yeah, me too.”

Standing up, he stretched again and quipped, “Oh well. At least we’re not about to dive into frigid waters in a submersible and need to be on our game.”

“To be fair, Tom seems like a good kid — well-trained and experienced. Let’s let him pilot the sub.”

Ben smirked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. You and I can sit back, relax, and enjoy the scenery.”

Julie smirked back as she pulled on her clothes. “Sounds romantic. Can’t wait.”

They dressed quickly, and once ready, walked together to the galley of the Aurora, where the rest of the crew had already gathered. Not surprisingly, Reggie was there first, joined by the other ex-military personnel.

“Old habits die hard,” Reggie had once told Ben. Though he wasn’t a morning person, Reggie had long since given up trying to sleep in.

Ben took a seat at the table, settling into a chair that seemed made for a child. Suddenly, a plate of food was thrust in front of him. The aroma of buttery eggs hit him, and he looked down at a perfectly prepared omelet sprinkled with cheese, green onion, and onions. And then he saw — much to his delight — a bottle of hot sauce sitting in the center of the table.

“I thought this was a research vessel, not an actual yacht,” Ben joked. “Is there a chef onboard?”

Rachel Voss, seated across the table, snickered. “Cook, but barely that,” she said. “I learned a few things over the years — namely, never go on a mission without a proper three-egg omelet.”

Ben, still groggy, felt the darkness outside pressing into the boat’s interior, tempting him back to bed. But his senses were waking up as he noticed a pile of dirty plates in front of Voss. She, Reggie, and Tom Farrow were all finishing their meals, smiling at Ben and Julie.

“Take your time,” Farrow said. “We’ve got about half an hour before we need to gear up.”

Ben nodded as Ilya entered the room, and Voss stood to grab another omelet from a tray of warm food by the galley window. She placed it on a plate and handed it to Ilya, who took a seat between Ben and Julie. Ben glanced at Julie, noticing she’d already been served, though he hadn’t realized it earlier.

“What’s the plan?” Ben asked. “You guys find something?”

Tom nodded eagerly, his youthful enthusiasm shining through. Despite his Navy background, Tom’s expressions made him seem younger than he was.

“About two hours ago,” Tom began, “I had just relieved Voss and made a cup of coffee when I got an alert. Sonar picked up something almost dead ahead, north-northwest of St. Matthew Island.”

Ben listened intently as Tom continued.

“It’s the Resolute. Dead in the water — or ice. The ship’s been stuck for some time. Everything onboard has likely frozen over by now.”

“No signs of life?” Ben asked.

Tom shook his head, his smile fading. “Still, Voss thinks it’s worth checking out before we do anything below the surface.”

Ben translated in his mind: Before risking the submersibles, they needed to make sure there were no clues or surprises aboard the Resolute.

“That makes sense,” he agreed. “I don’t think we’d be wise to just swim over, though,” he added with a grin. “It’s a bit chilly.”

Carson Holt entered the room, all business. “No swimming today, folks,” he said. “The Aurora has a couple of dinghies if we need to board the Resolute. But it also has other tricks up its sleeve — namely drones, both submersible and airborne. We can pilot those over and run tests remotely: air quality, electronic disturbances, that sort of thing.”

Ben nodded. “That sounds like an even better idea.” He felt the warmth of the omelet and the ship’s heating system finally chase off the roughness of his night. He had to admit — he enjoyed this kind of work.

As much as he sometimes liked to pretend all he wanted was to cook chili in his tiny Alaskan cabin, the truth was clear: this was where he thrived. He was part of the team, part of the mission.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

CHAPTER 21

STRAKOV

The communications room was a tomb.

Anton Strakov sat perfectly still at the steel table, his face etched with shadow as the lone monitor flickered in front of him. Static buzzed softly, spreading pale light across the barren walls and exposing the room’s utilitarian neglect. It was a space with no comforts, no warmth — designed for one purpose only: communication with the outside.

And in a station buried beneath the sea, communication was everything.

The static deepened. Then — click. The connection stabilized.

“Strakov. Report.”

The voice on the other end, thin and metallic, sliced through the hum emanating from the reactor below. The hum was faint here, more felt than heard — like the pulse of some living thing rattling the station’s skeleton.

Strakov leaned forward just slightly, his gloved hands clasped lightly in front of him. His voice was clipped and efficient.

“The reactor is functional. It remains unstable, but the signal reached the surface.”

A beat.

“Good,” replied Director K, his voice distorted but coldly precise. “And the Americans?”

Strakov’s expression tightened just a fraction, a ghost of irritation. “They may be nearby. But they are scavengers, chasing echoes. We will deal with them.”

The static hissed faintly as Director K paused. When he spoke again, his tone dropped into something sharper.

“Do not underestimate them, Admiral. The CSO has disrupted operations before. They are more dangerous than you realize.”

Strakov said nothing for a moment. Dangerous? The CSO? They were little more than a loose collection of mercenaries and opportunists — people who stumbled into things they shouldn’t, blind men walking where others dared not tread. And yet the certainty in Director K’s voice gave him pause.

“They are not a threat,” Strakov said finally, his tone harder now.

Director K didn’t relent. “If they discover Polaris, they will try to interfere. To raise the alarm. And we cannot have the Americans — or anyone else — interfering. We are not prepared to ward off an entire Navy. You must not let that happen.”

The hum pressed harder into the room, vibrating through the steel floor. Strakov’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Understood.”

A pause. The silence stretched, weighted.

“When they arrive,” Director K continued, his voice low and deliberate, “let them approach the station. Ensure their communication lines are severed. Do not let them get a message out.”

Strakov’s brow creased. He said nothing, though the phrasing left an unpleasant ring in his mind.

Director K finished: “But they must not leave.”

The hum surged again, shaking the monitor for a fraction of a second before settling.

“And if they reach the reactor?” Strakov asked, his voice measured.

The reply came distorted, warped slightly by static, but the message was clear.

“Then the station itself will finish them. Polaris does not care who it destroys.”

The line clicked and died.

Strakov remained seated in the silence. The monitor’s glow faded to black, leaving him alone in the dark with only the hum of the reactor for company.

He stood, his movements slow and deliberate, and turned toward the heavy door. The steel groaned faintly as he pushed it open, revealing the narrow, dimly lit corridor beyond.

The command center awaited.

The command center was the heart of the Polaris station — once the nerve center of a forgotten Cold War project, now brought clumsily back to life. Banks of rusted Soviet consoles lined the walls, their faded Cyrillic labels smudged and unreadable, while newer technology glowed faintly alongside them: tablets, servers, and makeshift displays integrated with hastily spliced cables.

It was a patchwork of eras — decay fighting progress.

Strakov stepped inside, his boots thudding against the grated floor as he moved toward the center of the room. The hum from the reactor pulsed faintly in the walls, in the floor, in his chest.

The crew — a collection of engineers, technicians, and security personnel — snapped to attention as he entered. Their conversations cut off abruptly, leaving only the sounds of machinery and faint radio chatter from a distant workstation.

“Admiral.”

The communications officer at the front of the room straightened as Strakov approached. “You requested an update?”

Strakov nodded once, sharp and decisive. “Deploy the perimeter drones.”

The officer hesitated, his fingers frozen over his console. “Sir? You want them active this early?”

Strakov’s gaze cut to him, cold and unblinking. “Do you doubt me?”

“No, sir,” the man said quickly. “It’s just… deploying drones will disrupt all external signals across the trench. We’ll lose our ability to send or receive transmissions beyond a close-range band.”

“Good,” Strakov said. “That is exactly what I want.”

The officer blinked, confused. “You want to blind communications?”

“Not blind us. Blind them. We will force their hand. Force them to come here.” Strakov stepped closer, his voice dropping into a deliberate calm. “If the Americans approach, they will find us. But they will not be able to call for help. They will not be able to coordinate. And they will not be able to leave this place with what they find.”

Or leave at all.

The communications officer swallowed hard, nodding. His fingers moved quickly across the keys, and the displays around the room began to change. A pulsing sonar map appeared, glowing faintly across the central console. Tiny blips moved outward from the trench — drones, spreading like dark seeds through the depths.

“Drones deploying now, Admiral,” the officer reported. “Signal disruption will begin within minutes.”

Strakov turned, his gaze sweeping the room. Engineers worked silently at their stations, sweat beading on their brows despite the chill in the air. A pair of security officers near the back checked their weapons, their movements practiced but uneasy. They all knew what they were preparing for.

Strakov crossed to the central console, where a tactical map displayed the trench — a dark, jagged scar in the ocean floor. The drones’ signals spread like ripples across the grid, their interference cloaking the station in a digital fog.

They will come, Strakov thought. But they will come alone.

A sharp voice broke his thoughts. “Admiral!”

He turned his head. The security chief stood stiffly near the weapons lockers, his expression tight. “Failsafe systems are prepped, sir, as you ordered. But…” He hesitated, visibly uncertain.

Strakov arched a brow. “But what?”

The security chief shifted under his gaze. “If something goes wrong — if the Americans get too close, and we lose control of the reactor — there’s no pulling it back. We’ll be sealing our own fate.”

The room seemed to grow quieter. Engineers paused, listening without turning their heads. The hum from the reactor pressed deeper into the silence, growing louder in Strakov’s mind.

He stepped toward the security chief, his boots clicking softly against the floor. When he spoke, his voice was low but razor-sharp.

“The reactor will not spiral.”

“But, sir — ”

“It will not spiral,” Strakov repeated. “If it comes to it, the failsafe will serve its purpose. If we cannot control Polaris, it will finish what it was built to do.”

The security chief swallowed hard, nodding. “Understood, sir.”

Strakov turned away, his gaze returning to the pulsing map on the central console. The drones were in place now, spreading their disruption across the trench. The Americans would come, yes — but they would arrive blind to the outside world. No calls for help. No escape.

Let them come.

Strakov clasped his hands behind his back, the reactor’s hum rising faintly beneath his feet. He watched the monitors as though he could see them already — his enemies, creeping through the dark toward something they couldn’t possibly understand.

“They will come,” Strakov murmured, almost to himself.

The lights flickered briefly, the hum vibrating through the walls like a heartbeat.

“And they will not leave.”

CHAPTER 22

JULIE

The drones were cool, and Julie was beside herself with envy as she watched Reggie and Holt manning the controls.

Holt may have been specially trained in drone piloting, but she knew for a fact Reggie wasn’t. It was even more difficult for Julie to sit idly by and watch from over his shoulder as he wielded the joystick, eliciting a giggle of delight like a kid on Christmas.

Freddie was watching as well, and Julie sensed he felt as left out as she. He even made little cooing sounds, mouth opening and closing, as the drones took flight.

“Keep her steady,” Ben said.

Reggie grumbled something to the effect of, “I got this, shut up and let me work.” But Julie knew Ben’s request was pointless anyway.

The drones were state-of-the-art and therefore had the best quality stabilization system on the market. In fact, she suspected these drones weren’t on the market at all — they were likely military or research company-specific, manufactured by one of the popular brands, but exclusively for professional use.

The feed was crystal clear, and the night vision enhancement was incredible. There was very little noise or grain, and Julie could see the separation between the lapping ocean waves of the Bering Sea and the horizon above it as the drones flew northwest.

The Aurora anchored west of St. Matthew Island, far enough away from the ice flow that had the Resolute trapped so its shift in ocean swells or weather wouldn’t put them in any danger. As such, Holt had explained that they’d need to fly the drones to the Resolute at about half-speed to reserve battery power, giving them about 15 to 20 minutes to poke around the Resolute.

Julie still had questions about how exactly that would go down, but Holt had simply smiled and held up a finger when she’d asked.

“These little drones are packed with surprises,” was the only cryptic response he’d given.

Her excitement waned a bit as the drones took to their heading easily and buzzed along, about 30 feet above the surface of the ocean. There was, frankly, nothing to see, though the Aurora Borealis had put on a show earlier. A thin haze of clouds covered the sky and the immaculate showing of stars she’d expected.

As they approached the Resolute, Holt delivered instructions to Reggie. “It will land automatically. All you have to do is ensure the down-facing camera has a proper flat surface. Once you do, press that. It will hover for three seconds, calculating the descent and crosswind, then move slowly downward.”

“Cool,” Reggie said.

Both men did just that, keeping the drones about five feet apart as they did. When both drones had landed on the deck of the dead ship, Holt released his hands from the massive double joystick controller and turned to face the group.

“All right, check this out. This part always freaks me out.”

Julie noticed Ilya Markopov hovering nearby. The woman was quiet, and though the military guys seemed to acknowledge and appreciate her presence, it seemed she was keeping everyone at arm’s length.

Julie wondered once more what her ultimate game was — were their interests fully aligned, or was the CSO just a means to an end for her? She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Her eyes flitted back to the two monitors where Reggie and Holt sat, commanding the drones.

Holt moved his hand to a computer mouse, and a cursor appeared on the screen. “Can’t do this from the controller, unfortunately,” he explained as he clicked around a menu system. “The big drone has to be landed with anchor points on the ground, anyway.”

Big drone? Anchor points?

Julie’s interest was piqued once more, and she inadvertently leaned in, gently pushing Ben away. Her huge husband was a bear of a man, but she’d long ago learned the little pressure points on his body that could bend him to her will.

As expected, he stepped to the side, allowing Julie to see both monitors. She was following along with Holt’s movements, navigating his own computer monitor with the mouse now.

“Ready?” Holt asked, the mouse hovering over a button that said Activate.

Reggie nodded, and the men clicked the buttons at the same time.

Immediately, Julie heard the sound of the drones once more — audio piped in from onboard microphones around the drones. They had full stereoscopic audio capabilities.

“What’s that sound? Are they taking off again?” she asked.

Holt laughed. “I love this part.”

She watched as, on the screen, the drone came apart.

She squinted, trying to figure out what she was seeing. Since the cameras were on the drones themselves, it was hard to see what was actually happening. A moment later, the screen fractured into no less than eight individual viewports.

The 4x2 grid of boxes filled the widescreen monitors, and Julie saw that each camera was now pointed in a different direction. Each one was also swaying, gently bobbing in the wind.

“Wait… are those more drones?” Reggie asked.

Ben laughed. “That’s incredible.”

Julie suddenly understood what she was seeing. Each of the larger drones carried eight tiny ones that it had just deployed. Each of the eight drones had a built-in camera as well, and likely some sort of test equipment, that would relay information back to the main mothership drone.

Holt was nodding as his hands fell back over the controller. “It’s sort of a hive mind. Each one is controlled by an AI built into the mother drone’s software. They communicate instantaneously with one another, tracking obstacles, each other, and doing their part to gather information as quickly as possible.”

“Do we have to pilot them?” Reggie asked.

Holt shook his head. “We can, flying them all together in close formation, but I’d rather not. It’s faster this way.”

As if responding to a silent command, all eight of the drones on his computer screen and Reggie’s took off, flying in generally the same direction. But Julie noticed outliers — a couple of the drones on each screen flew the opposite way, reaching the back deck of the Resolute, doing a slow spin in midair, and tracing the perimeter of the ship.

“The main drones took in the general shape and size of the Resolute. These little guys will use that data, then map out everything from the hull to any interior rooms they can access. Obviously, they can’t open doors, but I’m hoping we can get some answers without needing to go crashing in.”

Julie nodded, looking at the stream of data that was flying along the left side of each man’s screen. She saw information she recognized, and some she didn’t. She assumed some of it was electronic interference, as Holt had suggested — she wouldn’t recognize what she was looking at if that were true. But she recognized things like air temperature and oxygen levels.

A few of the drones had navigated beneath the outer deck of the Resolute and were now in a somewhat enclosed back room. She saw a hallway stretching before them, the door open.

The group waited as the drones found their way around, using scanners to analyze, measure, make careful adjustments, and then continue their flight. They seemed slow, but Julie understood they didn’t see things like humans would. They didn’t know their environment, didn’t understand what a hallway or a door was.

Still, considering all that, they were making short work of the job.

The first couple of drones entered the hallway about the same time, and Julie watched the numbers on the screen move.

Suddenly, she gasped.

“What is it?” Holt asked, turning to face her.

She frowned, then pointed back at the screen. Her finger hovered over one of the air quality data points that had begun moving.

“I might know what happened to the Resolute’s crew,” she said.

The others leaned in as she spoke.

“Carbon monoxide poisoning.”

CHAPTER 23

BEN

The Aurora’s galley buzzed with quiet preparation. Carson Holt stood at the center of the room, a commanding presence as he leaned over an unrolled schematic of the Resolute he’d printed from somewhere belowdecks, spreading it out across the table. Around him, the team checked their gear — respirators, scanners, and ice-breaking tools — each movement deliberate and efficient. Most of the equipment was from stores already aboard the Aurora, another nod to Mr. E’s ability to resource a mission last-minute.

Ben adjusted the strap on the respirator Voss had given him, letting it dangle around his neck for now. His gaze drifted toward the window, where the faint light of dawn struggled against the endless gray of the Arctic sky. The ship groaned faintly as the sea rocked it against the cold wind.

Carson tapped the schematic with the blunt end of a marker, drawing everyone’s attention. “All right, here’s the plan. The Resolute’s been dead in the water for a few days now. We’re looking for anything that explains what stopped it — ship logs, system data, or any physical evidence.”

Julie leaned in closer, her eyes scanning the schematic. “And the air quality? Those CO levels from the drones — it’s likely what killed the crew. How bad do you think the levels are now?”

They had returned the drones to the Aurora, so there was no way to keep watch over the levels. But they had been able to produce a fine map of the Resolute’s decks and the CO hotspots before Reggie and Carson flew the mothership drones back.

Carson nodded toward the monitor on the table. “Probably still elevated enough to be dangerous, especially in confined spaces. Respirators are mandatory, and we’ll use portable monitors to track CO hotspots as we move. Search, vent, and move. Leave doors open when you can — hopefully we can get the levels back down enough for a salvage crew to return later.”

Ben glanced at the pile of equipment stacked against the galley wall — everything from grappling hooks to long-handled ice picks. The CSO team was always prepared for the unexpected, but there was something about this mission that felt heavier than usual.

Especially since I didn’t put it together, he thought.

He was both impressed with Mr. E’s planning and foresight, and a bit shaken by it. How had he known of the Aurora, and its ready-to-go equipment cache? And how had he managed to bring it to where Ben needed it so quickly?

Carson continued, his tone steady. “The ice around the Resolute is thin but manageable. We’ll take the dinghy to get there, but it’ll be slow going. Breaking through the ice manually is the only option.”

Reggie groaned from his seat, spinning a small handheld scanner in his fingers. “Thin ice and manual labor. My kind of morning.”

Carson ignored the comment, pressing on. “Voss and Farrow will stay back to prepare the submersibles and keep communication open. Your man, Freddie, will work on logistics and backup for those two. If we run into trouble, we’ll call it in immediately.”

Freddie nodded, snapping into action.

Ilya, standing quietly near the back of the room, spoke up. Her voice was calm, measured, her Russian accent soft but clear. “And the ship itself? If the ice is pressing against the hull — ”

“It’s stable,” Carson cut in, not unkindly. “The Resolute’s small, but she’s built for these conditions. We’ll scan for structural issues as we go. Any signs of damage, we pull back.”

Ben watched Ilya carefully. She wasn’t a soldier or a field operative, but she carried herself with quiet confidence. “What do you think, Doctor?” he asked.

Ilya’s sharp blue eyes flicked to his. “I think the ship is a clue. If there was seismic activity near here, the Resolute’s instruments probably would have recorded it. If the ship’s system was able to save that state before it was overloaded, we’ll find record of it. We need to see the data to confirm.”

“Sub-oceanic tectonic anomalies,” Reggie said, smirking. “That’s your thing, right?”

“Yes,” Ilya replied, her tone cool. “Which is why I’ll be observing as we go. If there’s evidence of disturbances, I’ll recognize it.”

Reggie leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Got it. You’re the expert. We’ll leave the smart stuff to you.”

Carson tapped the schematic again, bringing the focus back to the mission. “Gear up. We leave in fifteen.”

The Aurora’s stern became a hive of activity as the team prepared the dinghy. Carson crouched near the edge, inspecting the ice picks and saws they’d strapped to the small vessel. Julie checked the portable CO monitors, her breath visible in the cold air as she tested their responsiveness.

Ben tightened the straps on his winter coat, pulling his hood low against the wind. The cold was biting, sharp enough to sting any exposed skin. He glanced back at the ship, where Voss and Farrow were standing near the submersibles.

“Try not to sink the yacht while we’re gone,” Ben called out.

Voss smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ll keep it afloat if you don’t fall in.”

Tom Farrow gave a mock salute. “Submersibles will be ready when you are, boss. Good luck out there.”

Ben turned back to the dinghy, watching as Carson climbed in first, securing the gear against the rocking motion of the water. Reggie followed, grumbling as he grabbed an ice pick and settled into the rear.

Julie climbed in next, her movements quick and practiced. Ben helped her steady herself before taking his own seat near the front. Ilya was the last to board, her face set in quiet determination as she took her place.

“All right,” Carson said, gripping the edge of the dinghy. “Let’s break some ice.”

The dinghy moved slowly across the choppy water, the thin layer of ice ahead cracking with each stroke of the paddles. Carson leaned forward, wielding an ice pick with precise, deliberate swings. Each strike sent a sharp thunk echoing across the quiet expanse.

“This would be a lot easier with an outboard motor,” Reggie muttered, paddling steadily at the rear.

Carson didn’t look back. “And a lot louder. You want to announce our arrival?”

“Hey, maybe the ghosts will give us a warm welcome,” Reggie shot back.

Ben chuckled despite the tension, glancing at Julie. “At least he’s consistent.”

It took nearly fifteen minutes to break through the last section of ice and reach the Resolute. The ship loomed ahead, smaller than Ben had expected but no less imposing. Its frost-covered hull gleamed dully in the gray light, the superstructure rising like a shadow against the horizon.

The dinghy bumped gently against the side of the ship, and Carson was the first to climb the rope ladder. Ben followed, his gloves slipping slightly on the ice-coated rungs. When he reached the deck, he paused, taking in the sight.

The Resolute’s deck was a desolate stretch of ice and frost, the rails and equipment coated in layers of frozen slush. The air was heavy, carrying the faint metallic tang of rust and decay.

Julie climbed up behind him, her boots crunching against the frozen surface. She adjusted her respirator, her gaze sweeping across the deck. “It’s quieter than I imagined,” she said softly.

“Deathly quiet,” Reggie added as he pulled himself onto the deck. He offered a grin that was not returned by anyone else.

Carson motioned for the group to follow, leading them toward the superstructure. “Stay close,” he said. “Bridge first, then we split into teams.”

The ship’s interior was darker than Ben had anticipated. Frost clung to every surface, the walls streaked with ice and rust. Their flashlights cut through the gloom, casting long shadows against the walls.

“This place is a tomb,” Reggie muttered, his voice muffled by his respirator.

Ben moved cautiously, his light sweeping across the narrow corridor. The faint sound of dripping water echoed somewhere in the distance, unsettling in the silence.

When they reached the bridge, Carson gestured for Ben, Julie, and Ilya to follow him inside. Reggie stayed back, scanning the surrounding area for anything out of place.

Inside the bridge, Ilya and Julie worked quickly to access the ship’s systems. The consoles were frozen over, the controls stiff with frost.

“Anything?” Ben asked.

Julie shook her head. “Most of the systems are fried. But if the ship’s logs are intact, we might be able to pull some data.”

Carson stepped closer, his expression calm as he examined the black consoles. “If there was any seismic activity, the ship’s instruments would have picked it up. Even if the logs are corrupted, there may be residual data in the hardware. Can you grab a hard drive or something?”

Ilya nodded. “Yes. Let’s get it out of there. We can review it back on the Aurora.”

As Ilya and Julie worked on the ship’s computer, Ben felt a faint vibration underfoot — a rhythmic hum that grew, then pulsed through the ship. It was barely perceptible, but it set his nerves on edge.

Then it died, leaving him once more in the eerie still.

“Carson,” he said quietly, “did you feel that?”

Carson frowned, his hand resting on the console. “Yeah. Something’s not right.”

Ilya and Julie finished their work, and Ben saw Julie holding up a thin rectangular drive. “If there’s any data to glean, it’ll be on here. Here’s hoping it wasn’t fried when the systems were overloaded.

Carson nodded, glancing at his handheld portable air monitor. “Let’s move. The CO levels aren’t going down — I don’t know what that vibration was, but if we stay here too long, it might become trouble.”

As they turned to leave, Ben’s radio crackled to life.

“Guys,” Tom’s voice came through, sharp and clear. “We have a problem. You need to get back to the Aurora. Now.”

Ben’s stomach tightened. “What’s going on?” he asked.

The younger man’s response was clipped, his tone urgent.

“We’re not alone.”

CHAPTER 24

JULIE

The Aurora’s galley was thick with the quiet tension of preparation. Carson Holt stood at the head of the table, his calm, steady voice commanding the team’s attention as he pointed to the map laid out before him. Ben was at his side, leaning over the table to study the sonar readings displayed on the small monitor to their right. The rhythmic pulse from the sonar image filled the room like a metronome, unnatural and deliberate.

“This isn’t a natural signal,” Ilya said, her voice clear and sharp. The faint accent in her words gave them weight, as if underscoring the gravity of the situation. “It’s man-made. Someone is transmitting down there.”

Freddie Rollins, seated at the corner of the table, raised an eyebrow. “Man-made? You’re sure about that?”

Ilya nodded firmly, crossing her arms as her sharp blue eyes stayed fixed on the monitor. “Completely. The rhythm, the frequency — it’s too deliberate to be natural. This is the Polaris system.”

Reggie, lounging with a handheld scanner balanced on one knee, glanced up. “So, someone flips a switch, and what? We get earthquakes on demand? Big waves?”

“It’s not that simple,” Ilya replied curtly. “Polaris was designed to manipulate tectonic pressure and ocean currents. The idea wasn’t just destruction — it was control. It could reshape the battlefield entirely.”

Julie, who had been following the conversation quietly, turned her attention from the map to the discussion. “If it’s so powerful, why wasn’t it used? What stopped them?”

Ilya hesitated, her expression momentarily clouded. “It didn’t work. The system was unstable. Every attempt to activate it ended in either overload or failure.”

Freddie leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “And now someone’s trying to make it work again.”

“Yes,” Ilya confirmed, her tone grim. “But this isn’t a system you just reboot. Whoever’s down there is experimenting — testing it in increments, learning as they go. That’s dangerous.”

Reggie tilted his head, curiosity tinged with skepticism. “Dangerous how?”

“If they figure out how to stabilize it,” Ilya said evenly, “they’ll have a fully operational system capable of massive energy output. Tectonic disturbances. Regional tsunamis. A disaster.”

“And if they can’t stabilize it?” Julie asked, her voice quieter now.

Ilya’s eyes flicked to Julie. “Then it overloads. Probably what happened to the Resolute, but that would have been a relatively small version. If they get it spun up to its operational power, and then it overloads, the system destroys itself. But not before releasing everything it’s built up, which is far bigger a problem. Either scenario ends badly.”

The weight of her words settled over the group. The stakes were no longer abstract — they were catastrophic. Carson broke the silence, his voice steady. “The vibration we felt on the Resolute? That was it, wasn’t it?”

“It had to be,” Ilya confirmed. “The system interacts with the ocean floor. When it activates, it creates pressure shifts and vibrations. What you felt was the start of that process. They’re testing, improving, learning what their predecessors were after.”

“Great,” Reggie muttered, running a hand over his face. “We’re heading into a giant science experiment.”

Julie’s gaze dropped to the map again. “What if the system sends out another surge while we’re down there?”

Carson stepped in. “The subs are insulated — Faraday cages, basically. If it’s an electrical surge, the subs should protect us. Backup batteries will kick in, and we’ll have enough power to surface.”

Freddie, his brow furrowed, leaned back in his chair. “Should protect us. Should? What happens if it doesn’t?”

Carson’s expression hardened. “Then we’re dead. No power means no propulsion, no air circulation, no heat. It’d be over in hours, maybe less.”

“That’s a hell of a way to go,” Reggie said, shaking his head. “Suffocating in the dark.”

“We’re not going in blind,” Carson reassured. “We’ve got redundancies. The subs are equipped for emergencies, and we surface at the first sign of trouble.”

Ben, standing silently until now, tapped the edge of the table, his focus locked on the sonar’s steady pulse. “What’s the plan?”

Carson pointed to the map. “The water’s shallow — about 300 feet, give or take. The signal’s coming from a fixed structure on the seafloor. We take both subs, staying within visual range. If we lose contact, we surface immediately.”

“And what exactly are we looking for?” Freddie asked, his tone pragmatic.

“Data,” Ilya said. “If the system’s active, there will be logs. Output readings, energy spikes — something to show what they’ve done and what’s coming next.”

“There are people down there,” Julie said, her voice cutting through the room’s tense quiet. “What about them?”

Ben didn’t hesitate. “We deal with them. This isn’t their ocean to mess with.”

The team moved methodically, gathering their equipment and preparing for what lay ahead. Freddie joined Reggie near the stern, helping him check over the portable oxygen tanks and backup gear.

Reggie, ever the joker, glanced at Freddie with a smirk. “Think you’re ready for this, newbie?”

Freddie rolled his eyes but played along. “You think I joined the team for the glamorous boat rides and thin ice?”

“You’ll fit right in,” Reggie said with a chuckle, passing him a set of gloves. “Just remember — when Ben says ‘deal with them,’ he means don’t let them shoot us first.”

“I think I can handle that,” Freddie replied, his tone steady despite the humor.

Ilya stood apart from the others, quietly reviewing the data on a portable tablet. Her calm presence was a stark contrast to the tension that hung over the team. Julie approached her, curiosity evident in her expression.

“What’s your read on this?” Julie asked.

Ilya didn’t look up, her focus on the data. “Whoever’s down there is determined. That much is clear. But they’re also desperate. If they knew what they were doing, Polaris would already be stable.”

“That’s not comforting,” Julie said with a faint smile.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Ilya replied, finally meeting Julie’s gaze. “But desperation makes people dangerous. If we’re going down there, we need to be ready for anything.”

Julie nodded, her expression serious. “We will be.”

CHAPTER 25

BEN

Ben found Ilya standing at the railing near the Aurora’s stern, her sharp blue eyes fixed on the horizon. The hum of the ship’s engines blended with the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull. The sky was a flat expanse of gray, the pale light giving everything a washed-out, lifeless hue.

He took a moment to observe her. She stood with a stillness that contrasted sharply with the constant motion of the ocean around them. For someone thrust into the chaos of this mission, she looked unshaken, her posture straight and her hands clasped in front of her.

Ben approached slowly, his boots clanking against the metal deck. She turned slightly at the sound, her expression neutral but alert.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“No,” she said, shifting just enough to give him space at the railing.

He leaned on it, gripping the cold metal with gloved hands. For a few moments, they stood in silence, staring at the horizon where the gray of the sea met the equally gray sky.

“You’ve been quiet,” Ben said finally, his voice low. “But I get the sense there’s more going on in that head of yours than you’re letting on.”

Ilya’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I imagine that’s true for everyone on this boat.”

Ben nodded, accepting the deflection for now. “Fair. But you seem to know more about what we’re walking into than the rest of us. You’ve been careful with your words.”

“I am careful with everything,” she replied, her tone calm. “It’s how I’ve stayed alive.”

Ben glanced at her, studying her profile. “Fair point. But it doesn’t inspire a lot of trust.”

She turned to face him fully, her expression sharpening. “Trust is earned, Mr. Bennett. And I would say I’ve earned some already, considering we’re having this conversation.”

He met her gaze evenly. “You’ve earned enough for us to listen. But not enough for me to stop wondering why you’re really here.”

Ilya’s brow furrowed slightly, and for the first time, there was a flicker of irritation in her calm demeanor. “I’m here for the same reason you are — to stop Polaris from becoming operational. If it stabilizes, the consequences will be catastrophic. You’ve seen the data.”

“I’ve seen enough to know it’s dangerous,” Ben said. “But I’ve also seen enough to know that you’re not telling us everything.”

Ilya’s lips pressed into a thin line. She turned back to the horizon, her hands gripping the railing tightly. “You’re right,” she said after a pause. “There are things I haven’t said. But not because I am hiding them. Because some things are uncertain. I want this group to succeed. For you to succeed. But if it doesn’t — if something happens…”

Ben waited, sensing she wasn’t finished.

She let out a breath. “I must be careful. The Polaris system was never completed,” she continued, her voice quieter now. “It was too unstable. The energy it generated couldn’t be controlled. That’s why it was abandoned. But if someone is trying to reactivate it…”

“You mentioned that already. They’re playing with fire,” Ben said.

“More like a bomb,” Ilya replied. “A bomb they don’t understand.”

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “And what about you? You understand more than you’re letting on. How much more?”

She met his gaze again, her blue eyes unreadable. “Just enough to know how dangerous this is. Enough to know we have to stop it.”

Ben held her gaze for a long moment. “You’ve spent years studying this stuff, right? Probably have notes from your father about it, too. Sub-oceanic anomalies, seismic activity. You’re a geologist, and this is man-made. So why Polaris? Why did Mr. E send you to us?”

“Because it’s the perfect intersection of everything I’ve worked on,” she said. “It’s not just an old Soviet project. It’s a system that could reshape the world — literally. And if the Faction has their hands on it…” She trailed off, her expression darkening.

“They’ve got to be stopped,” Ben finished for her.

Ilya nodded. “It is as simple as that.”

Ben studied her, weighing her words against the instincts that had kept him alive through so many missions. There was sincerity in her voice, but also a guardedness that made him uneasy. She was here for a reason, but whether that reason aligned fully with theirs was still unclear.

“You’ve been working with Mr. E,” Ben said, changing tack. “Do you trust him?”

Ilya’s expression softened slightly, and she turned back to the sea and laughed. “As you very well know, one does not work with Mr. E. It’s more a mutually beneficial relationship. A bit of information here and there, really.”

Ben smiled. “You’re right about that.”

“I trust his goals, though,” she continued. “He wants what I want — to stop the Faction. But trust is a strong word.”

Ben grunted in agreement. “That’s the thing about Mr. E. He always seems to know more than he lets on.” Like how he was involved with the Faction long before we even knew what it was.

He kept silent about that bit, however. It didn’t change anything.

Ilya tilted her head, a faint smirk on her lips. “Perhaps that’s why he and I get along.”

Ben allowed himself another small laugh, though it was more an exhalation of breath than a sound. “Fair enough. Just know that I’m a bit… cautiously optimistic about your involvement here.”

She nodded, her demeanor returning to its usual calm. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

They stood in silence for a moment longer before Ben straightened and stepped back from the railing. “We’ll be heading down soon. Make sure you’re ready.”

“I’m always ready,” Ilya said, her voice steady.

Ben gave her a final look, then turned and walked away, his mind churning. There was no doubt in his mind that Ilya was capable. An asset, as far as the mission was concerned.

But did he trust her? That was still a question mark.

CHAPTER 26

STRAKOV

Strakov’s hands rested lightly on the edge of the console, fingers twitching as if he were playing some invisible piano. The sonar screen glowed in front of him, icy blue dots inching ever closer to Polaris’s perimeter. The hum of the reactor vibrated faintly beneath his boots, a constant reminder of the beast they were attempting to awaken. His reflection in the dark surface caught his eye — an older face, creased but still sharp as shattered ice. He looked away. Now wasn’t the time for reflection.

“Admiral, the submersibles will breach our outer perimeter in less than two minutes,” an engineer announced without turning from his monitor.

Strakov didn’t respond immediately. His eyes flicked to the schematic of Polaris on a side screen, watching the segmented outlines of the automated defenses pulsate faintly, but unevenly. Somewhere deep in the station, circuits sputtered, a low hiss emanating from the walls like the last gasp of a dying animal. Despite the nonstop power from the geothermal plant itself, the decades of neglect here were evident in every flicker and static-glitched interface, but he wouldn’t let sentiment cloud his focus.

“Their communications,” he said finally, his voice a blade slicing through the nervous chatter of the control room. “Are the drones we deployed able to jam them?”

“Yes, sir,” another engineer stammered, his hands nearly flying off the keyboard. A bead of sweat slid down his temple even though the room was freezing.

“Good. The moment they cross the line, isolate them. I want them completely blind. No communications, no data transfer — just silence.”

“Yes, Admiral,” the engineer said, his voice cracking.

Strakov’s jaw tightened, and he turned slowly, letting his cold gray gaze settle on the man who spoke. Strakov walked toward him, measured, deliberate.

“You are responsible for their silence. If any of them so much as hears a whisper from the surface, or taps morse code through their hull, I will hold you accountable.”

The man nodded hastily, his knuckles whitening as he clutched the edge of his console. “It will be done, sir.”

Strakov let the threat hang for a moment longer before turning back to the main console. His boots scraped faintly against the grates as he folded his arms. His frown deepened as he watched the station schematic shudder under the weight of age and deterioration. Polaris was failing, its once-pristine systems brittle as frostbitten steel. But it still had teeth, and he meant to use them.

Another engineer spoke up — this one older, steadier. “Internal defenses are primed and standing by. Environmental systems are unstable, but they’ll hold long enough for... minimal use.”

Strakov arched an eyebrow at the qualifier. “Define ‘minimal.’”

“Enough for containment — or eradication,” the engineer clarified.

Strakov allowed himself the smallest of smiles. The kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “Eradication will do.”

A warning klaxon blared once — a short, sharp burst signaling an outer perimeter breach. On the sonar display, the CSO team’s submersibles crossed the invisible boundary, drifting unwittingly into the spider’s web. The interference signal engaged immediately. Their blips stuttered, jittering on the screen before winking out entirely.

“Blind and deaf,” Strakov murmured. “Exactly as they should be.”

“Drones are maintaining a perimeter, sir,” the steadier engineer informed him.

“Leave them,” Strakov ordered briskly. “Do not engage — I do not trust our external defenses will function well enough to do much, anyway. Let them reach the station. Funnel them inside. The wolves do not attack at the door, yes? We wait until the sheep are penned.”

Strakov’s attention was drawn to a junior officer seated near the edge of the room. The younger man had frozen in place, staring blankly at his console. His hand hovered hesitantly above the keyboard, betraying an invisible tremor that had little to do with the cold.

“Your station,” Strakov said without looking away. The words acted like the crack of a whip. The young officer snapped upright, eyes wide.

“I — I don’t understand, sir. The reactor core — there are faults building — ”

Strakov moved without haste, his boots carrying him unerringly to the officer’s terminal. The younger man stiffened as Strakov leaned in, close enough for the pale frost of his breath to kiss the screen’s reflection. The data scrawls were littered with warning glyphs and diagnostic flags.

“I understand,” Strakov said in a tone polished down to steel. His voice dropped an octave, barely above a whisper. “This place is a graveyard waiting to collapse. I know everything here is dying. That is not your concern. What is your concern... is me.”

The officer’s face paled.

“The Americans have entered our den willingly. What happens next is not a testament to Polaris’s longevity. It is a testament to the inevitability of control. Control,” Strakov tapped lightly on the terminal screen, emphasizing the word, “must be absolute.”

The officer swallowed hard, his hand finally making contact with his keyboard. “Understood, Admiral.”

Strakov straightened, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the remainder of the control room like a gathering storm. His focus returned to the sensor map as new alerts blinked through. The air hissed faintly from unseen vents, carrying with it the acrid tang of burnt metal and decay.

“Open the reactor zones but keep the failsafe dormant. I want the outer tunnels pressurized just enough to choke out any hesitation they might have,” Strakov ordered calmly. “And give me eyes inside the lower docking shafts as soon as they attempt ingress.”

He stepped back from the console, arms behind his back. His expression was carved from stone now, devoid of doubt or hesitation.

He thought through the other plans he'd made. They weren't an army here, but they were armed. Ancient AK-47s and enough ammunition to get through a couple submersibles' worth of personnel.

He wondered if the CSO crew would arrive armed as well. It would be incredibly stupid to not be, but he wasn't sure how they operated. Weren't they a 'research' organization, only messing around with weaponry when forced to?

No matter. His contingent of non-critical support personnel could handle the CSO crew. Around twenty men, normally put to task on operations, support, and general day-to-day logistics. He'd alerted them to the imminent breach, and they were ready.

But they wouldn't be the first line of defense here.

No, in this case, Strakov had a better idea.

Let the base defend itself.

The Polaris station had been built to withstand the oppression of an enemy. the Cold War era was not a peaceful time, and while most of the external defenses were defunct, the original builders had anticipated and prepared for an internal breach of some kind or another.

And he was quite keen on testing those defenses.

Director K had a reason for instructing Strakov to allow the enemy crew to enter. He wasn't sure exactly what that reason was, but it was clear there was a larger game afoot, and Strakov intended to play it.

The sonar display continued to pulse, the enemy dots converging toward the waiting jaws of the forgotten station. The hum of Polaris’s ancient machinery rose an octave, filling the room with an almost imperceptible vibration.

Strakov didn’t flinch. This was his world. His battleground. And in his mind, the fight was all but won.

CHAPTER 27

BEN

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Reggie said. “How the hell are they not going to see us coming?”

Ben was seated next to his friend in the rear row of the Echo, the submersible piloted by Tom Farrow. The submersible’s titanium hull creaked slightly as they descended, though Farrow assured them it was mostly due to the cold and the smooth structure reacting to it. The interior was heated, though not by much. The air was chilly — not quite cold enough to see his breath — but it was the only reason Ben was glad to have Freddie and Reggie crammed in next to him.

The titanium hull was interrupted in three places by windows: two on either side of the oval-shaped craft, and one covering the entire front, where Farrow sat piloting. Through the side window to Ben’s right, he could see the sister sub, the Argo, piloted by Carson Holt. Behind him was Ilya and Julie.

They’d considered having Reggie or Freddie back with Julie and Ilya, but Julie had urged them to reconsider. Their sub was supposed to be the first to dock with the old Soviet station, and if they met resistance, they wanted the biggest show of force available to them.

And while she hadn’t explicitly stated it, Ben sensed she also wanted to keep herself and her husband on separate vessels.

Just in case.

He couldn’t disagree, so there they sat — three hulking men, crammed into a space meant for two of them.

Rachel Voss had stayed on the Aurora, handling communications and backup. Her job would be to relay information to the mainland, hailing the US Coast Guard or even the Navy, should the need arise. She’d help ensure the Argo and the Echo remained in constant communication with one another as well.

The Argo’s smooth, curved surface gave it the look of a massive killer whale, and the inky blackness surrounding it made it even more ominous. But unlike a killer whale, these machines were not predators. Designed for research and study, both subs had thrusters on all sides for maneuvering through narrow trenches, mechanical appendages for moving rocks and retrieving items from the ocean floor, and floodlights on nearly every surface.

Farrow and Holt had turned on some of the lights, illuminating the icy Bering Sea around them as they descended. Ben could see their depth steadily increasing as Farrow handled the joystick controls with precision. He suspected the lights were mostly for the passengers’ benefit; the sub’s instrumentation panels made it possible to pilot blind. A high-definition three-dimensional sonar monitor displayed a glowing image of objects around them.

Ben turned to Reggie. “Ilya said the base has limited sonar capabilities. It likely hasn’t been upgraded in decades, considering it was abandoned.”

“I’m not sure that satisfies my curiosity, bud,” Reggie replied.

Ben rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t satisfy mine either. But Ilya seems confident we can sneak up to it without drawing attention. Holt is confident he can get us through whatever mechanized airlocks they’ve got.”

From the pilot’s chair, Farrow nodded. “We’ll be able to get in, no doubt. This sub’s got advanced control arms — much more elaborate than anything they’d have used back then. Even if someone inside knows we’re here and tries to lock us out, we can operate it manually from the outside.”

Ben squinted at Freddie, whose knuckles were white as he gripped the bench beneath him.

“You going to be all right?” Ben asked.

Freddie laughed nervously, pulling his gaze from the window. “Who knew claustrophobia would make the list of my phobias?”

Ben laughed. “Happens to the best of us. Take solace in the fact that if something does happen, we won’t be crushed like a tin can.”

Freddie eyed him with abject terror.

“Remember that sub that went missing?” Reggie asked. “Super deep dive, and the CEO of the company — kind of an idiot, if you ask me — claimed he didn’t need a professional control joystick or something.”

“I remember,” Ben said. “Cut corners on construction, too.”

“What… what happened to it?” Freddie asked.

Farrow glanced back from the controls, smirking as he pinched his fingers together. “Crushed like a grape. Instantaneously. The pressure was so immense they didn’t even have time to know what happened.”

Freddie gulped.

Ben clapped him on the back. “Nothing to worry about. We’re not going that deep.”

“I heard the atmosphere inside the sub ignited from the pressure,” Reggie added. “Incinerated everyone on board. Then, once it imploded, any organic matter turned into floating blobs of fat and — ”

“I think that’s enough,” Ben interrupted, watching Freddie’s hands tighten on the bench.

Farrow laughed. “Three hundred feet deep here — not nearly enough for that sort of thing. Worst-case scenario? We have to swim back to the surface. You guys ever take ice baths?”

All three passengers shook their heads.

“That’s probably the biggest worry down here,” Farrow continued. “Water temperature looks to be…” He checked the controls. “Five degrees, Celsius. Yeah, that’s… well, that’s cold.”

Ben’s mind slipped to the realization that even though they wouldn’t be ‘crushed like a grape,’ as Farrow had said, if something went wrong at this depth, they were still as good as dead.

CHAPTER 28

JULIE

The Argo glided through the dark waters, its thrusters kicking up silt as it descended toward the seabed. Carson Holt held the controls steady, guiding the submersible closer to the glowing sonar signature pulsing in the murky depths. The floodlights sliced through the void, revealing jagged rocks and small swirls of debris floating in the cold, still ocean.

Ilya Markopov sat directly behind him, her sharp blue eyes locked on the screen of a handheld tablet that mirrored some of the Argo’s diagnostic displays. The screen flickered faintly, its connection syncing with Rachel Voss’s setup on the Aurora above. The tablet showed real-time data from the sub’s sensors, and Ilya’s fingers worked quickly to adjust the communication relay between the submersible and the ship.

Julie leaned over from her seat, craning her neck to peer out the viewport. The faint outline of a massive structure began to emerge — a shadow against the dim glow of the sonar’s guidance. “Carson, are you seeing this?”

“Got it,” Carson replied, his voice calm. He adjusted the thrusters, bringing the Argo into a slow hover just above the seabed. “We’re close. Lights on full.”

As the floodlights illuminated the scene, the details of the structure became clearer. It wasn’t just a pile of debris or a natural anomaly. A circular steel bulkhead, partially buried in silt and marine growth, loomed ahead. Its surface was marred by rust, deep scratches, and patches of coral clinging stubbornly to the weathered metal. A faded hammer-and-sickle emblem was visible, its edges blurred with time. Cyrillic letters were etched around its frame, barely legible beneath layers of grime.

“That’s it,” Ilya said quietly, leaning forward. Her voice carried an undertone of awe, mixed with unease. “This is the docking point.”

Julie frowned, her gaze fixed on the bulkhead. “It looks smaller than I expected.”

“That’s not the entire station,” Voss’s voice came through the comms, slightly crackling. “From the sonar profile, there’s more below. This hatch likely leads to a larger chamber — a dry dock or main access point buried deeper into the rock.”

Julie glanced at Ilya. “Thoughts?”

Ilya didn’t take her eyes off the screen. “It’s consistent with Soviet designs from the era. These were made to last, even under extreme conditions.”

“And yet they abandoned it,” Carson said, not taking his hands off the controls.

“Not by choice,” Ilya replied flatly. “They left because they couldn’t stay. And they obviously came back, so I’m sure it’s working.”

Voss’s voice cut in again. “I’m pulling up energy readings from the hatch — faint but steady. There’s definitely something powering it, probably a geothermal backup or auxiliary system.”

Carson’s brow furrowed. “That fits. A system like this would need a massive power source. They wouldn’t rely on standard generators to keep it running.”

Julie tapped Carson’s shoulder, pointing toward the viewport. “There’s something glowing on the hatch. Look.”

The lights on the steel door pulsed faintly, a dim, rhythmic flicker that sent soft waves of illumination through the surrounding water. Carson tilted his head slightly, his hands steady on the controls.

“Is that coming from the hatch?” Julie asked.

“Affirmative,” Voss replied, the sound of her keyboard clacking faintly audible in the background. “The light matches energy spikes from the sonar signal. It’s active, but barely. If we’re lucky, I can ping the system and figure out the access code.”

Carson adjusted the sub’s position slightly, angling it closer to the hatch. “Take your time, Voss. We’re not exactly rushing to open a Cold War bunker.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Voss muttered. “These systems were built on sonar triggers. If the receiver’s intact, I can isolate the right frequency to unlock it.”

Ilya leaned closer to the viewport, studying the hatch. “Even with a functioning receiver, there’s no guarantee the mechanism inside still works.”

“We’re about to find out,” Voss said, her tone clipped. “Give me a sec.”

The comms crackled, and Julie glanced nervously at Ilya. “What happens if it doesn’t open?”

From the Echo, Julie heard Tom Farrow’s voice. “If Voss can’t isolate and determine a working access code, I’ve got some more mechanical tricks up my sleeve. We’re getting in, one way or another.”

A low hum resonated through the water, faint but unmistakable. Julie straightened in her seat, her hands gripping the edges of her console. “What was that?”

“It’s the hatch,” Ilya said, her tone calm but alert. “It’s… responding to Voss’s scan.”

Voss’s voice came through the speakers, sharp with focus. “Okay, the receiver is picking up my signal. If I can keep it stable, I’ll trigger the unlock sequence.”

The hum grew louder, rhythmic and mechanical, as the hatch pulsed with brighter light. The glow rippled faintly through the water, casting eerie shadows against the rocky seabed.

“Is that normal?” Julie asked, her voice tight.

“Depends on your definition of normal,” Voss replied. “It’s a start. Let’s see if it holds.”

The comms buzzed, and Tom Farrow’s voice broke through. “Argo, what’s your status? That thing looks like it’s waking up. You still want us in first?”

“Working on it,” Carson said evenly. “And yes. You first, once we get the hatch open. Voss has it under control.”

“Mostly under control,” Voss corrected. “This system’s older than dirt, but it’s responding. I’ve got a solid ping. Just a few more adjustments.”

Ilya’s gaze remained fixed on the hatch, her expression unreadable. “If it opens, we need to be ready for what’s on the other side.”

Julie frowned. “You’re worried about what’s inside?”

“I’m worried about who’s inside,” Ilya said quietly.

Before Julie could respond, the comms cut out abruptly, leaving a sharp, empty silence. Carson swore under his breath, quickly checking the sub’s internal systems. “Voss? Tom? Ben? Do you copy?”

Nothing but static.

“Great,” Carson muttered. “We’ve lost connection.”

“Interference?” Julie asked, her chest tightening.

“Some sort of interference, yeah,” Carson said grimly. “Or the base’s automated defense systems kicked in. Either way, we’re alone now. At least Echo knows the plan.”

The silence in the Argo felt heavy, pressing against the confined space as Carson held the sub steady. The hatch pulsed again, the glow intensifying.

“ — Argo, read me?” Voss’s voice crackled faintly through the static, breaking the momentary isolation.

Carson tightened his grip on the controls. “Barely. Is there some sort of interference? Standing by.”

CHAPTER 29

VOSS

Rachel Voss’s hands worked furiously over the communication console’s keyboard. She preferred working without a computer mouse, finding them distracting and enjoying the rhythmic catharsis of typing and navigating with arrow keys.

That, and whatever genius had designed these ancient systems seemed to also hate computer mice, making the interface so clunky that using a keyboard was actually faster — once you learned the ropes.

And she certainly had.

Ex-Navy, Voss had spent a decade and a half mastering computer systems and onboard technology. There wasn’t a seafaring vessel she couldn’t figure out, and while she wasn’t the mission specialist — Carter Holt had that role — nor the navigator and pilot, like Tom Farrow, she could hold her own. Her expertise lay in ensuring vessels like this maintained constant communication: situational data, nav system uplinks, and any verbal exchanges critical to the mission.

She hadn’t been surprised when Holt had assigned her this role — it was why she was here in the first place. They’d worked together on several missions already, all private sector since they’d retired from active duty. Farrow was the newest member of the team, but she’d learned not to underestimate the eager young man. What many mistook for naivety was actually a joie de vivre she sometimes envied. He was every bit as capable and experienced as she was.

Of course, she would never in a million years tell him that.

She was older, and she kept her emotions close to her chest, never wanting to risk her work’s quality by intermingling with unprofessional behavior. Besides, it wasn’t a thing. Sure, Farrow was cute, and part of her wondered if there could be more between them if she ever chose to explore it. She wasn’t sure how he felt or if he would reciprocate, but she had a sense the man wasn’t seeing anyone. He never mentioned his status — the team rarely talked about such things — and while she knew Holt was divorced, Farrow had never brought up any current or past relationships.

Shaking her head, Rachel refocused on the task at hand, trying to ensure communications were still active. There had been a blip, and she couldn’t tell what exactly had happened.

The monitor in front of her displayed camera feeds from both the Echo and the Argo. Each was labeled, but she could tell by the illuminated sea floor where each submersible was in relation to the other. Another screen showed camera feeds from around the Aurora’s hull, though these were dark since she hadn’t turned on the external lights. The vessel floated silently, anchored as it had been while the Echo and Argo performed their reconnaissance and potential docking operation.

Rachel could hear chatter from inside each submersible craft. Holt and Farrow had activated their omni-microphones, which picked up audio from the entirety of their respective vessels. The clarity was excellent, though Farrow’s and Holt’s voices were slightly louder in the mix.

Reggie’s voice trickled through the comms, teasing Freddie Rollins, one of the hulking CSO operatives. Like most of the crew, Freddie had a military background — Holt had mentioned his uncle was an Army general, which immediately earned Rachel’s respect. While Freddie had some of the youthful enthusiasm of Farrow, Rachel had no trouble writing that off as natural.

Holt’s voice cut through the audio, this time on a direct line from his front-mounted microphone.

“ — Holt — interference. Copy?”

Rachel squinted at the monitors. Interference again?

Nothing had changed — both submersibles crept toward the hulking underwater structure. Farrow and Harvey Bennett had been discussing how they might gain entry, while Holt’s craft pushed back and let the Echo get closer.

Rachel pressed her microphone talk button. “Aurora, Voss to Echo. I copy. Do you read me?”

Static crackled but no verbal response followed.

She tried again. “Holt, this is Voss. How copy?”

This time, there wasn’t even static — just silence.

Rachel frowned, pressing a few keys to check the audio feed settings. She couldn’t override which microphone each submersible used, but she could confirm which were active. Everything checked out; the system reported all clear.

She hailed Holt again but was met with the same eerie silence.

“Some kind of interference,” she mumbled to herself, her voice barely audible over the wind outside. The Aurora shuddered, its hull listing slightly in the force of the gusts.

Closing the dialogue window, Rachel opened another showing subsystems reports for the Aurora and the two subs. Everything appeared nominal, yet she still couldn’t hear any responses.

“Odd,” she muttered, her eyes darting back to the video feeds. The Echo was now stopped in front of the bay door — the underwater docking station for the Soviet facility they’d found.

As she waited, a thud echoed through the bridge. Rachel frowned, recognizing the sound as something striking the hull.

Then came another thud, and another, from the opposite side of the ship.

Her senses kicked into high alert. She silently worked through mission protocols, trying to determine the cause. Orcas? Unlikely — they wouldn’t target the ship. Both subs were still 300 feet below, so it wasn’t one of them surfacing.

A fourth and fifth impact rocked the vessel, this time from the bow.

Certain the sounds weren’t natural, Rachel jumped from her chair, eyeing instruments on the bridge. She tapped the sonar screen, bringing it to life. The Aurora’s elongated shape appeared at the center, flanked by two dots converging on its position. It was passive now, a default for Voss.

The system couldn’t detail the objects’ exact shapes, but it seemed they were approximately five feet long and approaching from either side. As the dots met the Aurora’s, another impact rattled the hull.

“Okay… now what the hell is happening?” she asked aloud, her voice rising.

The audio feed remained silent, but a chilling thought struck her. “Audio interference… implies some sort of electrical…” Her voice trailed off as a theory took shape.

If the Soviets — or whoever occupied the station — had launched submersible drones to interfere with communications, this was precisely what we’d see.

Sonar detecting objects, but audio feeds disrupted.

Rachel’s eyes widened as realization dawned. The people inside the old soviet base weren’t just launching drones to deter visitors. They wanted the subs to approach.

They just didn’t want the Aurora there.

“It’s not a warning,” she said. “It’s a trap.”

Whoever was in the station didn’t want the Aurora as their escape route.

She clenched her teeth as her eyes slowly crept up above the monitors and peered out the bridge window at the inky blackness.

The first explosion erupted from the port side.

The blast sent Rachel stumbling, the floor buckling beneath her. She fell hard, catching herself before the second and third explosions rocked the vessel. She flew backward, crashing into the sonar console.

Water began to flood the lower hatches, klaxons blaring throughout the ship. Rachel ignored the damage reports flashing on the monitors.

“I’m going to tell them, if it’s the last thing I do,” she muttered, dragging herself up.

Three more explosions tore into the Aurora. Rachel rolled across the bridge floor, smacking her head against a corner desk. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself upright.

The Aurora was sinking, but Rachel was determined to get a warning to the others.

CHAPTER 30

VOSS

Rachel Voss gritted her teeth as she pulled herself upright, bracing against the cold, slick edge of the console. Water swirled around her waist now, sloshing with every tilt of the Aurora. She winced at the sharp sting in her left side — a bruise or maybe worse from where she’d slammed into the sonar console moments ago.

“Focus… Rachel,” she muttered under her breath. The words came out in a rasp, her throat raw from the icy air.

The comm system was down — useless. That much was clear. Whatever those drones had done — disrupted the electronics, jammed the signal, or outright fried the system — it had left her blind and mute to the subs below. But there was still one option.

Sonar.

Her mind raced as she pulled herself back to the console, fingers trembling as she tapped a series of keys. The Aurora’s sonar array wasn’t designed for direct communication, but in theory, it could transmit pulses that might mimic Morse code. The frequency pings wouldn’t carry words, but if the subs’ passive sonar was still operational, they’d detect the rhythmic sequence.

She paused for a moment, thinking through the phrase she needed to send:

Attacked. Polaris trap.

She didn’t need to tell them where the message originated from. Aurora was obvious, and would take far too many keystrokes. The message had to be concise and clear. Each word mattered. If the team below understood it, they’d know the Aurora wasn’t just a victim of bad luck.

It had been targeted.

Her fingers flew over the keys, calibrating the sonar system to manual mode. She bypassed the automated sweep settings, isolating a single frequency that would stand out amid the ambient noise of the ocean.

“All right,” she whispered. “Time to make some noise.”

She tapped out the first sequence.

Three short pulses.

Three long pulses.

Three short pulses again.

The international distress signal, SOS, was always the first step. Even if the rest of the message didn’t get through, that message alone would signal to the subs that something was critically wrong.

The console beeped faintly as the pulses emitted from the Aurora’s array, the vibrations resonating through the hull. Rachel held her breath, waiting for any sign of interference. When none came, she continued.

Attacked.

She tapped the sequence carefully: short bursts for the dots, longer presses for the dashes. Her hand shook as the cold seeped deeper into her muscles, but she refused to let it slow her down.

Next came the hardest part: Polaris trap.

The rhythmic tapping filled the bridge, each pulse a deliberate act of defiance. Rachel pictured the subs below, imagined the sonar operators catching the faint pings on their displays. Would they understand? Would they act in time?

The thought spurred her on.

She repeated the message three times for good measure, ensuring it would stand out amid the natural echoes of the seafloor.

When the final pulse faded into silence, Rachel slumped against the now-diagonal console, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The water was higher now, lapping at her ribs, every wave excruciating as it found non-wet skin. Every second was colder, heavier, as if the ocean itself was reaching for her.

But she wasn’t done yet. There was still a way out, and she intended to use it.

The life raft.

An inflatable dinghy, not unlike the ones they’d used to visit the frozen Resolute, the life rafts onboard the Aurora were state-of-the-art, and available on every deck and almost every room. They were compact enough to store, auto-inflating, and she knew the one stored behind the bridge was meant for last-resort rescue, tucked away in an aptly named cupboard labeled Emergency Panel.

Rachel pushed herself away from the console, half-wading, half-stumbling toward the emergency panel. The Aurora groaned beneath her, the metallic screeching of its frame a haunting reminder of its failing integrity.

She reached the panel and tore it open, her heart leaping as she spotted the bright orange raft folded neatly inside. Relief surged through her, adrenaline masking the chill for a brief moment. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her lungs exhausted but somehow still working.

Yes.

“Come on,” she muttered, grabbing the release handle. She yanked it hard, feeling the satisfying jolt as the mechanism engaged.

And then the ship shuddered violently — another explosion, another drone, late to the party. The Aurora was half-submerged already, and this underwater drone had attached itself to the first hard surface it found.

The explosion came from directly behind the bridge, shaking the entire vessel with bone-rattling force. Rachel was thrown to the floor, her head striking the edge of the panel. Stars danced in her vision as she struggled to focus, her ears ringing from the blast.

She forced herself upright, her eyes darting toward the emergency panel.

But it was gone.

Her stomach twisted as she saw the gaping hole where the back of the bridge had been. The life raft, along with the storage compartment, had been obliterated. Chunks of debris floated in the water, the remains of her escape scattered like ashes.

“No…” she whispered, her voice cracking.

The cold reality settled over her like a weight. There was no way out.

For a moment, despair threatened to consume her. The frigid water climbed higher, soaking her arms and chest as the Aurora tilted further into the depths.

But then she looked back at the sonar console.

The message.

It was still transmitting, repeating the sequence she’d set. Even as the ship sank, even as the water consumed her, the Aurora’s final act would be to deliver her warning.

Rachel gritted her teeth, pulling herself back toward the console. If this was her last stand, she’d make it count.

Her shaking fingers found the manual override switch, and she flipped it, locking the sonar array into continuous transmission mode. The system would keep sending the message until the ship’s power failed completely. Only a minute from now, likely, but hopefully long enough.

As she worked, the water surged around her, cold and relentless. It reached her shoulders now, the pressure making it harder to breathe.

Rachel glanced at the jagged hole in the bridge, the inky blackness of the ocean beyond. She thought of the team below — the CSO team, Holt, the Russian woman.

Tom Farrow.

She should have told him she was interested.

A strange final thought, but she didn’t fight it.

The Aurora groaned one final time, the sound echoing through the bridge like a mournful wail.

Rachel closed her eyes, her fingers still clutching the console. Her warning would reach them.

It had to.

CHAPTER 31

BEN

The Echo floated above the ocean floor, its lights cutting through the murky water and illuminating the massive steel bulkhead ahead. Inside, Ben sat crammed in the rear of the submersible with Freddie and Reggie, the cramped space amplifying the weight of the silence. The comms had been dead for several minutes now, and the stillness pressed against Ben like a vice.

At the controls, Tom Farrow worked methodically, his fingers gliding over the displays. “Still nothing on comms,” he muttered, his voice taut. “I’ve cycled through every channel twice.”

Freddie frowned, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “What about the Argo? Can you raise them?”

Ben craned his neck to look out one of the smaller rear-facing portholes. A few dozen meters back, the faint glow of the Argo’s lights was visible, a reassuring presence in the oppressive darkness. “The Argo’s right there,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “They’re fine.”

Reggie shifted uneasily in his seat. “Sure about that? Because all this silence is starting to feel… ominous.”

“Don’t start,” Ben said firmly, cutting off the budding tension.

Tom’s hands moved across the console, adjusting the Echo’s position slightly. “We’ll figure it out. Could just be interference from the base. These older systems can be unpredictable.”

Reggie huffed, leaning back. “Yeah, and unpredictable’s usually code for ‘bad.’”

Before anyone could respond, a dull thump echoed through the water.

“What was that?” Freddie asked, sitting up straighter.

Tom froze, his eyes darting to the displays. “Sounded like something above us.”

Another thump followed, louder this time, reverberating through the sub’s frame.

Ben’s stomach twisted. “Could that be the Aurora?”

Tom’s fingers flew over the controls. “I don’t know.”

The third explosion came in rapid succession, a muffled boom that sent a faint tremor through the Echo.

Ben’s heart raced as he glanced back toward the Argo. Its lights remained steady, the submersible hovering just above and behind them. Julie’s sub was safe for now, but his worry for her gnawed at the edge of his thoughts.

Reggie’s voice cut through the tension. “Okay, that definitely wasn’t whales.”

“No kidding,” Freddie said grimly.

Tom’s hands tightened on the controls. “We need to figure out what’s going on. If the Aurora’s in trouble…” He trailed off, his face tightening.

Ben could see the realization sinking in, the weight of what those explosions might mean. “Stay focused, Tom,” he said evenly. “We’re still here, and so are they. Let’s get this hatch open and stick to the plan.”

Tom swallowed hard, nodding. “Right.” He turned his attention back to the bulkhead, his movements deliberate. “This hatch isn’t going to open itself.”

The sub fell into tense silence as Tom began transmitting another sonar pulse. The rhythmic waves echoed through the water, bouncing off the steel structure ahead.

Ben glanced at the monitor, watching the sonar display as the hatch’s outline became sharper. The faint glow that had pulsed earlier was gone, leaving the bulkhead a dark, unyielding barrier.

Another muffled explosion reached them, fainter this time but unmistakable.

Freddie exhaled sharply. “That has to be the Aurora.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. He forced himself to stay calm, his gaze shifting between the viewport and the Argo’s distant lights. “We can’t do anything until we know what’s going on.”

Tom’s console beeped sharply, drawing everyone’s attention. “Hold on,” he said, his voice tight with focus. “I’m getting something.”

“What is it?” Reggie asked.

“Sonar signal,” Tom said, his eyes narrowing. “But it’s irregular. Like… wait a minute. It’s… Morse code.”

Reggie blinked. “You’re kidding.”

Tom didn’t answer, his gaze locked on the display as he began deciphering the sequence. “Dot-dot-dot. Dash-dash-dash. Dot-dot-dot. SOS.”

Freddie leaned forward, frowning. “SOS? From where?”

“There’s more,” Tom said, his voice lowering. His fingers traced the patterns on the screen as he spoke aloud, slowly piecing together the message. “…Attacked. Polaris… trap.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, each syllable pulling the tension in the cabin taut.

Reggie broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. “Attacked? Does that mean — ”

Ben’s mind raced, his chest tightening. The Aurora was under attack. Rachel Voss was sending a message to them the only way she could.

Tom’s hands trembled slightly as he sat back from the controls, his expression grim. “If the Aurora’s gone…”

“Don’t,” Ben said sharply. “We don’t know that yet.”

Tom’s jaw clenched, his face pale. “What else could it mean, Ben? ‘Attacked’? What else is there to think?”

Ben took a steadying breath, forcing himself to focus. “We don’t jump to conclusions. Right now, we stick to the plan. Figure out what’s in this base, then get back to the surface.”

Reggie glanced toward the viewport, his unease visible. “And what happens if we surface and there’s nothing waiting for us?”

Freddie’s voice cut through the tension, firm and steady. “Then we figure it out. Same as always.”

The sub shuddered slightly, the echo of another explosion rumbling through the water.

Tom’s hands moved instinctively across the controls. “The hatch,” he said suddenly, his voice sharp.

Ben turned toward the viewport. The steel bulkhead trembled, its edges grinding against the frame as it began to shift.

“It’s opening,” Tom said, his grip tightening on the controls.

The circular door creaked and groaned as it moved, the sediment swirling in the water as the gap widened. Faint light spilled out from within, casting eerie shadows across the seabed.

“Guess we don’t need Voss’s help anymore,” Reggie muttered.

Ben ignored him, his focus fixed on the opening. “Stay ready. We don’t know what’s on the other side.”

Tom nodded, his hands steady on the controls as he guided the sub closer. “Whatever it is,” he said quietly, “I doubt it’s friendly.”

CHAPTER 32

HOLT

Carson Holt navigated deftly, descending and positioning the Argo directly behind the Echo. He watched as Farrow maneuvered the submersible into the docking port through the now open hatch. The lights inside the chamber were dim, but the beams still lit the surrounding ocean, creating an eerie glow.

The Argo’s headlights illuminated the way as Carson followed the Echo into the underwater chamber. He took in his surroundings with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

From behind him, Julie Bennett broke the silence. “Pretty amazing it’s still operational,” she whispered.

Ilya Markopov responded, “It is likely someone made repairs before reactivating the facility. I’m sure this place was abandoned for a long while, as we suspected.”

Carson agreed, but he wondered if it was possible someone had been here all this time. How long could a skeleton crew operate here self-sufficiently? Food would need regular supply drops, but desalination equipment could provide drinking water. Still, to maintain the base for decades with no light or outside support seemed unlikely.

He considered the possibility that whoever kept the facility operational had worked in rotating skeleton crews, much like researchers in Antarctica, working 6 to 9-month shifts, trading out with the next crew once winter passed. Or perhaps Ilya was right, and the place had been abandoned until recently reawakened.

That theory, however, raised even more unsettling questions.

If it wasn’t a Soviet-era group keeping this place running, then who was?

The idea of the USSR maintaining this base for decades, waiting for the Soviet Union’s resurgence, seemed absurd. A more plausible explanation was akin to the stories of Japanese soldiers stranded on Pacific islands after World War II — men who had never learned the war had ended, continuing their missions in isolation.

Carson had read accounts of those soldiers, surviving among villagers and believing that the flyers dropped from Allied planes announcing the war’s end were propaganda. Some lived like that for ten years, completely unaware peace had been achieved long ago.

Was that what they were dealing with here? Carson wondered.

Had this facility been staffed continuously since its construction, the personnel oblivious to the collapse of the Soviet Union? Or had it truly been abandoned, lying dormant until someone or something brought it back online?

And if so, who?

Carson followed the Echo into the docking hatch — a long tube designed for much larger submarines. Everything seemed to be in working order as his modern sub’s AI gently adjusted their position, pushing the craft away from any hard surfaces. All Carson needed to do was keep his eyes on the instruments and maintain a steady speed.

The Echo reached the end of the chamber, where tiny thrusters gently lowered it onto a V-shaped cradle on the floor. The structure bent outward to accommodate the submersible’s weight, holding it securely in place.

Carson eased the Argo forward, descending the last few feet into its own cradle just behind the Echo. He switched off the floodlights as the dim, yellow underwater illumination took over. The muted glow reflected off the walls, casting long, wavering shadows.

They waited in silence. Carson kept his eyes moving, scanning the space for any signs of activity or danger.

“What happens next?” Julie asked softly.

“Well,” Carson said, “that hatch behind us needs to close. If the pumps are still operational, they’ll start draining the water. We’re not terribly deep, so as long as standard redundancies are in place, there shouldn’t be any — ”

A sudden thud reverberated through the chamber, followed by a loud whooshing sound, like air being vacuumed out. Carson glanced at the rear camera feed and saw the massive hatch slowly closing, its circular doors sliding together with mechanical precision.

He waited as the hatch sealed, and the whooshing sound intensified. Large vacuum pumps activated, pulling water out of the chamber. It took ten minutes for the water level to recede enough for Carson to open the Argo’s hatch, with Ilya’s help.

Ahead of him, he saw Tom and Ben were performing the same maneuver in the Echo. The hydraulic lifts built into the submersibles’ doors made the task relatively easy.

As the air from the chamber replaced the stale atmosphere inside the Argo, Carson wrinkled his nose. The air smelled musty and ancient, as if it had been trapped behind these thick concrete walls for decades.

He coughed, then climbed out onto the submersible’s ladder. From there, he jumped to a concrete dock designed for far larger vessels. The gap was three feet, but Carson made the leap with ease. He turned back, waiting for Ilya and Julie to join him.

The others were already climbing out of the Echo. Freddy Rollins, the last to disembark, jumped across to the dock but slipped on the slick, seawater-covered surface. Carson noticed sea life wriggling in the V-shaped cradles below, fish desperately seeking the last remnants of water.

“We still sure this is a good idea?” Freddy asked, his voice aimed at Carson.

Carson shrugged. “I don’t think any of this was a good idea. But it’s the best idea we’ve got. Someone’s inside, and they obviously want a word with us.”

The thought unsettled him. Whoever was inside the station had clearly wanted them to dock here.

Carson shook hands with Farrow. “You’re a natural behind the wheel.”

Farrow grinned. “Give me a boat, I can drive it. Hey, did you pick up that sonar signal?”

Carson frowned.

Tom’s expression darkened. “Voss. From the surface.”

“The Aurora? No. Comms went down, and — ”

“She’s gone,” Tom interrupted. “The Aurora, I mean. And probably…”

Harvey Bennett stepped forward. “We don’t know what we don’t know. But we do know Voss got a message out to us right before those weird thumping sounds.”

Holt raised an eyebrow as Julie and Ilya stepped closer, straining to hear.

“She used the sonar signal to send a coded message. All we caught was: SOS. Polaris. Trap.”

Carson exhaled slowly. “SOS?”

“Yes, and then — ”

“That means ‘save our souls,’ and it’s not the sort of thing she’d ask. Maybe a ‘mayday’ call, but not an overt call for help. She’d be fighting for us, right to the end.”

“And we don’t know that it is the end,” Ben said.

“Either way. ‘Polaris trap’ seems pretty hard to misconstrue,” Holt continued. “That’s pretty much what I feared. Why else would they open the door for us, cut off surface communications, and sink the Aurora?”

“They knew we’d be stuck the moment they took out the Aurora,” Reggie said grimly. “No way forward but to come here. Pretty sure that means they want us here, right now. For what reason, though? No clue.”

Carson caught Ben’s gaze. There was a steely determination in his eyes, tempered with the same dread that gnawed at Carson’s thoughts.

“Whatever it is,” Carson said, “we’ll take it one step at a time. You guys unload the weapons yet?”

CHAPTER 33

HOLT

Their loadout was simple and small: subcompact firearms and sidearms designed to endure immersion in seawater. Of course, getting drenched in frigid seawater wasn’t part of anyone’s plan, but Holt had made a point of bringing gear that could handle harsh elements.

They hadn’t unpacked the weapons-filled duffels onboard the Aurora, instead leaving them ready for their departure on the submersibles. He was confident they were there now, tucked away in the stow boxes beneath the back bench seats, though he hadn’t seen them with his own eyes.

He’d been briefed before the mission that deadly force was authorized, though diplomatic measures were strongly encouraged to resolve any conflicts. Holt had scoffed at the directive — it was typical corporate lawyer speak, designed for plausible deniability.

The faceless organization funding this mission — and who’d paired his team with the CSO — would want to ensure they couldn’t be blamed for any international incidents. Once Holt and his team accepted the job and took the first payment, they were on their own. Success or failure would mean life or death.

He’d discovered later that it was a single entity bankrolling the operation: the enigmatic Mr. E, who had worked with Harvey Bennett’s group for years. The funding had been routed through layers of LLCs, furthering plausible deniability and insulating Mr. E from any fallout.

Holt was used to this sort of setup. Even in the military, there were mountains of paperwork following debriefings — an endless trail of bureaucratic red tape to ensure the top brass could deliver neatly packaged reports to their superiors.

Despite his initial skepticism, Holt had come to believe he’d accepted the mission for the right reasons. He always tried to assume the best and considered himself something of an optimist. Yet his years in the private sector had taught him that loyalty often revolved around money, and alliances could be bought and sold like any commodity.

He had expected this mission to be another gray operation — one where moral clarity was elusive. He was no stranger to ethically murky jobs but usually managed to justify the outcomes if things got complicated. Voss and Farrow operated much the same way. The three of them had worked together for years and had become a well-oiled machine.

Holt didn’t typically enjoy sharing responsibilities with another team, especially a group of civilians with no military background. But the CSO was different. Everything he’d read about them painted them as consummate professionals — perhaps even the good guys.

Down here, in the midst of one of the strangest missions of his career, Holt found it reassuring to know he wasn’t surrounded by mercenaries looking for an easy payday.

That comfort evaporated a moment later.

Before anyone could answer his question about their weapons, the realization hit him that they wouldn’t need them — or more accurately, they wouldn’t have time to use them.

Tom Farrow began to nod in affirmation, gesturing toward the Echo, when the sound of massive mechanical gears turning filled the chamber. Vertical doors began to roll upward, disappearing into the walls.

The doors were separated by five feet of thick concrete, and as they opened, Holt caught sight of black, military-issue combat boots — two pairs behind each door.

And behind them, more.

He rolled his eyes. “Too late for guns, I guess.”

The door on the left stopped just before the one on the right. A voice rang out in clipped English with a thick Russian accent.

“Indeed. Your weapons will be no good here, nor will any of your other gear.”

A man stepped into the damp chamber. He was tall, with ice-blue eyes and a military-grade buzz cut. His muscular build was imposing without being excessive, and his face had aged faster than the rest of him, suggesting years of hardship. He appeared to be in his mid-60s.

He moved to the center of the chamber, standing between the two groups, as more soldiers entered from the door on the right. All were armed, except for the leader.

“My name is Admiral Anton Strakov,” the leader of the group said, his voice cold and deep.

Holt stepped forward, taking the lead for their group. “My name is Carson Holt, and I — ”

The Russian cut him off. “I do not need to know who you are unless your name is Harvey Bennett.”

Holt’s eyes flicked involuntarily to Ben.

The Russian smirked. “Ah, so that is him. Yes, I recognize him now.”

CHAPTER 34

BEN

As the group stood frozen, the weight of the situation began to sink in. Carson Holt’s eyes flicked from the soldiers to the towering figure of Anton Strakov. The Admiral’s demeanor exuded cold efficiency, his movements precise and deliberate as he scanned the room with practiced intensity.

Strakov tilted his head slightly, signaling his men with a subtle hand gesture. Two soldiers immediately peeled off from the group, each carrying a compact black case. They moved with eerie synchronization toward the Echo and the Argo, their boots echoing off the damp concrete floor.

Carson’s brow furrowed, his hand instinctively tightening into a fist. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice low and guarded.

Strakov turned to him with an air of mild amusement. “Mr. Holt, you and your colleagues arrived uninvited. You must understand — it is my duty to ensure there are no loose ends.”

“What are you doing to our subs?” Ben demanded, stepping forward. His voice carried an edge, though he kept his tone measured.

Strakov glanced at him briefly before addressing his men in rapid Russian. The soldiers continued their work, crouching beneath the submersibles to attach small rectangular devices to the underside of each vessel.

Julie’s stomach dropped as she watched the soldiers. “Those are charges,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Reggie said sharply, his gaze darting between the soldiers and Strakov.

“They’re rigging the subs to blow,” Julie clarified, her voice rising.

Ben took another step forward, his fists clenched. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice steady despite the rising tension in the air.

Strakov raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “On the contrary, Mr. Bennett, I do. You see, these vessels represent a potential… liability. Allowing them to remain intact would be irresponsible on my part.”

“This is unnecessary,” Holt said, his tone sharp but controlled. “We’re already here. Destroying our subs doesn’t change anything — it just escalates the situation.”

Strakov’s expression darkened slightly, the faint smirk fading. “Escalates? No, this is not escalation. This is resolution. A clear message, if you will. There is no turning back for you now. No retreat. Only forward.”

One of the soldiers rose to his feet, giving Strakov a quick nod. “Charges are set, sir,” he said in Russian.

Strakov didn’t look at the soldier. Instead, his piercing gaze remained fixed on Ben. “Tell me, Mr. Bennett,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, “do you believe in inevitability?”

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Strakov held his gaze for a moment longer before turning sharply toward his men. He issued a single word in Russian: “Detonate.”

The explosions were simultaneous, their deafening roar reverberating through the chamber. Fire and smoke erupted from beneath the Echo and the Argo, the concussive force sending a blast of heat through the room. Ben flinched instinctively, his hand flying up to shield his face as shards of debris scattered across the floor.

Julie’s heart pounded as she watched the submersibles erupt into flames. The Echo’s sleek, metallic frame crumpled inward, its structure folding under the pressure of the blast. The Argo fared no better, its cockpit shattered and engulfed in smoke. Within seconds, both vessels were reduced to twisted, smoldering wreckage.

The group stood in stunned silence, the echoes of the explosions still ringing in their ears.

“You son of a — ” Reggie started, but Ben cut him off with a sharp look.

“Not now,” Ben said through gritted teeth.

Strakov turned back to them, his expression calm, almost serene. “There. That is better, yes? No distractions. No false hope. Only clarity.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Julie said, her voice trembling with restrained anger.

Strakov’s pale eyes met hers, his expression unreadable. “On the contrary, Dr. Bennett, I did. Hope is a dangerous thing. It clouds judgment and leads to poor decisions. My actions ensure that none of you will waste time entertaining… impracticalities.”

Ben clenched his fists, his mind racing. The destruction of the subs was a calculated move, designed to send a clear message. But Strakov’s confidence told him something else: the man wasn’t worried about his own ability to leave.

Which meant there had to be another way off the base.

Strakov gestured toward the open bulkhead. “Shall we?” he said, his tone almost polite.

Carson exchanged a wary glance with Ben before stepping forward. “What’s the plan, Admiral? You going to march us straight to our graves?”

Strakov smiled faintly, his expression devoid of warmth. “Patience. All will be revealed in due time.”

CHAPTER 35

BEN

Admiral Strakov strode toward Ben, his boots echoing ominously against the wet concrete floor. His imposing frame moved like a man who had spent his life commanding absolute obedience. He stopped directly in front of Ben, his ice-blue eyes boring into him with unsettling intensity.

Julie stepped forward as well, but she froze when the cold barrel of a rifle pressed against her shoulder. A soldier standing to her left gave her a warning glance, his expression unyielding beneath the brim of his tactical cap. She eased back, her hands slowly rising to shoulder height to show she wasn’t about to make a move. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but she forced herself to remain calm.

Ben felt her tension without looking at her. He straightened his spine and met Strakov’s gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “You seem like a busy man,” he said, his voice steady despite the circumstances. “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain why we’re still breathing?”

Strakov tilted his head slightly, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “My job here is not finished,” he said, his English clipped and precise. “I know you are here to interfere, and that is unacceptable. I would have rather eliminated you and your group while you were aboard your little boat on the surface.” He let the words linger, watching for a reaction, before continuing. “But I was instructed to bring you here to show you what we have been working on.”

Instructed, Ben thought. So he does take orders from someone.

Ben’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained calm. “I appreciate your willingness to delay our murder, but why?”

Strakov’s grin widened, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why not? You are not without merit, Mr. Bennett. You and your friends have proven yourselves… capable, though misguided. Perhaps you will appreciate what we are building here, even if you cannot stop it.”

Ben caught a flicker of something in Strakov’s tone — a hint of personal pride that he hadn’t expected. Perhaps also a bit of disgust at having to even give Ben an explanation.

He could feel the weight of Julie’s stare burning into him from the side, but he kept his focus on Strakov. The man’s words were deliberate, almost rehearsed, as if he had been preparing for this encounter for some time.

Strakov’s gaze shifted briefly to Holt, then to Ilya, and back to Ben. He smiled again, this time with a predatory edge. “I served in the Soviet Navy,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “I was there when we built this place — when we dreamed of a new world order, one forged in fire and ice. Later, I worked with a group intent on reviving the glory of our forefathers. This base is a testament to their vision.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air. The soldiers surrounding the group remained silent, their rifles trained on Ben and the others with unwavering discipline.

Ben held his tongue, unwilling to give Strakov the satisfaction of a reaction. He knew better than to engage with a man like this — someone who thrived on control and fed off the fear of those around him.

Strakov’s smirk deepened as he continued, his voice taking on an almost conversational tone. “I also have interests aligned with another group — one you likely know of.”

Ben’s stomach turned, but his expression didn’t waver. He kept his eyes locked on Strakov, waiting for him to elaborate.

The Admiral’s gaze flicked to Ilya, his smirk twisting into something colder. “One I am almost positive sent you here as well.”

Ben’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t glance at Ilya — didn’t dare give Strakov the satisfaction of seeing him react. But the implication was clear. Strakov was playing a game, and he was enjoying every second of it.

“Trust me,” Strakov continued, his voice almost casual now. “There will be time for pleasantries later. For now, we must proceed. I have much to do. Please, keep up — I am very busy.”

Without waiting for a response, Strakov turned sharply on his heel and began walking toward a large door at the far end of the chamber. The soldiers flanked the group, gesturing with their weapons for them to follow.

Ben felt Holt step up beside him. “This guy’s enjoying the sound of his own voice,” Holt muttered under his breath.

Ben didn’t respond, but he couldn’t disagree. Strakov was in complete control, and he knew it. The man’s confidence was unnerving, and Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being led into a trap.

As they moved toward the door, the sound of their footsteps echoed through the cavernous space. The destroyed and useless submersibles sat silently in their cradles behind them, their sleek forms illuminated by the dim yellow light filtering down from the ceiling. Ben couldn’t help but glance back at the Argo and Echo, a sinking feeling twisting in his gut.

The door slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a dimly lit hallway that stretched into the darkness. Strakov stopped just inside the threshold, his hands clasped behind his back as he turned to face the group.

“You’ve been resourceful,” he said, his voice cold and deliberate. “But resourcefulness only gets you so far in a place like this.”

Before anyone could respond, Strakov reached into his coat and pulled out a sleek black sidearm. The movement was so fluid, so sudden, that it took Ben a moment to realize what was happening.

The gunshot was deafening.

Tom Farrow screamed, and Ben involuntarily began moving toward the younger man.

But he was moving the wrong direction.

Holt staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock as blood bloomed across his forehead. He stood upright for a sickeningly long moment, then crumpled quickly to the ground in a lifeless heap, the sound of his body hitting the concrete echoing in the stunned silence that followed.

Julie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she stumbled back into Ben. Reggie swore under his breath, his hands balling into fists as he fought the urge to react. Freddie’s jaw clenched and he darted forward, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the men pointing rifles back at them with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

Ben felt his heart hammering in his chest, but he forced himself to remain still. He couldn’t afford to lose control — not with Strakov’s soldiers watching their every move, daring them to react.

He knew the status quo, and he knew the odds were not in their favor.

Strakov lowered the sidearm, his expression calm and unreadable. “Men like him,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, “are unnecessary here. Only a threat to the balance of power.”

He turned his gaze to Ben, his eyes cold and calculating. “My message is for you, Mr. Bennett. The others are pawns — useful, perhaps, but ultimately disposable. You, however… you are the reason we are here, and the reason you are all — well, mostly all — still alive.”

Ben’s throat tightened, but he didn’t speak. He couldn’t risk saying the wrong thing — not now, not after what had just happened.

Strakov’s smirk returned, and he gestured for the group to follow him. “Come,” he said, his tone almost cheerful. “We have much to discuss.”

CHAPTER 36

JULIE

Julie Bennett trudged down the narrow, steel-paneled corridor, the soles of her boots clicking against the rust-specked floor with every cautious step. The air was damp and cold, thick with the metallic tang of rust and oil, underscored by a faint acrid smell that clung to her throat. She forced herself to breathe evenly, though her chest felt tight. Fear swirled in her stomach, but she masked it with a determined expression, focusing on the broad shoulders of her husband, Ben, just a few paces ahead.

Ben’s steps were heavy. She could see that his shoulders were stiff, as if he were literally carrying the others on his back. He kept his head high, but Julie could sense the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.

He glanced back once, his eyes locking with hers. The brief moment of connection brought her a flicker of relief — he was alive, and for now, unharmed. But the flicker was quickly extinguished by the reality of their situation.

They were prisoners, herded deeper into the heart of a Soviet-era facility by armed guards. The soldiers flanked them on either side, their rifles slung casually across their chests, but the disciplined way they moved and the watchful glances they exchanged betrayed their readiness to act at the slightest provocation. Any hope of an escape attempt would have to wait.

The man leading the group, this Admiral Strakov character, walked ahead with an air of unyielding authority. His boots echoed on the floor as he moved, his hands clasped behind his back. Strakov exuded a calm confidence that bordered on arrogance, but Julie didn’t miss the occasional glance he threw over his shoulder, as though gauging their reactions. He was proud of whatever they were about to see, and he wanted them to feel its full impact.

The passage narrowed, the walls pressing closer together, their chipped and stained surfaces illuminated by the dim, buzzing yellow lights overhead. Exposed pipes snaked along the ceiling, dripping condensation that splattered onto their jackets. Cyrillic stencils marked every hatch and panel, though much of it was illegible beneath streaks of rust and grime. The entire corridor felt like a relic, a tomb for the Cold War ambitions that had birthed it.

Julie’s hand brushed against Ben’s arm as they passed side by side for a moment. She glanced up at him, her voice a whisper. “Are you okay?”

His lips barely moved as he responded. “For now.”

Her throat tightened at the quiet admission. She wanted to reach for him, to feel his steadying grip, but the soldiers around them were far too close. Instead, she clung to his voice, replaying the two words in her mind to ground herself.

Strakov stopped abruptly in front of a reinforced bulkhead. The steel surface was pitted and scratched, a testament to decades of exposure to saltwater and pressure. “We are proud of what we’ve accomplished here,” he announced, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. “This facility was a marvel of Soviet ingenuity. Its very existence was a secret, known only to the highest echelons of power.”

At his command, two soldiers moved to spin the massive wheel that locked the bulkhead in place. The grinding of metal filled the corridor, and Julie winced at the harsh sound. The door groaned open, revealing another passageway beyond.

The air grew colder as they moved deeper. Julie’s boots slid slightly on the slick patches of moisture coating the floor, and she tightened her jaw, concentrating on keeping her footing. Around her, the oppressive weight of the ocean above seemed to press harder against the station’s walls, as if the facility itself was holding its breath.

“Why bring us here?” Julie asked, breaking the silence. Her voice echoed faintly in the metal-lined hallway. “Why not just kill us already?”

Strakov turned his head slightly, one brow arched. He didn’t stop walking, but he did pause before answering. “Because you need to understand what you are dealing with.”

The words sent a chill through her. Why does it matter, if he’s just going to kill us? she wondered. Then the answer clicked into place: He’s not in charge. Someone else is pulling the strings. Whoever it was, they might have other plans — plans that didn’t involve immediate execution.

Strakov continued, his tone almost casual. “What we have resurrected here is not merely a weapon — it is a paradigm shift. The Faction has made progress that our governments never dared to attempt.”

Julie’s stomach knotted at the mention of the Faction. So it was true — they were behind this. But Strakov’s use of the word resurrected gave her pause. Did this mean the Soviets had actually gotten Polaris operational before abandoning it? Or was Strakov trying to intimidate them?

She glanced at Ilya, who was walking a few steps behind her. The geologist’s face was impassive, her sharp blue eyes scanning their surroundings. Julie remembered Ilya’s earlier assertion that this facility had never been completed, let alone made functional. Was she wrong, or was Strakov lying?

Julie’s voice was steady despite the questions racing through her mind. “And the Resolute?” she pressed. “You sank it for a test?”

Strakov’s mouth twitched in amusement. “A necessary trial,” he said, his tone chillingly matter-of-fact. “The vessel served its purpose, proving that the technology is viable. Its decommissioning was unfortunate but instructive.”

Julie clenched her fists at his callousness. “You destroyed an entire ship for a test?”

Strakov didn’t miss a beat. “Would you have preferred we tested on civilian populations?” His voice was cold, unflinching.

Julie bit her tongue, fury bubbling beneath the surface. Beside her, Ben shifted slightly, a silent reminder to keep her emotions in check.

Strakov led them through another bulkhead, and Julie felt her breath catch as they entered a cavernous room that seemed to stretch endlessly.

The command center was both imposing and suffocating, a relic of Cold War ambition frozen in time. Rows of outdated consoles lined the walls, their screens glowing faintly with green-tinted readouts. Faded propaganda posters adorned the walls, their bold red-and-gold colors dulled by years of neglect. The air was thick with the hum of machinery and the faint scent of ozone.

At the center of the room, a cluster of sleek, modern workstations stood in stark contrast to the outdated surroundings. Monitors displayed a dizzying array of data: seismic activity graphs, sonar pings, and energy outputs. Black-clad personnel manned the stations, their faces obscured by headsets and the glow of their screens. Their movements were efficient, almost robotic, as they worked in near silence.

Julie’s eyes darted across the room, cataloging every detail. The operators were focused, their fingers flying over keyboards. She couldn’t tell if they were military or paramilitary, but their presence sent a clear message: this facility was not just operational — it was under tight control.

“This,” Strakov announced, spreading his arms as if unveiling a masterpiece, “is the nerve center of Polaris.”

Julie’s heart pounded as she took in the scene. One of the monitors displayed live feeds from the ocean floor, showing a massive mechanical structure partially obscured by sediment. Another screen showed energy spikes, the readings eerily similar to those they had detected aboard the Aurora.

“What are you doing with it?” Ben asked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.

Strakov turned to him, his pale eyes gleaming. “We are perfecting what the feeble governments of the world abandoned. My own included. They were too scared to proceed. Too shortsighted to see its potential. Polaris is the ultimate deterrent, a means of ensuring that no power — no matter how great — can oppose us.”

Julie’s stomach churned. “Deterrent?” she said, her voice rising. “You destabilized the entire Resolute. Their crew died. You’re not building a deterrent — you’re building a disaster.”

Strakov’s smile faded. “You lack vision,” he said coldly. “Polaris is a tool, nothing more. Its effects can be controlled, its targets precisely chosen.”

Julie’s gaze shifted to one of the operators, who was monitoring the live feed of the ocean floor. The mechanical structure loomed ominously, its purpose a mystery.

She focused on the room’s layout. Every detail mattered if they were going to survive this. She knew Ben, Reggie, and Freddie were doing the same — mapping exits, counting personnel, and calculating their odds.

Strakov motioned for them to follow him again, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “This is merely the beginning. What lies beyond this room will change the world. But for now, you will wait.”

Julie exchanged a glance with Ben, her hand brushing against his arm as they walked. The fleeting contact grounded her, reminding her that they would face whatever came next together. But as they were ushered into another corridor, the weight of what they had seen — and what they hadn’t — pressed heavily on her.

Whatever lay ahead, Julie knew one thing for certain: Strakov wasn’t just trying to intimidate them. He believed every word he said.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

CHAPTER 37

BEN

Ben walked slightly behind the group, his boots scuffing against the damp metal floor as Strakov led them deeper into the labyrinthine facility. The air grew colder the farther they descended, and the vibrations of machinery vibrated through the walls, a constant reminder of just how far beneath the ocean they were. Every so often, they passed another hatch or junction, each labeled with faded Cyrillic stenciling, the once-bright paint now muted under streaks of corrosion and grime.

The corridor’s oppressive narrowness forced the group into a tight formation. Ben glanced at the soldiers escorting them. They moved with a quiet precision that unnerved him, their hands never straying far from their rifles. These weren’t amateurs. Their gear was clean and modern, their movements fluid and efficient. Strakov didn’t need dozens of guards — these four men alone were enough to keep their group under control.

Ben’s eyes flicked to the spot where Carson Holt should have been walking, and his stomach tightened. It wasn’t just Holt’s absence that gnawed at him — it was the way it had happened. Brutal. Sudden. Calculated. Strakov hadn’t hesitated, and the image of Holt’s body crumpling to the ground still flashed in Ben’s mind like a broken film reel.

He forced himself to focus. Holt was gone. There was no time to dwell on it. They needed a plan, and fast. The deeper Strakov led them into this labyrinth, the harder it would be to escape. The bulkheads they passed were massive and reinforced, designed to hold back the crushing weight of the ocean. Even with explosives, they wouldn’t get through those doors in time to outrun whatever Strakov had planned.

Ben shifted his gaze to Freddie Rollins. The big man’s jaw was tight, his dark eyes scanning their surroundings with a mixture of anger and calculation. Ben could almost feel the tension radiating off him. Freddie was itching for a fight, but brute strength wouldn’t be enough to get them out of this. Not here.

Ahead of Ben, Julie walked with her shoulders squared, her expression set in defiance. She was keeping it together, but Ben knew her well enough to see the fear in the tightness of her movements. She didn’t glance back at him often, but when she did, the silent connection between them was enough to steel his resolve.

Strakov came to an abrupt stop at a junction, the heels of his boots clicking sharply against the floor. He glanced at a map mounted on the wall, though the gesture seemed performative. He didn’t need directions — his confident stride and assured demeanor made it clear he knew this place like the back of his hand. The guards halted as well, their boots scuffing lightly as they adjusted their positions.

Ben seized the moment to edge closer to Reggie. “What do you think?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Reggie’s gaze darted to the guards before he answered, his voice low. “Too many variables. And those bulkheads? Forget it. We’d be stuck before we got through the first one.”

Ben nodded grimly. It was exactly what he’d been thinking. The bulkheads weren’t just physical barriers — they were psychological ones, too. Every sealed door hammered home the reality of their situation. They weren’t just prisoners — they were trapped, deep underwater, with no lifeline.

“Any ideas?” Ben pressed, his voice quieter.

Reggie’s lips tightened. “Not yet. But if we’re gonna make a move, it has to be fast. These guys don’t look like the type to hesitate.”

Ben knew he was right. Strakov’s men had been professional and efficient from the moment they’d been taken. There were no gaps in their formation, no lapses in discipline. They wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if provoked.

Strakov resumed walking, his voice cutting through the tense silence. “This facility was designed to withstand anything. Depth charges, sabotage, even a direct missile strike. And yet, it was abandoned because of shortsighted politicians who lacked the courage to see its potential.”

Ben’s jaw clenched as he listened. Strakov’s words dripped with disdain, but it wasn’t the man’s tone that unsettled him — it was the pride in his voice, the genuine belief that he was part of something grand and necessary.

The group entered a wider corridor, the walls lined with circular hatches bearing faded Soviet emblems. Strakov gestured toward one as they passed. “These lead to the auxiliary compartments. Storage, crew quarters, laboratories. Most of it is no longer in use, though some areas have been repurposed.”

“For what?” Ben asked, his tone steady despite the tension in his chest.

Strakov glanced at him, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Ben suppressed the urge to press further. Strakov’s cryptic responses were clearly calculated to keep them off-balance. He shifted his focus back to the environment, cataloging every detail. The exposed piping overhead, the cables running along the walls, the faint whir of ventilation fans — it was all information, all potential pieces of a puzzle they would need to solve if they had any hope of escaping.

As they continued down the corridor, Ben caught Freddie’s eye and gave a subtle nod. Freddie’s gaze flicked to Strakov, then back to Ben. The message was clear: Stay ready.

Strakov stopped again, this time at a reinforced hatch that looked even more imposing than the ones they’d passed earlier. He turned to face the group, his pale eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Beyond this door lies the heart of Polaris. But you are not ready to see it yet.”

Ben felt a surge of anger at the man’s arrogance, but he forced himself to remain calm. Strakov wanted a reaction. He wasn’t going to give him one.

The Admiral turned back to the hatch, gesturing to one of his men. The soldier stepped forward, punching a code into a panel on the wall. The heavy door groaned as it began to slide open, revealing a dark passage beyond.

“Come,” Strakov said, motioning for the group to follow. “There is much more to see.”

As they moved deeper into the facility, Ben’s thoughts turned inward. Without Holt, the group felt more vulnerable. Holt had been a steady presence, someone who could see the angles and adapt on the fly. Now that weight fell squarely on Ben’s shoulders, and he felt the pressure of it with every step.

He glanced at Julie, walking just ahead of him, and his resolve hardened. They weren’t out of options — not yet. Strakov’s confidence was a weakness, and Ben intended to exploit it. But for now, they needed to play along, gather information, and wait for the right moment.

They entered another chamber, this one larger and more open. The walls were lined with outdated consoles, their screens glowing faintly with green-tinted data readouts. A single operator sat at one of the stations, their back to the group as they worked.

“This is one of our monitoring stations,” Strakov said, gesturing to the consoles. “From here, we can track seismic activity, ocean currents, and energy output. Polaris is not just a weapon — it is an instrument of control.”

Ben’s eyes moved over the room, noting the layout. Two exits, both sealed. The operator was unarmed, but the guards stationed at the doors were a constant reminder of their predicament. He caught Freddie’s gaze and gave a slight nod. The big man’s expression was grim but focused.

As Strakov continued speaking, Ben’s mind worked furiously. They couldn’t fight their way out, not with the odds stacked against them. But they could outthink their captors. The facility’s age and complexity meant there had to be vulnerabilities — weak points they could exploit.

Ben’s hand brushed against Julie’s as they were ushered out of the chamber, and he held on for a moment longer.

“We’ll figure it out,” he whispered.

Her fingers squeezed his briefly before letting go. “Stay sharp,” she replied.

CHAPTER 38

BEN

The silence in the corridor was broken only by the rhythmic clink of boots on metal and the occasional rasp of Strakov’s soldiers shifting their rifles. The air felt colder here, with every step taking them farther into the heart of the facility. Ben’s breath frosted faintly in the damp, dimly lit passageway, a reminder of how isolated they were — trapped beneath the crushing weight of the ocean.

The corridors were narrower now, the walls streaked with rust and condensation. Overhead, thick pipes rattled faintly as if some unseen system was struggling to keep pace. Ben couldn’t help but note the design of the place — everything was built for function, not comfort. It was a testament to Soviet-era engineering, where utility always outweighed humanity.

Strakov led the way with unhurried precision, his boots clicking sharply against the floor. His soldiers followed closely behind, their rifles angled but not quite pointing at the group. They didn’t need to — the narrow space and the constant presence of locked bulkheads made escape impossible.

Ben glanced back at Freddie, who was bringing up the rear, his large frame practically brushing both walls of the corridor. Freddie caught his eye and gave a barely perceptible nod. They didn’t need words to communicate the shared unease pressing down on them.

Julie walked just ahead of him, her shoulders tense beneath her jacket. Ben could tell she was cataloging everything they passed — junctions, hatches, and faded Cyrillic stenciling marking doors they couldn’t open. She wasn’t the only one. Ilya and Reggie were both scanning their surroundings with similar intensity, though their expressions couldn’t have been more different. Ilya’s face was calm, almost unreadable, while Reggie wore a scowl that deepened with every step.

It was Tom Farrow, though, who looked the most alert. Walking near the front of the group, just behind Strakov, Tom’s movements were careful and deliberate, his sharp eyes flicking between the guards and the walls. Ben knew Tom was mentally mapping the facility, noting details that might become critical later.

But even with all of them on edge, it wasn’t until the faint vibration began underfoot that the real tension set in.

At first, Ben thought it was just the hum of the facility’s machinery — a low, barely noticeable sound that seemed to resonate in his chest. But it grew stronger, almost imperceptibly, until it was impossible to ignore. The floor seemed to tremble ever so slightly beneath his boots, and the pipes overhead rattled faintly with each passing second.

Julie glanced back at him, her brow furrowed. “Do you feel that?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah. It’s… weird.”

The hum deepened, a low-frequency vibration that made his teeth ache. It wasn’t just sound — it was pressure, a physical force pressing against his chest and tightening the air in his lungs. The others noticed it too. Freddie shifted uncomfortably, rolling his shoulders as though trying to shake off the sensation. Reggie muttered a curse under his breath.

“What the hell is that?” Reggie hissed, glancing toward Ilya.

Ilya didn’t answer immediately. Her pale blue eyes were locked on the walls as though she could see through them to the source of the noise. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and clipped. “It’s coming from the Polaris system.”

Ben felt his stomach drop. “The system? What’s it doing?”

Ilya hesitated, her expression tight. “It’s powering up. That hum is the device spinning up to full capacity. If it continues, we’ll feel more than just vibrations.”

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, clearly understanding at least part of what she’d said. One of them spoke rapidly in Russian, his voice tense. His radio crackled to life a moment later, and Ben heard a garbled voice delivering what sounded like an urgent message. The soldier responded quickly, then turned to Strakov.

Strakov stopped, his head tilting slightly as he listened. His expression darkened, and he barked a question at the soldier in Russian. Whatever answer he received made him tighten his jaw.

“What’s happening?” Julie asked, her voice sharp. “Is something wrong with the system?”

Strakov didn’t answer her. Instead, he turned to his men and issued a series of commands, his tone calm but firm. The soldiers nodded, two of them moving to flank the group while the others hung back slightly.

Finally, Strakov addressed them. “I am needed elsewhere,” he said, his voice clipped. “But do not worry — you will not be left unattended.”

Julie took a step forward, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “If the system’s powering up, shouldn’t you be more concerned? What if it’s out of control?”

Strakov’s lips twitched in something that might have been a smile, though there was no humor in it. “The Polaris system does not lose control. It is not a crude weapon; it is a precision instrument. I have full confidence in its operation.”

Before Julie could respond, he turned sharply on his heel and strode down a side corridor, his boots echoing faintly as he disappeared from view.

The remaining soldiers wasted no time. The leader of the group, a tall man with sharp features and cold eyes, motioned for the group to keep moving. He guided them into a side passage that ended in a heavy bulkhead door. The hum in the walls was louder here, reverberating through the air like the beat of a distant drum.

The soldier keyed in a code on a small electronic pad beside the door. With a low hiss, the bulkhead slid open, revealing a dark, cramped room beyond. The air inside was colder, the smell of rust and damp metal even stronger.

“Inside,” the soldier barked, gesturing with his rifle.

Ben hesitated, his instincts screaming against stepping into what was clearly a holding cell. But the soldiers didn’t give them a choice. One by one, the group filed inside, the door sliding shut behind them with a finality that made Ben’s stomach twist.

The room was small and bare, its walls lined with steel panels that were streaked with grime and moisture. A single overhead light flickered weakly, casting uneven shadows across the floor. There were no windows, no furniture, and no visible means of escape. The only feature was the bulkhead door they’d entered through, its electronic locking mechanism blinking faintly in the dim light.

Freddie kicked the wall lightly, his frustration evident. “Well, this is cozy,” he muttered.

Reggie snorted. “Probably goes for $350 a night on AirBnb. ‘Rustic Underwater Isolated Experience. One-In-A-Lifetime Opportunity.’”

“Cleaning fee’s probably still another $150,” Tom added.

Ben chuckled, but his eyes scanned the room for anything they could use. There was nothing — no ventilation grate large enough to crawl through, no hidden panel to pry open. The walls were solid steel, the floor seamless. Even the light overhead was encased in a protective cage.

Julie, Ilya, and Freddie moved to one corner of the room, speaking in low voices. Ben caught snippets of their conversation — mostly speculation about the Polaris system and what Strakov might be doing — but his focus was elsewhere.

He turned to Tom and Reggie, who had taken up positions near the door. Tom was studying the locking mechanism, his expression thoughtful.

“What do you think?” Ben asked, keeping his voice low.

Tom shook his head. “It’s electronic. Even if we could bypass the panel, we’d still have to deal with the hydraulics. This thing isn’t opening without the proper code.”

Ben frowned. “And we don’t have time to sit around and wait for them to come back.”

“No kidding,” Reggie said, leaning against the wall. “So what’s the plan? We sit tight and hope they don’t forget we’re here?”

Ben ignored the jab, his mind racing. The hum in the walls was still growing, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go very wrong. Strakov might have claimed the system was under control, but Ben knew better. No technology was infallible, especially one built for destruction.

He glanced toward Julie, who was gesturing animatedly as she spoke to Ilya. Her determination was clear, even in the dim light. Ben felt a surge of gratitude — and worry. He had to figure out a way to get them out of here.

“Whatever we do,” Ben said quietly, “we need to move fast. If that system goes off while we’re stuck in here…”

Tom nodded grimly. “We’re not waiting for Strakov to come back. We need to find a way out.”

Ben stepped back, his eyes narrowing as he studied the bulkhead door. There had to be a weakness, some way to override the system. He just had to figure out what it was — before it was too late.

CHAPTER 39

JULIE

The vibrations were so intense now that Julie could feel them in her chest, reverberating through her ribcage and into her skull. The relentless hum had risen to a high-pitched whine, accompanied by violent shudders that threatened to knock them all off their feet. Julie clung to Ilya, trying to keep them both upright, her knees bent to absorb the jolts.

Across the room, Ben was shouting something, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “Away from the walls! Stay in the middle!” His tone was sharp, cutting through the oppressive noise, but Julie could tell even he was rattled.

The lights overhead flickered wildly, throwing erratic shadows against the steel walls. Each flash of darkness made the room seem smaller, more claustrophobic. Julie’s pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to focus on Ben’s silhouette in the strobing light.

“Ilya, are you okay?” she asked, her voice strained.

“I’m fine,” Ilya replied, though her pale face and unsteady stance told a different story. “But this — this isn’t normal. It’s escalating too fast.”

Julie wanted to ask what that meant, but the floor suddenly lurched beneath them, throwing her forward. She hit her knees hard, her palms scraping against the cold metal. Ilya collapsed beside her, clutching at Julie’s arm for support.

“Julie!” Ben’s voice carried over the din, and she looked up to see him motioning frantically. “Get away from the door!”

Her heart jumped as she realized how close she’d drifted to the bulkhead. She scrambled backward, pulling Ilya with her, until they were closer to the center of the room.

“Is this it?” Reggie shouted, his voice edged with panic. “Is this thing gonna blow?”

“Shut up!” Ben snapped, though there was no malice in his tone — just urgency. “Focus! Everyone stay low and keep your heads clear!”

Julie pressed herself closer to the floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The noise was unbearable now, a piercing screech layered over the guttural hum. The room felt alive, its walls quaking and groaning as if under immense strain.

Ilya grabbed Julie’s wrist, her fingers digging in. “If they don’t shut it down soon, it’s going to destabilize.”

“What happens if it does?” Julie asked, dreading the answer.

Ilya hesitated. “Collapse. Or worse.”

Before Julie could process that, the entire room jolted violently, sending everyone sprawling. She hit the floor hard, her head snapping forward as her knees skidded across the slick surface.

“Everyone stay down!” Ben yelled, his voice strained but commanding.

Freddie was closest to the bulkhead, his massive frame pressed against the metal door as he tried to brace himself against the relentless tremors.

“Freddie!” Julie shouted, reaching toward him instinctively.

He turned his head, his face pale but resolute. “I’m good, just hang on!”

The lights flickered again, and Julie’s stomach clenched as the room was plunged into complete darkness.

The hum stopped.

For a moment, there was nothing. No sound, no vibration, just an eerie, oppressive silence. Julie held her breath, her hand gripping Ilya’s arm as she strained to see in the blackness.

Then she heard it: a faint metallic creak, followed by a soft thud.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Yeah,” Ben said, his tone low and cautious. “Stay where you are.”

Another creak echoed through the room, louder this time. Julie’s heart pounded as she realized it was coming from the bulkhead.

“Freddie?” Ben called, his voice tense.

“I’m here,” Freddie replied, his voice closer than she expected.

Julie’s eyes adjusted to the dim light just as a loud metallic groan filled the room. She turned to see the bulkhead door shifting, its edges scraping against the frame.

“Back up!” Ben ordered, his tone sharp.

Julie scrambled backward, pulling Ilya with her as the door began to swing inward. Freddie, still leaning against it, stumbled forward as the door gave way.

The overhead lights flickered back on, flooding the room with harsh yellow light. Julie blinked against the sudden brightness, her gaze snapping to the bulkhead.

It was open.

Freddie, who had been leaning against the door when the power cut out, was now sprawled on the floor, blinking up at them in confusion.

“Freddie?” Ben asked, hurrying over to help him up.

Freddie groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “What the hell just happened?”

“The door,” Julie said, her voice shaky. “It must’ve released when the power went out.”

Ben pulled Freddie to his feet, his eyes darting to the open doorway. Beyond it was another dimly lit corridor, its walls lined with exposed piping and cables.

Julie felt a surge of hope, tempered by the gnawing fear that their freedom wouldn’t last long.

Ben turned to the group, his expression grim but determined. “Move. Now.”

CHAPTER 40

JULIE

The group stumbled into the corridor, the metallic clang of their boots echoing off the rust-streaked walls. The faint flicker of overhead lights illuminated their path just enough to highlight the peeling paint and exposed wiring running along the ceiling. A thin mist of condensation clung to the air, making the walls glisten and the temperature feel even colder.

Ben stopped just outside the door and turned back, scanning each of them. Julie leaned against the wall, catching her breath while Ilya trembled nearby. Reggie had his hands on his knees, sucking in air, while Tom and Freddie kept watch at either end of the hallway.

“We need to keep moving,” Ben said, his voice low and firm. “Strakov has to be nearby. If we can grab him — ”

“Wait,” Julie interrupted, straightening up and taking a step toward him. Her tone was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t back down. “You’re not thinking this through. Charging after Strakov is exactly what he’d expect us to do. Especially if he suspects the power outage let us out of that room.”

Ben turned to face her fully, his brows furrowing. “What’s your alternative? Sit around and wait for him to finish whatever he’s doing? That hum wasn’t just a warning — it was Polaris spinning up — and potentially losing control. If we don’t stop him now, we might not get another chance.”

“Stopping him doesn’t mean rushing in blind,” Julie shot back, her voice rising slightly. “Plus, he wasn’t the one who powered it up a few minutes ago — that was one of those scientists somewhere else. There has to be a way to shut this place down safely, or at least prevent them from overdoing it on Strakov’s orders. If we just take Strakov and we’re wrong about how this place works, we might end up setting the damn thing off ourselves.”

“She’s right,” Ilya added, stepping closer. Her voice was calm but urgent. “We don’t know the full extent of what Polaris is capable of. But if the device destabilizes because we’re focused only on Strakov, the consequences could be catastrophic — not just for us, but for the entire region.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. “And how do you propose we do that? Wander the halls until we stumble on a convenient ‘off’ switch?”

Julie crossed her arms, refusing to back down. “No. We split up. Strakov isn’t working alone — we know that already. There are control rooms, systems monitoring stations, a power facility somewhere. If we can find something like that, we might be able to figure out how to shut this place down and prevent them from even trying to spin it up again — or at least disrupt all of it long enough to buy us more time.”

“And what if there’s no way to shut it down?” Ben countered, his voice colder now. “What if the only option is taking out Strakov and his team?”

“Then we’ll regroup and deal with that when we have to,” Julie said. “But we’re not going to get far without more information.”

Freddie stepped forward, his deep voice cutting through the tension. “Splitting up makes sense, boss,” he said, looking at Ben. “If we’re wrong, we regroup and just go after Strakov. Cut the head off the snake, if you will. If we’re right, we might find something that gives us an edge, or stops him completely.”

Tom nodded in agreement. “Plus, this place is massive, Ben. There’s gotta be another sub somewhere — Strakov and his men didn’t swim here. If we can find it, we have an escape route, whether we take him down or not.”

Ben looked from Freddie to Tom, his frustration evident in the tight set of his shoulders. “And if splitting up gets another one of us killed?”

“That happened, and it’s a damn shame,” Julie said, stepping closer. Her voice softened slightly, but her resolve didn’t waver. “But it wasn’t your fault, Ben. We came here as a team, and we’ll figure this out as a team. But we can’t do that if we stay together and waste time chasing a single target — one walking around with an armed cadre — without knowing the bigger picture.”

For a long moment, Ben didn’t respond. He stared at Julie, his expression unreadable, before finally exhaling and nodding. “Fine,” he said, his tone reluctant. “We split up. But we need to plan to meet back here. One hour. If anyone finds anything, we regroup immediately.”

Julie nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “Agreed.”

Ben turned to the others. “Freddie, you’re with me. We’ll track down Strakov and keep him occupied. Tom, Reggie, you’re with Julie and Ilya. Look for another sub or anything that looks like a way out of here.”

“Got it,” Tom said, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with a grim determination. If he was still reeling from the potential loss of Voss and the shock of Holt’s brutal assassination, it didn’t show on his face.

“Fine by me,” Reggie muttered, though his face was paler than normal.

Julie turned to Ilya. “What about you? Are you okay with this?”

Ilya hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line before she nodded. “I’ll go with you. If we find anything that can disable the device, I might know how to handle it. Your computer skills will be necessary, too.”

“Good,” Julie said. She looked back at Ben one last time, her eyes softening. “Be careful.”

“You too,” Ben replied, his voice quiet.

Without another word, the group split up.

Ben and Freddie headed down the left-hand corridor, their footsteps fading into the distance as they disappeared around a corner. Julie watched them go, her chest tightening with a mix of worry and resolve.

Tom clapped her lightly on the shoulder, his voice low. “Let’s move. We don’t know how much time we’ve got.”

Julie nodded, glancing at Ilya and Reggie. “Stay close,” she said, her tone firm.

They moved quickly but cautiously, their eyes scanning every shadow and junction for signs of movement. The corridor ahead stretched into the distance, its walls lined with rusting pipes and flickering lights. Somewhere deep within the facility, the throbbing sound of machinery continued, a constant reminder of the danger lurking beneath their feet.

As they pressed forward, Julie couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing but the empty corridor behind them.

“Julie,” Ilya said softly, breaking the silence.

“What is it?”

Ilya hesitated, her gaze darting toward the ceiling. “The hum — it’s stabilizing. That might mean the device is reaching operational capacity, or at least they’re close to testing again.”

Julie’s stomach tightened. “And what happens when it is stable? If they accomplished what the builders of this place never could?”

Ilya didn’t answer.

Julie turned to Tom, who was frowning at the corridor ahead. “We need to move faster,” she said.

“Agreed,” he replied, picking up the pace.

CHAPTER 41

STRAKOV

Admiral Anton Strakov paced the cramped communications room, his boots clicking against the grated steel floor. The dim glow of the communication screen sitting across from the metal table cast long shadows across his chiseled features, sharpening the deep lines that had grown more prominent with age.

The cold, damp air clung to him, but he barely noticed. His focus was locked on the terminal, waiting for the call he both dreaded and resented.

The Polaris station hummed faintly through the walls, the vibrations a constant reminder of the machine’s power and the mission at hand, and his team’s ability to — so far — control it. Strakov had spent decades dreaming of a day like this — a chance to reclaim the glory of the Soviet Union, to finish what weak-willed politicians had abandoned. And yet, here he was, answering to a man who couldn’t begin to understand what Polaris truly meant.

The screen flickered, then steadied. The shadowed figure of Director K appeared, his face obscured as always. Backlit to maintain his anonymity, only the outline of his head and shoulders was visible. K had a voice like steel, calm but cold, each word measured as though he were playing a game only he knew the rules to.

“Admiral Strakov,” K said.

Strakov snapped to attention instinctively, a lifetime of discipline overriding his growing resentment. “Director.”

K paused. The silence stretched, and Strakov could feel the weight of the man’s scrutiny even through the screen. “You look troubled, Admiral,” Director K finally said.

Strakov’s jaw tightened. “The prisoners escaped during the power outage. They are loose in the facility.”

K’s shadowed form remained still, his voice betraying no emotion. “And Polaris?”

“Polaris remains online,” Strakov said quickly, the words clipped. “But their presence jeopardizes everything. They should have been eliminated the moment they arrived.”

“That was not my instruction,” K replied smoothly. “I told you to keep them alive. The Faction’s goals are my priority.”

Strakov’s fists clenched behind his back. He forced himself to stay composed, though every instinct screamed to challenge K’s logic. “With respect, Director, keeping them alive serves no purpose. They are resourceful, dangerous. Their presence is a risk we cannot afford.”

“They are an asset,” K said, his tone sharpening slightly. “One that must remain intact until I say otherwise.”

Strakov’s temper flared, but he swallowed his anger. “You think they’re an asset. I see them for what they are — a liability. Polaris cannot succeed if it is compromised by their meddling.”

“You fail to see the bigger picture, Admiral,” K said. “This CSO team has a reputation, connections. If they were to die here, questions would arise. And if we are exposed before Polaris is operational, all our work will mean nothing.”

Strakov’s lips pressed into a thin line. He despised K’s calm certainty, his insistence on turning a military operation into a game of politics.

“I understand the need for discretion,” Strakov said carefully. “But discretion becomes impossible when they are actively working against us.”

“That is unfortunate,” K admitted. “But unavoidable. They will serve their purpose.”

Strakov exhaled sharply, his frustration boiling over. “You speak of purpose as though you understand what is at stake here. But you do not. Polaris is not just a weapon. It is a symbol — a reminder that the world does not belong to those who abandoned their convictions.”

K’s tone grew icy. “Do not lecture me on conviction, Admiral. Without me, Polaris would still be a rusting relic on the ocean floor.”

Strakov bristled but bit back his retort.

K continued, “You are a soldier, Admiral. A good one. But soldiers follow orders. And my order is clear: keep them alive. That is not a suggestion.”

Strakov’s hands tightened into fists. Never mind the fact he was a sailor, not a soldier, and there was a difference — he had spent his entire career following orders, first as a proud officer of the Soviet Navy, then as a reluctant participant in the chaos that followed its collapse. When the Soviet Union fell, he had watched everything he believed in crumble overnight.

The Faction had been his salvation.

They were not Soviet loyalists, not exactly. They were something larger — a mostly underground network of opportunists, idealists, and power brokers who believed the world was better controlled by those who understood its harsh realities. Strakov had aligned with them out of necessity at first, then out of ambition. They had the resources to revive Polaris, to give him the tools he needed to bring his vision to life.

But the Faction’s motives did not always align with his own. For Strakov, Polaris was a way to honor the Soviet Union’s legacy, to prove that its ideals had not been in vain. For the Faction, Polaris was leverage — another piece on their chessboard.

And K was their king.

“Director,” Strakov said, his voice taut, “you know I serve this mission with unwavering loyalty. But I must insist — keeping the prisoners alive is a mistake.”

K’s silhouette leaned slightly forward, the glow of the screen casting long shadows. “And I must insist that you follow my orders, Admiral. You are not here to make decisions. You are here to execute them.”

Strakov’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. He had spent decades earning his rank, his reputation. To be spoken to like this by a faceless bureaucrat was almost unbearable.

“Understood,” Strakov said curtly.

“Good,” K replied. “Polaris must remain your priority. Do not let your personal grievances cloud your judgment.”

The screen flickered off, leaving Strakov alone in the dimly lit room.

He stood motionless for a moment, his breath shallow. The silence pressed down on him like the weight of the ocean above.

Polaris is my priority, he thought bitterly. But I will not sacrifice it for K’s games.

Strakov paced the room, his mind racing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that K didn’t understand what he was asking for. Strakov had spent years watching the Soviet Union’s decline, the slow erosion of its power and prestige. Polaris had been their last great hope — a weapon that could shift the balance of power back in their favor.

But it had been abandoned, deemed too unstable and dangerous to use.

Strakov had refused to accept that.

The Faction had given him the means to revive Polaris, to finish what the Soviets had started. But Strakov didn’t trust them. They spoke of control, of strategy, but they didn’t understand the stakes. They didn’t understand the sacrifices men like him had made.

He stopped in front of the intercom, his hand hovering over the controls. K had given his orders, but K wasn’t here.

“Captain Abramov,” he barked into the speaker.

A voice crackled back. “Yes, Admiral?”

“Status on the search teams?”

“I think they are closing in, sir. We believe the prisoners are headed toward the auxiliary sub bay.”

Strakov’s eyes narrowed. Of course they would head for the subs. It was the only logical way out.

“Send reinforcements,” he ordered. “Double the patrols in that sector. And when you find them…”

He hesitated, then made his decision.

“Kill them,” he said.

There was a pause on the other end. “Sir, the Director’s orders — ”

“The Director is not here,” Strakov snapped. “I am. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Abramov replied, his tone hesitant but obedient.

Strakov ended the transmission and exhaled slowly. K might think he held all the cards, but he didn’t understand what Strakov was willing to do to ensure Polaris succeeded.

This mission would not fail.

And if that meant disobeying K, so be it.

Strakov turned on his heel and left the room, his boots clicking sharply against the floor. His mind was clear, his resolve unshakable.

The prisoners would not leave this facility alive. He had already given them too much leeway. Too much freedom.

He knew he should have trusted his gut and just killed them when he’d had the chance, before they had been allowed to dock and board the Polaris station.

Admiral Strakov was not going to make the same mistake twice.

CHAPTER 42

BEN

Ben pressed his back against the cold metal wall, his breath shallow and controlled. The faint hum of Polaris vibrated through the walls, a low, rhythmic pulse that made it hard to tell where the sound ended and his heartbeat began. He forced himself to focus, his muscles tensed, ready to spring into action.

Beside him, Freddie crouched low, his imposing frame somehow making him seem less like a target and more like a predator lying in wait. Ben cast a glance at his teammate, noting the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. Freddie was calm, laser-focused. Good.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped Ben’s attention forward. Clink. Clink. Clink. The sharp metallic ring of boots against the grated floor echoed faintly down the corridor.

Freddie leaned in closer, his deep voice barely a whisper. “One guy. Definitely alone.”

Ben gave a small nod, his eyes narrowing as he peered around the edge of the corridor. A single soldier came into view, his rifle slung casually across his chest. He was moving slowly, scanning his surroundings but with an air of boredom. Ben recognized the posture instantly.

This guy isn’t expecting trouble.

Still, he wasn’t complacent enough to dismiss. The soldier’s finger rested close to the trigger of his rifle.

Ben’s stomach clenched. They couldn’t let the man alert anyone. If he was wearing an in-ear comm, his buddies would only be a few quick words away.

Freddie’s fingers brushed his arm, and Ben turned slightly toward him. “I’ve got this,” Freddie whispered.

Ben’s instincts screamed to stop him, to suggest waiting for the soldier to move past entirely. But there wasn’t time, and they couldn’t risk the man doubling back or spotting them later. Ben gave a curt nod.

Freddie shifted his weight, bracing his hands against the wall as he prepared to spring. Ben moved slightly behind him, his muscles coiled tight.

The soldier came closer, his boots scuffing lightly as he rounded the bend in the corridor. His shadow stretched ahead of him, long and distorted under the dim overhead lights.

Freddie waited until the man was a step away, then moved.

With startling speed and precision, Freddie lunged forward, his massive frame silent as he closed the distance. The soldier barely had time to react before Freddie’s arm shot out, clamping a hand over the man’s mouth.

The soldier’s muffled yell was cut short, his eyes going wide as Freddie’s other arm locked around his neck in a vise-like grip. He thrashed wildly, his boots scraping against the floor as he tried to free himself.

Ben was already moving, stepping in to grab the man’s rifle. He yanked the strap downward, twisting it away from the soldier’s reach. The man’s fingers clawed at Freddie’s arm, but it was no use.

“Shh,” Freddie hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low and commanding. “Go to sleep.”

The soldier’s struggles grew weaker, his movements slowing as Freddie tightened the chokehold. Ben held the rifle firmly.

The soldier’s body went limp, and Freddie eased him to the ground, his movements careful to avoid any noise. He checked the man’s pulse, then exhaled softly. “Unconscious. For now.”

Ben crouched next to the soldier, quickly patting him down. His fingers brushed against a utility belt, unfastening a pouch that contained a small multitool and a flashlight. A pistol holstered on his leg, which he handed to Freddie.

No radio.

“No comms,” Ben muttered.

Freddie raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? Who patrols without a radio?”

“Either he left it behind, or this place is more compartmentalized than we thought,” Ben said. He glanced at the rifle, its sleek design clearly modern. “And better equipped.”

Freddie’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the unconscious man. “Great. High-tech weapons and no way to know if backup’s coming. This just keeps getting better.”

“I don’t speak Russian anyway,” Ben said. “And I can’t understand a word of it.”

“I can recognize a few words, but not speak it,” Freddie said.

Ben looked at him strangely. He knew the CSO group wasn’t just a bunch of goons — they were educated, qualified, and sometimes subject matter experts in a particular domain. But he hadn’t known this about Freddie.

Freddie shrugged. “What? Seemed like an interesting thing to study. Never did well, though. I think I got a C in my intro class, and the girl I liked who was in there switched to German the next semester, so I followed her there.”

“Did you learn German?” Ben asked.

Freddie smiled sheepishly. “Just a few words. I thought it was harder than Russian.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Did you at least get the girl?”

Freddie’s grin widened. “Negative.”

Ben let out an audible groan, but his eyes flicked down to the soldier again. “We need to move. Drag him somewhere out of sight.”

Freddie grabbed the soldier by the arms, his muscles flexing as he hoisted the man off the ground. Ben led the way down the corridor, scanning for an alcove or storage room.

They found a small maintenance hatch a few yards ahead, its door slightly ajar. Freddie maneuvered the soldier inside, carefully propping him against the wall. The cramped space was filled with pipes and wiring, the air thick with the smell of oil and rust.

Ben closed the door behind them, pausing to wipe his hands on his pants. “Nice work.”

Freddie smirked. “Told you I had this.”

Ben’s lips twitched in a faint smile, but the tension in his chest didn’t ease. They’d taken out one man and taken his weapon, but the facility was still crawling with armed soldiers. And now, there was one more variable in play — a missing patrol.

“Let’s keep moving,” Ben said, his voice low.

Freddie nodded, falling into step beside him.

The corridor stretched ahead, dimly lit and oppressively narrow. Polaris continued to reverberate through the walls, growing slightly louder with each step. It was an unnatural sound, almost alive in its rhythm.

“What do you think they’re doing with Polaris?” Freddie asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

Ben didn’t answer right away. His thoughts drifted to the station’s command center, to the monitors displaying seismic activity and energy spikes. Whatever the Faction had planned, it wasn’t just about power — it was about control.

“Nothing good,” Ben said finally.

Freddie snorted. “No kidding.”

They reached an intersection, and Ben held up a hand to signal a stop. He peeked around the corner, his eyes scanning for movement. The corridor was clear, but the faint sound of machinery hummed in the distance.

“Left or right?” Freddie asked.

Ben hesitated, weighing their options. Left led toward the central part of the facility — the heart of Polaris. Right veered toward the auxiliary compartments, where they might find supplies or another way out.

“Right,” Ben said after a moment, already veering that direction. “Place is circular. Left goes back toward the central command station, where we were already. If there’s another sub bay somewhere, I’d guess it would be on the outer perimeter.”

Freddie didn’t argue. He followed Ben down the right corridor, their footsteps muffled against the grated floor.

“You don’t think you’d happen to be able to recognize Cyrillic Russian for ‘here’s the way to the safest exit,’ do you?”

Freddie chuckled. “I remember ‘woman,’ and ‘man.’ And another word, but it’s not appropriate.”

The corridor curved ahead, and Ben slowed his pace, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the path. They were close to something — he could feel it. The hum of Polaris was almost deafening now, a steady pulse that seemed to sync with his heartbeat.

Freddie leaned in close. “What’s the plan if we run into more of them?”

Ben exhaled slowly. “Improvise.”

CHAPTER 43

BEN

The corridor felt endless, the low hum of Polaris vibrating through its walls and pressing into Ben’s skull like an unwelcome migraine. Each step echoed faintly, the rhythm of their boots against the grated floor the only sound as they moved away from the room where they’d been held. Freddie was a silent, hulking shadow at his side, his presence both reassuring and tense.

As they turned another corner, a distant sound broke the quiet — shouting. It echoed down the corridor, faint but unmistakable.

Ben’s jaw tightened. “I guess they figured out we’re no longer locked in that room.”

Freddie grunted. “Took them long enough.” He adjusted his pace, his steps quieter now as they edged along the wall.

The shouting grew louder, voices overlapping in what sounded like orders being barked. Ben couldn’t make out the words, but he didn’t need to understand Russian to know what they meant. Strakov’s men weren’t just looking for them — they were hunting them.

“Keep moving,” Ben whispered. “They’ll catch up if we don’t find a place to hole up — or another way out.”

Freddie nodded, his gaze darting ahead. “If we hit another dead end, it’s going to get ugly fast.”

Ben didn’t respond, his focus shifting to the corridor ahead. The hum of Polaris seemed to grow louder with each step, the vibrations in the walls intensifying. It felt like the facility itself was alive, pulsing with energy and malice.

The shouting behind them grew fainter, but Ben knew better than to assume they’d lost their pursuers. They were armed, and the soldiers clearly knew the layout of the station better than he and Freddie did.

“Stay sharp,” Ben muttered.

They reached an intersection and paused, scanning their options. The corridor to the left was darker, the lights overhead flickering faintly. To the right, the hallway curved out of sight. Ben took a step forward to scout the options, but before he could decide, a new sound reached his ears: the distinct clink of boots against the metal floor, coming from somewhere ahead.

Ben froze, his heart hammering as he held up a hand to stop Freddie. The two exchanged a quick glance.

“More of them,” Freddie said under his breath.

Ben nodded. He pressed himself against the wall, motioning for Freddie to do the same. They didn’t have the luxury of hiding this time. They had to act.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, accompanied by low voices. A shadow stretched along the wall ahead, distorted by the harsh overhead lights.

Ben’s grip tightened around the rifle he’d taken from the unconscious soldier earlier. Freddie had the downed soldier’s sidearm, but their firepower wasn’t enough to go head-to-head with a squad. They needed to be smart — and quick.

Two soldiers came into view, their own rifles held at the ready. They were moving cautiously, their heads swiveling as they scanned the corridor.

Ben exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. He waited until the soldiers were just a few steps away before springing into action.

Freddie was the first to move. He lunged forward with startling speed, his massive frame a blur as he closed the distance. The first soldier barely had time to react before Freddie drove his shoulder into the man’s chest, slamming him into the wall with bone-crushing force.

The second soldier spun, his rifle swinging up, but Ben was already there. He shoved the barrel of his own weapon into the man’s side and pulled the trigger. The shot was deafening in the confined space, and the soldier crumpled instantly, his body hitting the floor with a metallic thud.

Freddie’s opponent struggled, his hands clawing at the arm pinning him to the wall. Freddie didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the soldier’s head with both hands and twisted sharply. The man’s neck snapped with a sickening crack, and his body went limp.

The silence that followed was broken only by the distant hum of Polaris and the pounding of Ben’s pulse in his ears.

Freddie let the soldier’s body drop to the floor, his breathing steady despite the exertion. He glanced at Ben, his expression grim.

“Well,” he said, his voice low, “that takes care of them.”

Ben stepped over the second soldier’s body, his gaze sweeping the corridor. “No idea how many more are snooping around though,” he said. He knelt beside the man he’d shot, searching the body for anything useful.

Freddie did the same, patting down the soldier he’d taken out. He also took the man’s rifle, slipping the pistol into his belt behind his back.

“Radio,” Freddie said, holding up a small earpiece.

Ben shook his head. “No point. If they realize we’ve hijacked their comms, it’ll give us away. Too late to use it to hear if they’re coming, also.”

Freddie grunted in agreement, tossing the earpiece aside.

Ben stood, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. He felt the weight of their actions pressing down on him, but there was no time to dwell on it. They couldn’t afford to hesitate — not here, not now.

“Let’s move,” he said.

Freddie nodded, falling into step beside him.

They continued down the corridor, the hum of Polaris growing louder with every step. The walls seemed to tremble faintly now, the vibrations resonating through the floor. Ben’s chest tightened as he glanced at the pipes overhead, half-expecting them to burst under the strain.

“Any idea how close we are?” Freddie asked, his voice barely audible over the hum.

Ben shook his head. “No clue. But if this place is circular like I think, we’ll loop back toward another sub bay eventually.”

Freddie frowned. “And if we don’t?”

Ben didn’t answer. The alternative was too grim to consider.

They reached another intersection, and Ben slowed, scanning both directions. The corridor to the left was dark, the lights overhead flickering weakly. The right path was better lit but curved sharply out of sight.

Ben motioned to the right. “This way.”

They moved cautiously, their footsteps muffled against the grated floor. The hum of Polaris was deafening now, a relentless pulse that seemed to press against Ben’s skull.

Freddie glanced at him. “You okay?”

Ben nodded, though his grip on the rifle tightened. “Let’s just get out of here.”

The corridor stretched ahead, its walls narrowing slightly as they approached another junction. Ben’s chest tightened as he glanced at the pipes overhead, half-expecting them to burst under the strain.

A sudden noise behind them made him stop — a faint, echoing shout.

Freddie turned, his expression darkening. “They’re catching up.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. “Then we move faster.”

They broke into a jog, their boots pounding against the floor as they pushed deeper into the facility. The air seemed to grow colder, the vibrations in the walls almost overwhelming now.

Ben’s mind raced as they ran. They needed to find the sub bay — and fast. If the soldiers caught up, it would be over.

Freddie glanced at him, his face grim. “You think we’re close?”

Ben didn’t answer, his focus on the path ahead.

They rounded another corner, the corridor opening into a larger space. Ben slowed, his eyes scanning the room. It was empty, but the hum of Polaris was louder than ever, a deafening roar that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

They moved forward, their steps careful and deliberate. The room was vast, its walls lined with pipes and machinery. The air was thick with the smell of oil and metal, the vibrations in the floor making it hard to keep their balance.

Ben’s eyes narrowed as he spotted a door on the far side of the room. It was marked with faded Cyrillic lettering, but its purpose was clear — a sub bay.

He glanced at Freddie, nodding toward the door. “That’s got to be it.”

Freddie grinned.

They moved quickly, crossing the room in a few long strides. Ben reached the door first, his hand resting on the control panel. He hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Freddie.

Freddie nodded, his expression determined. “Let’s do it.”

Ben pressed the button, and the door hissed open, revealing the sub bay beyond.

Finally, Ben thought. A minor victory.

CHAPTER 44

JULIE

Julie pressed a gloved hand against the cold steel wall, steadying herself as the corridor sloped downward. The sound of Polaris had subsided to a distant vibration, but it still felt like it was in her bones, resonating with every step.

Behind her, Ilya and Tom walked carefully, their boots echoing against the grated floor. Reggie brought up the rear, muttering under his breath as his flashlight beam — from a light he’d found in an unlocked maintenance locker they’d passed — danced across the walls.

“How far are we going?” Reggie grumbled, his voice bouncing down the narrow passage. “Feels like we’ve been walking in circles.”

Julie shot him a sharp glance over her shoulder. “Until we find something useful.”

“Like a way out?” Reggie quipped.

“Or a way to shut Polaris down,” she countered.

Reggie groaned but didn’t argue. He turned his attention back to the shadows behind them, as if expecting soldiers to appear at any moment.

Tom stepped up beside Julie, his eyes scanning the corridor ahead. “He’s not wrong to be worried. If Strakov’s men figure out where we are — ”

“They won’t,” Julie said quickly, cutting him off. “We’re sticking to the plan. Meet back at the holding cell in an hour. It’s the last place they’ll think to check.”

Tom didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “Still, we need to move faster. We’ve got no weapons, no way to stay in contact with Ben and Freddie, and no clue what Strakov’s next move is.”

“Then let’s find a clue,” Julie said.

The corridor opened into a wider space, and Julie slowed, holding up a hand to stop the group. The room was dimly lit, with exposed pipes running along the ceiling and walls. A tangle of cables snaked across the floor, connecting to ancient control panels covered in Cyrillic labels. Most of the panels were dark, their monitors cracked or covered in a layer of grime, but one in the corner flickered faintly.

“What is this place?” Reggie asked, stepping closer to the nearest console.

“Maintenance hub,” Ilya said, her tone clipped. She moved past Reggie, her eyes scanning the room. “If the Faction’s been operating here, they might have used this space to monitor the station’s systems. Likely though, it’s old, mostly unused. They have plenty of modern equipment in that control room we passed when we first came here.”

Julie crossed to the first flickering console in front of her, brushing dust from the screen with her sleeve. The text was in Russian, but a faded diagram on the monitor caught her attention — a rough map of the facility, complete with labeled sections and corridors.

“Bingo,” she muttered, motioning for the others to join her.

Ilya leaned over her shoulder, her sharp eyes narrowing as she studied the map. “This is a schematic of the station,” she said, her finger tracing the lines. “It’s incomplete, or corrupted — some areas are grayed out — but it’s better than nothing.”

Tom pointed to a section labeled in bold Cyrillic. “What’s this?”

Ilya hesitated. “That’s… the ‘auxiliary sub bay.’”

Reggie perked up. “A second sub bay? So there is another way out of this damned base.”

“If it’s still operational” Ilya said coolly. “This facility has been heavily modified. But yes, it could be our way out. I’m sure Admiral Strakov was not planning to die here.”

Julie ignored the bickering, her eyes scanning the rest of the map. Her stomach dropped as she noticed a section marked with bright red warnings.

“What about this?” she asked, pointing to the area.

Ilya frowned. “That says ‘the core.’ I would guess it is where the generators and main power systems are installed. If we’re going to shut Polaris down, that’s where we will have to go.”

Tom studied the map, his jaw tightening. “Looks like it will be heavily secured, too. Multiple bulkheads, overlapping corridors — this place is a fortress.”

“And we’re running out of time,” Julie said. She turned to Ilya. “Can you navigate us there?”

Ilya nodded, though her expression remained guarded. “I can try. But we’ll need to be careful. The Faction isn’t going to let us wander around unchecked.”

Julie straightened. “Then let’s get moving.”

The group pressed on, the corridor narrowing again as the air grew colder. The walls were slick with condensation, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed around them. Faint light flickered over the rusted pipes overhead, some of which were leaking a thin, steady stream of fluid onto the floor.

“Watch your step,” she warned.

As if on cue, Reggie slipped, catching himself against the wall with a muttered curse. “Great. As if this place wasn’t bad enough, now it’s falling apart.”

“It’s not just age,” Ilya said, her voice low. “Polaris is destabilizing the structure. The vibrations — it’s causing stress fractures. Likely one of the reasons it was ultimately abandoned by the Soviets. They could not figure out how to build a weapon that didn’t also kill itself upon use.”

“Terrific,” Reggie muttered.

Julie gritted her teeth, picking her way carefully around the slick patches. The floor creaked ominously beneath her boots, and she quickened her pace, eager to leave the weakened section behind.

The corridor opened into another room, this one filled with rows of metal shelving. Most of the shelves were empty, but a few held crates marked with faded Soviet insignias. Julie approached one, prying it open to reveal stacks of yellowed documents and dusty equipment.

“What is all this?” she asked, pulling out a file.

Ilya joined her, flipping through the papers. “It’s research. Notes on Polaris, prototypes… contingency plans.”

Julie’s heart sank. “Contingency plans for what?”

Ilya hesitated, then held up a page covered in dense Cyrillic text. “If Polaris fails, they’ll destroy the base. A self-destruct mechanism.”

Reggie swore under his breath. “So besides the fact that Polaris already might kill itself, the Russians just built another way to do just that. You’re kidding me.”

Julie’s grip tightened on the file. “We need to stop this. Now.”

Tom was already moving toward the door. “Then let’s go. The core won’t shut itself down.”

Julie flipped through another box, finding a printout of the same schematic she’d seen on the console. This she folded and stuck in her pocket. It may not prove useful, but it was easy enough to stash away.

The group continued, their progress slowed by the unstable conditions. Pipes hissed and leaked, and the air was growing harder to breathe. Julie felt lightheaded, but she pushed through, focusing on the map in her pocket and the faint hope it offered.

They reached another corridor, this one lined with what looked like security cameras. Julie froze, holding up a hand to stop the others.

“Cameras,” she whispered.

“Are they active?” Tom asked, peering at one.

“Let’s not stick around to find out,” Julie said.

They moved forward, but a loud click suddenly echoed through the corridor, followed by the unmistakable sound of a security system powering on. Red lights began to flash, and a metallic voice crackled through hidden speakers, speaking rapid Russian.

“Great,” Reggie muttered. “Pretty sure that means they’re on to us. Now what?”

Tom moved to the wall, where lines of conduit from each camera descended into a control box. “Give me a second.”

Julie glanced nervously at the cameras, half-expecting soldiers to appear at any moment. “Hurry.”

“I’m working on it,” Tom snapped.

The red lights continued to pulse, and Julie felt her chest tighten as the seconds stretched into what felt like hours. Tom had the panel opened, and Julie saw what he was doing.

That should definitely work, she thought.

Rather than try to figure out which of the cables the camera feeds were connected to, Tom was simple ripping out whatever he could find, removing the cables as fast as his fingers allowed.

Finally, with a sharp beep, the lights shut off.

“Got it,” Tom said, stepping back from the panel.

Julie exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Good work. Let’s keep moving. Someone around here is going to notice their feeds are down.”

“But it’s also promising we found a corridor with cameras all over it,” Tom added. “Means we’re someplace they really don’t want people visiting without them knowing about it.”

They reached another junction, and Ilya stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she studied the map.

“This way,” she said, pointing to the left.

Julie hesitated, noticing the slight tremor in Ilya’s hand. “You okay?”

Ilya nodded quickly, avoiding her gaze. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Julie followed her, but a nagging doubt lingered in the back of her mind. Ilya had been too quiet, too guarded. She was hiding something, and Julie was starting to wonder just how much they could trust her.

For now, though, they didn’t have a choice.

CHAPTER 45

JULIE

Julie’s boots slid on the damp metal flooring as the corridor shook beneath her. Another vibration, deeper and more forceful this time, rippled through the station, and the sound of groaning metal echoed in her ears. She gritted her teeth and grabbed a nearby pipe for balance, the rust flaking off against her gloves.

“Keep moving!” she called, her voice barely audible over the din of hissing steam and creaking supports.

Ahead of her, Ilya crouched near a junction box, her hands moving quickly over a corroded valve wheel. Julie didn’t know what the geologist was doing, but she trusted her enough not to ask. Behind her, Reggie and Tom were struggling to keep their footing as the floor tilted at an angle.

“This place is falling apart,” Reggie growled, his flashlight flicking wildly as he scanned the corridor. “How are we supposed to shut anything down when we’re one step away from getting pancaked?”

“Focus,” Julie snapped. “If this whole section collapses, we won’t have to worry about Polaris — we’ll already be dead.”

Tom wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and pointed to an access panel on the left wall. “There’s got to be a maintenance shaft or something nearby. These corridors always have redundancies — ”

The floor buckled violently beneath them, cutting him off mid-sentence. Julie felt her stomach lurch as the metal plating gave way, and a section of the walkway ahead disappeared into a dark, gaping void. Steam burst upward from the exposed pipes below, the roar drowning out Reggie’s shouted curse.

“Fall back!” Julie yelled, grabbing Ilya by the arm and pulling her away from the edge.

“We’re not going back,” Ilya protested, her voice tight with urgency. “The core is this way!”

“And so is certain death,” Reggie added, backing away from the growing hole. “We need another route, now.”

Tom stepped closer to the edge, peering down into the darkness. “It’s a service bay,” he said, his voice calmer than Julie expected. “Looks like a few feet of standing water down there. If we can get across — ”

Another vibration rocked the station, and a cascade of sparks rained down from the exposed wiring above. Julie shielded her eyes, the heat prickling against her skin.

“Tom, ideas?” she demanded.

Tom turned and pointed to the far side of the gap, where a rusted ladder clung to the wall. “If we can get to that, we can climb down into the bay and try to work our way around. But…” He gestured to the steaming pipes crisscrossing the area. “It’s going to be tight.”

“Do we have a choice?” Ilya asked, already moving toward the remnants of the walkway.

“No,” Julie admitted. “Reggie, you still have that flashlight?”

Reggie scowled but handed it over. “You’re gonna owe me for this one.”

Julie ignored him, directing the beam of light across the gap. The jagged edges of the broken walkway gleamed slick with moisture, and the ladder on the far wall looked barely stable.

“Okay,” she said, turning back to the group. “We’re going one at a time. Slow and steady. Ilya, you’re up first.”

Ilya nodded, her expression resolute. She adjusted the straps of her pack and tested the edge of the gap with her foot. The metal groaned ominously, but it held. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, balancing carefully as she made her way toward the ladder.

Julie held her breath, her new flashlight fixed on Ilya’s movements. The geologist moved with surprising agility, her slim frame making it easier to navigate the narrow beams and piping. When she reached the ladder, she paused and looked back.

“It’s stable,” she called. “Barely.”

“Your turn, Tom,” Julie said.

Tom nodded and followed Ilya’s path, his heavier boots sending faint vibrations through the precarious structure. Julie felt her pulse quicken as he reached the halfway point, a particularly weak-looking section of metal.

“Hurry,” she urged.

Tom quickened his pace, reaching the ladder just as another tremor rattled the station. He grabbed the rungs and steadied himself, waving for Julie to follow.

Julie turned to Reggie. “You next.”

“Figures,” Reggie muttered, but he didn’t hesitate.

He moved cautiously, his arms outstretched for balance. Julie could hear him muttering under his breath, a steady stream of curses and half-hearted prayers. When he reached the ladder, he clung to it with both hands, his knuckles white.

“Your turn, boss,” he called.

Julie exhaled and stepped onto the beam, her flashlight gripped tightly in one hand. The surface was slick under her boots, and she moved slowly, testing each step before putting her weight down. The heat from the nearby pipes made the air feel suffocating, and her heart pounded as she neared the halfway point.

A sudden vibration sent her stumbling, and she threw her weight forward, grabbing onto a section of piping for support. The metal burned through her gloves, and she bit back a cry of pain as she steadied herself.

“Julie!” Tom’s voice rang out.

“I’m fine!” she shouted back, though her hands throbbed from the heat.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to keep moving. When she finally reached the ladder, Tom extended a hand to help her onto the rungs.

“Thanks,” she muttered, her voice tight with adrenaline.

“Don’t mention it,” Tom said.

Below them, the water in the service bay reflected the flickering light from above, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Julie descended first, her boots splashing into the shallow pool. The cold water was a sharp contrast to the heat above, and she shivered as the others joined her.

“Which way now?” Reggie asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

Julie glanced around, her flashlight cutting through the darkness. The bay was a maze of pipes and machinery, with no clear path forward.

Ilya pointed to a narrow passage on the far side. “That should lead us back to the main corridor.”

Julie nodded. “Then let’s move. We’re burning time.”

As they navigated through the bay, the vibrations grew fainter, but the air remained heavy with tension. Julie couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, though there was no sign of Strakov’s men.

They reached the passage and climbed out of the bay, emerging into yet another corridor. The walls here were streaked with moisture, and the floor sloped downward at an unsettling angle.

“We’re close,” Ilya said, her voice quiet but determined.

“Let’s hope it’s worth it,” Julie replied, leading the way forward.

CHAPTER 46

BEN

Ben stepped cautiously into the sub bay, his rifle raised, scanning for any sign of movement. The air in the cavernous room was colder, laced with the faint tang of saltwater and oil. Overhead, dim fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting jagged shadows across the walls. The humming vibration of Polaris had dulled slightly but still reverberated through the floor, an ever-present reminder of the ticking clock.

Freddie followed close behind, his weapon at the ready. His sharp intake of breath broke the silence as they both laid eyes on the submarine before them.

It was massive — sleek, black, and gleaming with modern design. The craft seemed almost out of place among the rusted steel walls and aging pipes of the Soviet-era base. Its hull bore no markings or insignia, just smooth, matte plating that reflected the flickering lights above.

“Tell me that’s what I think it is,” Freddie said, his voice a low rumble.

Ben stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he took in the details. The sub’s design was distinctly modern, with sharp, angular lines that screamed cutting-edge military tech. It was far removed from the Cold War relics that surrounded it — this was a machine of the present, not the past.

“Looks like Strakov’s ride,” Ben muttered, his voice tight. “He wouldn’t be here without a way to leave, and I’d bet this is how he got in.”

Freddie approached the sub cautiously, circling around its sleek hull. “This thing’s a damn ghost,” he said, running his hand along the smooth surface. “No markings, no identifiers. Definitely not standard issue for any navy.”

Ben nodded, his jaw tightening. “That’s because it’s not navy. It’s Faction.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow. “This is the kind of hardware they’re working with? No wonder they’re so cocky.”

Ben’s focus shifted to the sub’s hatch, a rounded door set into the side of the hull. He climbed a short metal staircase bolted to the floor, his boots clanging softly against the steps. The hatch was sealed shut, but the control panel beside it glowed faintly, a digital keypad and biometric scanner embedded in its surface.

“Locked tight,” Ben said, studying the panel. “Figures.”

Freddie joined him, his massive frame towering over the smaller staircase. “Think we can crack it?”

Ben frowned. “Maybe. But if this thing’s tied into the base’s systems, there’s no way we’re getting it open without drawing attention.”

Freddie let out a low whistle, his eyes scanning the sub bay. The room was enormous, with cranes and scaffolding lining the walls. Spare parts and maintenance equipment were scattered across the floor, along with thick coils of cable and metal crates marked with Cyrillic labels.

“This whole bay’s too clean,” Freddie said. “Like it’s barely been used.”

“That’s because it hasn’t,” Ben said. He gestured toward the submarine. “This isn’t part of the original facility. They retrofitted this place to accommodate that thing.”

Freddie nodded slowly, his brow furrowed. “Means it’s fully operational.”

Ben’s mind raced as he considered their options. The sub was their best shot at escaping the base — and maybe even surviving whatever Strakov had planned. But getting it operational would require time, coordination, and someone who knew how to pilot it.

His thoughts drifted to Tom. The guy had been Navy — if anyone could figure this thing out, it was him. But Tom was with Julie’s group, and they had no way of knowing where they were — or if they were even still alive.

“This is it,” Ben said finally, his voice firm. “If we can get this thing running, we’ve got a chance. But we need the others.”

Freddie crossed his arms, his expression dark. “You think they’re okay?”

“They’re resourceful,” Ben said, though his tone lacked conviction. He glanced back at the door they’d entered through, half-expecting Strakov’s soldiers to burst in at any moment. “Right now, we need to figure out how to secure this place.”

Freddie stepped back from the sub, his eyes scanning the room. “You think Strakov’s men will come looking here?”

Ben’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If they’re smart, yeah. This is the only way out for them too. They’ll know it’s a target.”

Freddie nodded grimly. “Then we better make sure we’re ready.”

Ben descended the steps and approached a nearby console mounted on the wall. Its surface was dusty, the screen cracked, but the lights on its interface blinked faintly. He wiped his sleeve across the display, revealing a jumble of Cyrillic text and digital schematics.

“What do you see?” Freddie asked, peering over his shoulder.

Ben frowned, his eyes scanning the screen. The text was incomprehensible to him, but the diagrams told a clearer story. They showed an overhead view of the sub bay, with the submarine docked in the center. A series of blinking icons highlighted the connections between the sub and the base’s infrastructure — fuel lines, power conduits, and what looked like a data link.

“They’re keeping it tied into the base’s systems,” Ben said. “Probably to maintain power and diagnostics. If we cut those links, it might give us some breathing room.”

Freddie nodded. “Or it might set off every alarm in the place.”

“True,” Ben admitted. “But it’s a risk we might have to take.”

Freddie ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, his gaze shifting to the submarine. “You think Tom can pilot that thing?”

“If anyone can, it’s him,” Ben said. “But we’re not going anywhere unless we get everyone here first.”

Freddie’s face darkened. “Then we better hope Julie’s still alive.”

Ben didn’t respond. He couldn’t afford to think about what might have happened to the others — not now. His focus had to stay on the task at hand.

Ben and Freddie moved quickly, scanning the sub bay for anything that could help them prepare. Freddie found a stack of heavy metal crates near the far wall, their Cyrillic labels faded but legible.

“These might work to slow them down,” Freddie said, dragging one across the floor with a loud screech.

Ben nodded, but he hesitated. “Not yet. If we barricade this place now, Julie and the others won’t be able to get in.”

Freddie paused, glancing at the main door. “You think they’ll come here?”

“They’ll have to,” Ben said. “It’s the only real way out. But we need to find them first — make sure they’re okay.”

Freddie grunted in agreement, shoving the crate aside. “Fine. But we’d better move fast. If Strakov’s men are as close as they sounded earlier, they’re gonna figure out where we’re headed soon.”

Ben slung his rifle over his shoulder. “We’ll come back to this place and lock it down once we’re all together. Until then, we stick to the plan.”

Freddie nodded, his expression grim. “Let’s find them.”

CHAPTER 47

JULIE

The corridor had narrowed again, the walls closing in around Julie like the jaws of some great beast. Every step echoed faintly, their boots splashing through shallow puddles of water that pooled on the uneven floor. The metallic hum of Polaris was no longer just a sound; it was a presence, a low-frequency vibration that seemed to pulse in their very bones.

And it was once again growing in intensity.

The flashlight flickered across the rusted pipes that lined the walls and ceiling. Steam hissed from small fractures in the metal, and the air was thick with the mingled smells of damp steel, oil, and something acrid Julie couldn’t place. Each breath burned faintly in her throat.

“Everyone okay?” Julie asked, glancing back at the others.

Reggie grunted, his face slick with sweat. “Define okay.”

Ilya ignored the comment, her sharp blue eyes scanning the corridor ahead. “The core should be just beyond this section,” she said, her voice clipped. “If we can get to the main power junction — ”

“Assuming it’s not guarded,” Reggie interrupted. “Or booby-trapped. Or about to collapse.”

Julie shot him a look. “We don’t have time for second-guessing.”

“He’s not wrong,” Tom said, stepping over a twisted length of cable that snaked across the floor. “This place is falling apart. If Polaris is destabilizing the base, the core might not be much better off than we are. And it’s getting worse, not better.”

Julie didn’t respond. She tightened her grip on the flashlight and kept moving, her steps deliberate and steady. The narrow passage sloped downward, the angle steep enough that she had to lean forward to keep her balance. The faint sound of machinery echoed from somewhere ahead — a rhythmic clanking that set her teeth on edge.

The corridor widened suddenly, opening into a space that felt both vast and claustrophobic at the same time. Overhead, exposed piping crisscrossed the ceiling like a spider’s web, dripping condensation onto the grated floor below. Rusted catwalks zigzagged above them, some sagging dangerously under their own weight.

“This is… something,” Reggie muttered, his voice bouncing off the walls.

Julie moved cautiously into the chamber, her flashlight sweeping across the space. The walls were lined with ancient machinery, their surfaces streaked with corrosion and grime. Some of the consoles still glowed faintly, their screens displaying incomprehensible data in flickering green text.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“Must be a service area for the power facility,” Ilya said, her voice low. She approached one of the consoles, brushing dust from the screen with her gloved hand. “They would have used these old terminals to monitor power distribution and environmental conditions in the core without having to go inside.”

“Which means we’re here,” Julie said.

Ilya nodded. “The core is at the center of the station, directly below the command center, and therefore it’s right through this bay. From what I remember on the schematic, there are two main access points — this one, and another on the opposite side of the circular base.”

Julie ignored him. “Is there another way in?”

Ilya hesitated. “There might be a maintenance shaft that bypasses the main corridor, but it’s narrow and likely unstable. It’s a gamble either way.”

“Then we take the shaft,” Julie said firmly. “It’s our best shot at avoiding detection.”

Tom nodded. “Agreed. But we need to move. The longer we’re here, the more likely Strakov’s men will find us.”

The group pressed on, following Ilya’s lead as she guided them toward the maintenance shaft. The corridor narrowed again, the walls streaked with moisture and grime. The air was colder here, the chill seeping through Julie’s jacket as she climbed over a twisted section of piping that blocked their path.

“Careful,” she warned as Reggie followed her, his boots scraping against the slick metal.

The shaft entrance was a small, circular hatch set into the floor. Ilya crouched beside it, her fingers working quickly to unfasten the rusted latches. The metal groaned in protest, but the hatch eventually gave way, revealing a narrow tunnel that descended steeply into darkness.

“Lovely,” Reggie muttered, peering into the void. “This just keeps getting better.”

Julie shot him a look. “You first.” She handed him the flashlight he’d given her earlier.

“Of course,” Reggie said with a sigh. He climbed into the shaft, his flashlight cutting through the darkness as he began his descent.

The shaft was cramped, forcing them to move single file. The walls were lined with corroded piping, and the air was damp and stale. Julie followed Reggie, her movements careful and deliberate as she navigated the narrow space. Behind her, Ilya and Tom moved with equal caution, their breaths loud in the confined space.

“Anyone else feel like a sardine in a can?” Reggie called back, his voice echoing faintly.

“Keep moving,” Julie said.

The shaft leveled out after what felt like an eternity, opening into another corridor. The floor here was covered in standing water, and the walls were streaked with rust and grime. The hum of Polaris was louder now, a low, relentless vibration that seemed to pulse through the air.

“We’re close,” Ilya said, her voice barely audible over the noise.

Julie nodded. Her heart was pounding, a mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through her veins. They were running out of time, and she knew it.

The corridor sloped upward, and the air grew warmer as they approached a large, reinforced door. The metal was scarred and pitted, but it held firm against Julie’s tentative push.

Reggie stepped forward and helped. The door finally hissed open, revealing a massive chamber bathed in a sickly yellow light. The hum of Polaris was deafening here, the air thick with heat and the stench of ozone. Julie stepped inside, her eyes widening as she took in the scene.

At the center of the room was a massive cylindrical structure, its surface covered in a lattice of glowing conduits and pulsating energy fields. The core of Polaris. Around it, a small group of engineers worked frantically at consoles, their movements hurried and desperate.

Julie’s stomach tightened. They’d found it.

But before she could take another step, a voice rang out from behind them.

“Don’t move.”

Julie froze, her blood turning to ice. She turned slowly to see Strakov standing in the doorway, flanked by a group of armed soldiers. His cold, pale eyes gleamed with triumph, and the faintest smirk played at the corners of his lips.

“Well,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “It seems you’ve found the heart of our little operation. A pity you won’t live to see it completed.”

Julie’s breath caught in her throat as the soldiers raised their weapons, the barrels trained on her and the others. She glanced at Ilya, whose face was pale but composed, and then at Tom, who looked ready to spring into action despite the odds.

Reggie swore under his breath, his hands clenching into fists.

Strakov’s smirk widened. “Shall we begin?”

CHAPTER 48

BEN

Ben led the way, his boots scraping against the grated floor as the corridor continued to slope upward. The faint hum of Polaris was a constant backdrop, growing louder as they moved deeper into the base. The vibration seemed to crawl through his bones, a relentless pulse that made it hard to concentrate.

Behind him, Freddie moved in steady silence, his rifle held at the ready. Ben could feel the weight of the man’s gaze scanning every shadow, every corner, and it gave him a small measure of reassurance. They weren’t alone in this nightmare.

“Any idea how close we are?” Freddie asked quietly.

Ben shook his head. “Not exactly. But if this place is laid out like I think it is, we’re heading toward the central area. That’s usually where power systems are. And if Julie’s group is trying to shut down Polaris, that’s where they’ll be.”

Freddie didn’t argue, but his expression was grim. “Feels like a hell of a guess.”

“It is,” Ben admitted. “But we don’t have time to backtrack. If we keep moving forward, we’ll find something. We always do.”

Freddie gave a humorless chuckle. “Let’s hope it’s something we can handle.”

The corridor widened slightly as they moved, the overhead lights flickering weakly. The air was hot and oppressive now, thick with the stench of oil and chemicals. Ben kept his pace steady, his rifle at the ready as his eyes darted over every detail of their surroundings.

The sound of distant voices brought him to a halt.

He raised a hand, signaling Freddie to stop. The voices were faint but growing louder, echoing through the corridor.

“They’re looking for us,” Ben muttered.

Freddie crouched slightly, his rifle aimed toward the sound. “How many?”

Ben tilted his head, straining to listen. “Two, maybe three.”

Freddie nodded. “We take them out fast. Quiet if we can.”

“Agreed.”

The voices grew clearer, accompanied by the rhythmic clink of boots against the grated floor. Ben pressed himself against the wall, his muscles tensing as he waited.

Two figures appeared at the far end of the corridor, their silhouettes outlined by the flickering lights. Both were armed, their rifles slung casually across their chests. They were talking in low voices, their tone relaxed but purposeful.

Ben’s jaw tightened. They weren’t panicked. These soldiers weren’t reacting to chaos — they were hunting.

Freddie moved first, his steps silent as he crept toward the nearest soldier. Ben followed a moment later, his rifle raised, ready to act.

Freddie struck with brutal efficiency, driving the butt of his rifle into the first soldier’s temple. The man crumpled without a sound, his weapon clattering to the floor.

The second soldier spun, his rifle swinging up, but Ben was faster. He lunged forward, slamming the barrel of his rifle into the man’s chest. The soldier staggered, and Ben followed up with a sharp elbow to his jaw.

The soldier fell to one knee, blood streaming from his nose. He tried to raise his weapon, but Freddie was already there, finishing him with a single, savage strike.

The corridor fell silent once more, the hum of Polaris the only sound.

Ben exhaled, his pulse pounding in his ears. He glanced at Freddie, who was already checking the soldiers’ gear.

“They’re traveling light,” Freddie muttered, holding up a utility belt. “No radios, no advanced tech.”

Ben frowned. “Strakov’s men don’t seem to be big on communication.”

“Either that, or they don’t need to be,” Freddie said. “These guys know the layout. They don’t need radios to find their way around.”

Ben crouched next to the unconscious soldier, patting him down for anything useful. He found a flashlight, a small knife, and a pair of zip ties, but nothing that would help them navigate the base.

Freddie checked the other soldier, coming up empty. “Nothing useful. What now?”

“We keep moving,” Ben said, standing. “If we’re getting closer to the core, we’ll run into more of them. We need to stay ahead of the search parties.”

Freddie slung his rifle over his shoulder, his expression grim. “Lead the way.”

Ben allowed himself a faint smile before his attention snapped back to the corridor. Faint voices were echoing from somewhere down the hall, growing louder with each passing second.

Freddie heard it too. “Another two guys?” he guessed.

Ben grimaced. “You want to bet on that?”

Freddie tightened his grip on his rifle, his knuckles white against the worn stock. “Nope.”

The voices grew clearer, followed by the telltale clink of boots on metal. Ben motioned for Freddie to take cover against the opposite wall, then ducked into a shadowed alcove.

Two soldiers appeared at the far end of the corridor, their rifles raised as they advanced cautiously. They were speaking to each other in Russian, their words sharp and clipped.

Ben’s heart raced as he aimed down the sight of his rifle. He waited, timing his movements to match their slow, deliberate pace.

As the soldiers neared, one of them froze, his eyes darting toward the bodies of their fallen comrades. He barked something in Russian and gestured to his partner.

The second soldier raised his weapon, scanning the area with practiced precision.

Ben exhaled slowly, his finger brushing the trigger. Before the soldier could call out, Ben fired, the shot reverberating through the narrow corridor.

The first soldier crumpled, clutching his side as he hit the floor.

The second soldier spun, his rifle snapping toward Ben’s position. Freddie reacted instantly, stepping out from his cover and firing a controlled burst. The soldier staggered backward, blood spraying from his chest as he collapsed.

“Clear,” Freddie said, his voice tight.

Ben stepped out of the alcove, his rifle still aimed at the downed soldiers. He kicked one of their rifles aside, ensuring it was out of reach, before crouching to check for any sign of life.

“They’re done,” he said quietly.

Freddie wiped sweat from his brow, his eyes darting down the corridor. “That’s two more down, but those shots weren’t quiet. They’ll bring company.”

Ben nodded, already scanning their surroundings for the next move.

The echo of distant shouting reached their ears, and Ben’s chest tightened. This wasn’t just one or two soldiers anymore. The entire base was waking up.

He rolled his eyes. How many of these guys are there? “We can’t stay here,” Ben said, rising to his feet. “They’ll pin us down if we don’t move.”

Freddie slung his rifle over his shoulder and nodded. “Where to?”

Ben gestured to the right, where the corridor curved sharply out of sight. “We stick to the plan. Head toward the central area. If Julie’s group is there, we’ll link up. If not, we regroup somewhere else.”

“And if we run into more of Strakov’s men?”

“Same as now,” Ben said, his tone grim. “We fight through.”

The two of them moved quickly, their boots clanging against the grated floor as they left the bodies behind. The air grew hotter as they advanced, the vibrations in the walls intensifying.

Ben glanced back at Freddie. “Stay sharp. If they’re smart, they’ll try to funnel us into a choke point.”

Freddie grunted in acknowledgment, his rifle sweeping from side to side as they navigated the maze of corridors.

As they rounded a corner, Ben froze. Ahead of them, yet another two soldiers were stationed at a junction, their backs turned.

“More guards,” Ben whispered, holding up a hand to stop Freddie. “Strakov’s got them patrolling in pairs. No telling how many pairs there are total, but I can’t imagine it’s too many.”

Freddie’s expression hardened. “Don’t like our odds, though. But we can’t double back. We’d be walking right into the other search parties that heard our gunshots.”

Ben nodded, his mind racing. They had the element of surprise, but it wouldn’t last long.

“Take the one on the left,” Ben said, his voice low. “I’ll handle the other.”

Freddie moved into position, his steps silent despite his size. Ben mirrored him, his rifle aimed at the soldier on the right.

Freddie struck first, slamming the butt of his rifle into the back of the guard’s head. The man dropped instantly, his weapon clattering to the floor.

The second soldier spun, his eyes widening as he raised his rifle. Ben fired before he could squeeze the trigger, the shot striking him square in the chest.

The man fell backward, his body hitting the ground with a metallic thud.

Freddie kicked the first soldier’s rifle away, ensuring he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. “That’s two more.”

Ben’s pulse pounded in his ears as he glanced down the corridor. The faint echo of footsteps and shouting told him reinforcements weren’t far behind — and this time, it sounded like there were forty guys bearing down on them.

“We’re out of time,” he said, his voice tight. “Let’s go.”

They broke into a run, the corridor blurring around them as they pushed forward. The heat was oppressive now, the air thick and stifling.

Ben’s thoughts raced as he ran, his grip tightening on his rifle. They couldn’t afford to stop. Not now.

Freddie’s voice cut through the noise. “You think they’ve got a way to cut us off?”

Ben shook his head. “If they do, we’ll deal with it when we get there.”

The corridor curved sharply ahead, and Ben skidded to a halt, his chest heaving. He scanned the area, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a faint light glowing at the far end.

“This way,” he said, motioning for Freddie to follow.

The two of them moved cautiously, their steps quieter now as they approached the light. The hum of Polaris was deafening, the vibrations rattling the walls around them.

Ben’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Freddie. “Stay close. It’s about to get a lot worse.”

CHAPTER 49

JULIE

Julie barely registered the blinding glare of the core’s pulsating energy fields.

Her attention was locked on Strakov.

Julie’s muscles tensed as she turned to face him, her breath catching in her throat. Strakov’s pale, calculating eyes scanned the group like a predator assessing prey. He was flanked by six soldiers, all armed, their rifles aimed directly at her, Ilya, Reggie, and Tom.

“Congratulations,” Strakov said, his voice smooth but laced with mockery. “You’ve found the core. A testament to human ingenuity, wouldn’t you agree?”

No one answered.

Julie glanced at the core itself, the massive cylindrical structure at the room’s center, its glowing conduits snaking across the surface like veins. It radiated a heat that was stifling even at a distance, and the hum it emitted was so deep and resonant that it felt like it was rattling her bones.

Behind Strakov, the soldiers stood motionless, their eyes sharp and disciplined. But Julie could sense their unease; even they weren’t immune to the oppressive energy of the room.

“We don’t have to do this,” Julie said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Strakov tilted his head, a faint smile curling his lips. “Oh, but we do. You see, you’ve become quite the nuisance. My orders were to keep you alive for now, but I’ve always been a firm believer in taking the initiative.”

Julie’s pulse quickened as Strakov raised his hand, signaling the soldiers to advance.

“Hands where I can see them,” he said coldly.

Reggie’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Julie thought he might do something reckless. But he slowly raised his hands, his expression dark with barely restrained fury. Ilya followed suit, her face a mask of composure, though Julie could see the tension in her posture.

Tom, however, hesitated.

“Tom,” Julie whispered urgently.

Tom glanced at her, then at the soldiers. His hands inched upward, but his eyes darted around the room, taking in the layout, the engineers, the soldiers’ positioning. Julie recognized the look — he was calculating, assessing their odds.

“Good,” Strakov said, his voice a low purr. “Now, let’s have a little — ”

Before he could finish, Reggie moved.

In one fluid motion, he lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the rifle from the nearest guard. The soldier shouted in surprise, but Reggie was already twisting, using his momentum to wrench the weapon free.

The room erupted into chaos.

The soldier nearest to Reggie swung his rifle up, but Reggie slammed the butt of his stolen weapon into the man’s face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Get down!” Julie screamed, throwing herself behind a console as gunfire exploded around them.

Ilya dove behind another console, her breath ragged. Julie couldn’t see her face, but she heard the sharp intake of breath that betrayed her fear.

Reggie fired off a shot, the recoil slamming into his shoulder. The bullet struck a guard in the leg, sending him crumpling to the floor with a pained shout.

“Cover!” Julie shouted to Tom, who was still exposed in the open.

But before he could move, a soldier leveled his rifle and fired.

The shot rang out like thunder.

Julie’s heart stopped as she saw Tom stagger, a dark stain blooming on his side. He crumpled to the floor, his hand clutching his torso as blood seeped through his fingers.

“No!” Julie screamed.

Without thinking, she darted forward, ignoring the bullets whizzing past her. She reached Tom’s side, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him toward the nearest console.

“Stay with me!” she said, her voice cracking as she pulled him into cover.

Tom’s face was already pale, his breathing shallow. “I’m… fine,” he muttered, though his voice was weak.

Julie pressed her hand against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. Her hands were shaking, but she forced herself to stay focused.

“Reggie!” she shouted, her voice hoarse. “We need cover!”

Reggie was already moving. He fired another shot, hitting a soldier in the shoulder and sending him spinning into the wall.

“Working on it!” he shouted back.

Strakov, meanwhile, had taken cover near the entrance, his icy gaze sweeping the room. “Enough!” he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos. “End this now!”

The remaining soldiers regrouped, their weapons trained on Reggie and Julie.

Reggie fired again, the shot narrowly missing one of the soldiers. But before he could take another, one of the guards managed to flank him, rushing forward and grabbing the barrel of his rifle.

The two men grappled, their boots sliding on the slick floor as they fought for control of the weapon.

Julie’s mind raced. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and now Tom was injured. They couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Reggie!” she shouted, her voice desperate.

Reggie finally gained the upper hand, twisting the rifle free and slamming it into the guard’s chest. The man stumbled backward, and Reggie followed up with a sharp blow to the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

But the victory was short-lived.

“Enough,” Strakov said again, his voice calm but deadly. He stepped out from behind his cover, a pistol in his hand.

The remaining soldiers stopped firing, their weapons trained on Reggie and Julie.

“Drop it,” Strakov said, his eyes locked on Reggie.

Reggie hesitated, his grip tightening on the rifle.

“Now,” Strakov said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Julie looked at Reggie, her heart sinking as she saw the frustration and defeat in his eyes. Slowly, he lowered the rifle, letting it clatter to the floor.

Strakov’s smile returned, cold and triumphant.

“Well,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “That was… entertaining. But I think we’ve had enough fun for one day.”

Julie’s hands clenched into fists as Strakov motioned for his soldiers to advance. She glanced at Tom, who was pale but conscious, his breathing shallow.

They were out of options.

CHAPTER 50

JULIE

Julie’s heart hammered in her chest as Strakov’s soldiers closed in, their rifles leveled with deadly precision. The echo of Reggie’s rifle clattering to the floor rang in her ears, mingling with the relentless hum of Polaris. She knelt beside Tom, her hands pressed against the wound on his side, sticky with his blood.

Every shallow breath he took filled her with dread, but she couldn’t let herself panic. Not yet.

Strakov strode forward, his pistol still drawn but held loosely at his side. His pale eyes were calm, almost clinical, as he surveyed the scene. He looked every inch the predator that Julie had come to loathe — a man who thrived on control and relished his enemies’ despair.

“Pick them up,” Strakov ordered his soldiers, his voice as cold and sharp as a knife.

Two of the guards moved immediately, grabbing Reggie by the arms and hauling him to his feet. Reggie snarled, struggling against their grip, but a rifle butt slammed into his gut, doubling him over.

“Let go of me, you bastards!” Reggie spat, his voice raw with anger.

Strakov chuckled before he spoke, his tone laced with condescension. “You’ve already proven your bravery — or your stupidity. Let’s not make this worse for your friends.”

Julie felt a spark of defiance flare within her as she met Strakov’s gaze. “Is this what you do? Hide behind soldiers and guns while you play god?”

Strakov raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “I assure you, Mrs. Bennett, there is nothing hidden about my power. And as for playing god…” He gestured toward the pulsating core behind him, its glowing conduits casting an eerie light across the room. “Perhaps that title isn’t so far off.”

Julie’s stomach churned, but she forced herself to keep her expression neutral. Strakov thrived on fear, and she refused to give him the satisfaction.

“Get her up,” one of the guards barked, motioning toward Julie.

A soldier stepped forward, but Julie waved him off. “I can stand on my own,” she said sharply.

Her legs wobbled slightly as she pushed herself upright, but she held her ground. Tom groaned softly beside her, and she instinctively reached down, helping him lean against the console for support.

“He needs medical attention,” she said, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat.

Strakov tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “How noble of you to care. But I’m afraid your friend’s condition is not my priority.”

Julie clenched her fists, fury bubbling beneath the surface. “You’re a coward.”

The smile faded from Strakov’s face, replaced by a steely glare. “Careful, Mrs. Bennett,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Your usefulness does not grant you immunity.”

“Leave her,” Reggie growled, his voice rough but defiant. “This is between you and us. Leave her and Ilya out of it.”

Strakov’s gaze flicked to Reggie, his expression unreadable. “How noble of you. But I make the rules here, not you.” He turned back to his soldiers. “Restrain them and move them to Holding.”

Julie’s stomach sank. “We’re going back to that cell?” she snapped.

Strakov’s smirk returned. “Oh, no. I have… other accommodations in mind. It would be easier to just end it for you now, but your husband is still at large, somewhere in my station. I very much would like to find him, and I think you all would be the perfect bait.”

He paused. “And we can wait as long as he would like. Either Polaris begins to function properly and also begin to rip itself apart, at which point I can simply leave the station — and leave you all here inside. Or, we can start removing pieces of the four of you. One piece at a time. And working through four whole people means we can wait a long time for your husband to reappear, Mrs. Bennett.”

Julie swallowed. Reggie shifted.

Strakov suddenly smiled as he stared at Reggie. “It seems you’ve already had pieces of you removed, friend.”

Reggie glowered. “You know it’s rude to point out peoples’ disabilities, asshole.”

Strakov had noticed Reggie’s prosthetic arm — a state-of-the-art design paid for by Mr. E, and capable of ten times the strength of human ligaments and musculature. It had gotten them out of scrapes before, but Julie wasn’t sure even Reggie — as resourceful as he was — could figure any use for it right now, either.

“Something tells me it’s not much of a disability for a man like you,” Strakov said. “Nevertheless, that’s one fewer appendage we’ll have to work with. And that much less time for your buddies to find you. Get them,” Strakov barked. “Use the zip ties, so they don’t try anything stupid.”

The soldiers moved in quickly, pulling the groups’ hands down and behind their backs. One of them reached for Julie, but she stepped back, her hand still on Tom’s shoulder. “He can’t walk,” she said firmly.

Two guards grabbed Tom by the arms, pulling him roughly to his feet. He groaned in pain, his face pale and slick with sweat.

“Careful!” Julie snapped, her voice rising. “You’re going to kill him before you even get us there.”

“Julie,” Tom muttered, his voice weak. “Don’t.”

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to step back as the guards dragged Tom forward. Ilya was already being led away, her expression stoic but her jaw clenched tightly. Julie could see the tension in her movements, the subtle way her eyes darted around the room as if cataloging every detail.

Reggie struggled against the guards holding him, but another sharp blow to his ribs left him gasping for breath. They forced him forward, his head hanging low but his shoulders still squared with defiance.

Julie felt a hand on her arm, yanking her forward. She stumbled slightly but caught herself, glaring at the soldier who had grabbed her. “I can walk,” she snapped.

The soldier ignored her, his grip tightening as he pushed her toward the exit.

Strakov lingered behind, his icy gaze fixed on the glowing core. The hum seemed to grow louder as he stepped closer, his silhouette stark against the pulsating light. Julie felt a shiver run down her spine as she watched him, a man who was willing to sacrifice everything — and everyone — for his twisted vision of power.

“Move,” the soldier barked, shoving her forward.

Julie’s jaw tightened, but she obeyed, falling into step with the others as they were led out of the chamber. The corridor outside was dimly lit, the walls slick with condensation. The hum of Polaris was muffled here, but it still reverberated faintly through the air, a constant reminder of the danger that loomed over them.

She glanced at Reggie, who was limping slightly but still glaring daggers at the soldiers flanking him. His defiance was both comforting and worrying; she knew he wouldn’t back down, even if it cost him his life.

Ahead of her, Ilya walked with her head held high, her expression unreadable. Julie wondered what was going through her mind. Did she have a plan? Or was she just as lost as the rest of them?

Her thoughts turned to Ben and Freddie, who were somewhere in the base, possibly in just as much danger. She clung to the hope that they were still alive, that they were working on a way to get everyone out of this nightmare.

Because right now, she had nothing else.

CHAPTER 51

BEN

Ben crouched in the shadow of a rusted pipe, his rifle resting against his shoulder as he peered into the sprawling power station. The air hummed with energy, the vibrations almost overwhelming this close to the core of Polaris. Faint blue light radiated from exposed conduits and machinery, casting eerie shadows across the industrial maze.

Beside him, Freddie shifted slightly, his frame tense as his eyes locked on the scene ahead. Across the room, near a central console surrounded by glowing monitors, Strakov’s men had Julie’s group surrounded.

From their hiding spot, Ben could see Julie’s hands were bound behind her back, and Ilya and Tom stood nearby in a similar state. Reggie was close, a soldier slightly behind him with a rifle aimed at his back.

Ben’s jaw tightened. They’d been close to reuniting, but now the Faction had their friends — and Strakov was barking orders.

“Looks like they’re about to move them,” Freddie muttered, his voice low. “We can’t wait any longer.”

Ben nodded, his grip tightening on his weapon. “We take out one of the guards and create chaos. Strakov’s not going to stick around if we put up a fight.”

Freddie glanced at him. “You sure you want him running?”

“No,” Ben said flatly. “But if we can get Julie’s group free, that’s the priority. Strakov can wait.”

Freddie’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue.

Ben scanned the room again, noting the positions of the guards. Four soldiers, not counting Strakov. Two were stationed near the console, while another stood by Reggie. The fourth lingered closer to the doorway, his rifle slung loosely across his chest. Strakov, as usual, stayed out of immediate danger, barking orders from the edge of the group.

“We’ll have to be fast,” Ben said. “Take out the guy by Reggie first, then move for cover. Once they’re scrambling, we pick off the others.”

Freddie nodded, his fingers flexing on his weapon.

Ben took a deep breath, his focus narrowing to the soldier near Reggie. He aimed down the sight of his rifle, centering the reticle on the man’s chest.

“On three,” he whispered.

Freddie braced himself.

“One.”

The hum of Polaris grew louder, the vibrations in the floor rattling his teeth.

“Two.”

The soldier shifted slightly, turning toward Strakov’s voice.

“Three.”

Ben fired.

The shot hit the soldier square in the chest, the force of the impact sending him sprawling backward. Reggie rolled to the side instinctively, out of the line of fire.

The room exploded into motion.

Freddie was already up, firing at the soldiers near the console. One went down with a sharp cry, his rifle clattering to the floor. The other dove behind a nearby console, returning fire blindly in their direction.

Strakov’s head snapped toward the commotion, his eyes narrowing. Without hesitation, he grabbed Julie by the arm and pulled her toward the door. Ilya and Tom were yanked along by the other guards, their protests drowned out by the chaos.

Ben gritted his teeth, firing another shot at the soldier behind the console. His aim was true, and the man slumped forward, his weapon falling silent.

“Move!” Ben barked, sprinting forward.

Freddie was right behind him, covering their advance with a few well-placed shots.

Reggie scrambled to his feet, his face pale but determined. He stood, and while Ben watched, he rolled his shoulder around and detached his prosthetic arm. He grimaced, then brought the arm and zip tie connecting it to his other wrist around his body, then reattached the arm, now with his hands in front of him.

In a fluid motion, he smacked his wrists together and down, hitting them on his thighs, and the thick zip tie popped apart easily.

Then he grabbed the rifle from the fallen soldier near him, spinning toward the doorway where Strakov was dragging the captives.

“I’ve got the door!” Reggie shouted, firing a burst that struck one of the guards in the leg.

The man crumpled with a scream, but another soldier grabbed Tom, shoving him ahead as they disappeared into the hallway.

Strakov turned at the last moment, his pale eyes meeting Ben’s across the room. A cold smile flickered across his face before he vanished into the corridor, dragging Julie and Ilya with him.

“Dammit!” Ben roared, skidding to a stop near the doorway.

Freddie crouched beside him, his rifle trained on the hallway. “We can’t let them get too far ahead. What’s the play?”

Ben’s mind raced. Chasing Strakov blindly was a risk, especially with the remaining guards still active. But they couldn’t afford to lose him — or Julie.

“Freddie,” Ben barked, turning to the younger man. “Stay here, keep the doorway clear. Make sure no one doubles back on us. And figure out a way to shut this thing down. You know where the sub bay is — get there as soon as you can.”

Freddie nodded, his grip tightening on the rifle. “Got it.”

Ben glanced at Reggie. “You and me, we go after them. Short bursts, keep their heads down.”

Reggie’s eyes hardened. “Let’s roll.”

Ben and Reggie sprinted into the hallway, their boots pounding against the grated floor. The narrow corridor amplified the sound of their pursuit, every step echoing like a drumbeat.

Ahead, Strakov’s voice barked commands in Russian, his words sharp and urgent.

Ben raised his rifle, firing a quick burst toward the retreating figures. The shots sparked against the metal walls, forcing the guards to duck and stumble.

Reggie took advantage of the distraction, closing the distance with long strides. He fired once, clipping a guard in the shoulder. The man cried out but kept moving, dragging Ilya with him.

“Keep the pressure on!” Ben shouted.

They rounded a corner, the corridor widening into another industrial space. Pipes crisscrossed the ceiling, dripping condensation onto the floor. The hum of Polaris was louder here, the vibrations making it hard to keep their footing.

Strakov shoved Julie ahead of him, his grip iron-tight. Ilya struggled against her captor, but the man barked something in Russian and twisted her arm, forcing her to comply.

Ben’s chest burned as he pushed himself harder, the weight of his rifle a comforting anchor in the chaos.

“Take the shot if you’ve got it!” he called to Reggie.

Reggie nodded, raising his weapon. He aimed carefully, his finger tightening on the trigger.

The shot rang out, the sharp crack reverberating through the space.

One of the guards stumbled, clutching his side as blood seeped through his uniform. He fell to his knees, releasing Tom in the process.

Tom wasted no time. He spun around, throwing his weight into the remaining guard and knocking the rifle from his hands. Ben saw blood arc out from Tom’s side, but he couldn’t tell if the younger man was injured, or had someone else’s blood on him.

The two grappled, their movements clumsy and desperate. As he shifted, Ben saw a wound on the younger man’s side, but he was too far away to judge its limitations. For now, it didn’t seem to be slowing Tom down much, but Ben knew the kid was also operating on adrenaline and rage.

Julie took the opportunity to twist free of Strakov’s grip, but the admiral was faster. He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back toward him.

Ben raised his rifle, his heart hammering. He couldn’t risk a shot with Julie so close.

“Let her go, Strakov!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

Strakov’s cold smile returned, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “You should know by now, Mr. Bennett — I am very keen on continuing my mission.”

He shoved Julie forward, using her as a shield as he backed toward another corridor.

Ben growled in frustration, his finger twitching on the trigger. Reggie was already moving, circling to find a better angle.

Tom managed to overpower his opponent, slamming the man’s head against the floor. The guard went limp, his body sprawling across the wet metal. But as he did, Tom’s head dipped, then the man stumbled to the side.

Ben watched as Tom caught himself, then winced. He saw a wound in his side, his hand pressed tightly against it.

“Go!” Tom shouted, his voice hoarse.

Ben surged forward, his sights locked on Strakov. The admiral disappeared into the shadows, dragging Julie and Ilya with him.

“Reggie, stay on him!” Ben barked.

Reggie nodded, his jaw set as he sprinted after Strakov.

Ben knelt beside Tom, his gaze scanning the room for any remaining threats.

“You good?” he asked, offering Tom a hand.

Tom took it, his face pale but resolute. “Got shot. I’ll live, as long as I don’t bleed out.”

Ben’s eyes flicked to the corridor where Strakov had vanished. The hum of Polaris was deafening now, a relentless reminder of what was at stake.

“We’re not letting him get away,” Ben said, his voice low.

Tom nodded, grabbing a rifle from one of the downed guards. “Then let’s finish this.”

CHAPTER 52

JULIE

Julie stumbled again as the guard shoved her forward, her shoulder scraping against the cold steel of the corridor wall. She bit back a cry of pain, keeping her focus ahead where Strakov walked briskly, his boots clicking against the grated floor. The air was heavier here, thick with the sour tang of chemicals and oil, and the rhythmic hum of Polaris reverberated louder than ever.

Reggie’s voice shouted behind her, but a barrage of gunfire — Strakov’s guards who’d stayed behind — pounded louder.

Beside her, Ilya’s pale face was locked in a mask of grim determination, though Julie could see her subtly testing the guard’s grip on her arm. Strakov didn’t seem to notice — or care. His attention was fixed ahead, his movements sharper now, more purposeful.

Julie could sense a shift in Strakov’s demeanor. He wasn’t just leading them on an aimless chase.

He has a plan.

The corridor opened into a wider passage. Strakov finally slowed, glancing at one of his guards before barking a command in Russian.

The guard holding Julie nodded and adjusted his grip, hauling her roughly toward the far end of the passage. Ilya was pulled in the opposite direction, her shoes scuffing against the floor as she resisted.

“Enough,” Strakov snapped, his voice cold and clipped. He turned, his icy blue eyes locking on Julie. “You’ll only make this harder on yourselves.”

Julie glared at him, her chest heaving from exertion. “What’s the point of this, Strakov? You’ve already lost control of the base. Whatever you’re planning, you won’t get out of here alive.”

A smirk tugged at the corners of Strakov’s mouth, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Lost control?” He chuckled dryly. “On the contrary. My engineers have stabilized the power core. Polaris is operational. We’re ramping up for production as we speak.”

Julie’s stomach dropped. Stabilized? That explained why the vibrations hadn’t grown worse. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of his words.

“If it’s stabilized, then why are you dragging us around?” she asked, trying to buy time.

Strakov’s smile widened, this time with a glint of triumph. “Simple strategy. By keeping you and your friend here, I’m pulling the rest of your group away from the power station. They’re chasing ghosts, wasting time trying to save you while I complete my mission.”

Julie’s pulse quickened. So that’s his game. He would use them as bait, distracting Ben and the others long enough for Strakov to finish what he’d started and make his escape.

“You’re using us,” she said, the realization hitting her.

Strakov’s expression was smug. “Correct. You and your group have been a thorn in my side since you arrived. But now, you’re useful to me. By the time they realize what’s happening, it will be too late. Polaris will be fully operational, and I’ll be on my way out.”

Julie’s mind raced. He didn’t need them alive — he needed them occupied. If they were separated and scrambling to regroup, Strakov’s path to escape would be clear. And he was right. They were running out of time.

Ilya’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and defiant. “You think you’ve won already, but you haven’t. You’re overconfident, Strakov. That’s always been your flaw.”

Julie straightened. Something Ilya had said — perhaps her demeanor — had caused Julie’s ears to perk up. She wasn’t sure what, but the thought rattled around in her mind. She let it; Julie had learned to trust that instinct.

Strakov stopped abruptly, spinning to face her. The guard restraining Ilya tightened his grip, but she didn’t flinch.

“Careful,” Strakov said, his tone laced with warning. “Your knowledge of me is limited, at best. Do not assume to understand my flaws, as I have not assumed yours. Actually, I do not think we’ve even been properly introduced.”

Ilya tilted her chin up, her expression challenging. She ignored Strakov and continued her verbal barrage. “You think Polaris will make you a god. But it’s just a weapon. And weapons break.”

Strakov’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned sharply, motioning for the guards to follow him.

Julie exchanged a quick glance with Ilya as they were hauled forward again. Strakov’s silence spoke volumes — she’d struck a nerve.

The corridor curved ahead, opening into another junction. Strakov paused, muttering something to one of his guards in Russian. The man nodded and moved off down a side passage, leaving them with one fewer soldier to deal with.

Julie’s pulse quickened. It wasn’t much, but it was an opening. If they could find a way to slow Strakov down or separate him from his remaining guard, they might stand a chance.

But as they turned another corner, Julie’s faint hope was dashed. A reinforced bulkhead loomed ahead, its locking mechanism glowing faintly in the dim light. Strakov approached it with a confidence that made her stomach churn.

“Where are you taking us?” she demanded, struggling against the guard’s grip.

Strakov ignored her, pressing his hand against a panel beside the door. The mechanism clicked, and the bulkhead groaned as it slid open, revealing another corridor beyond.

“Keep moving,” he ordered.

Julie hesitated, her mind racing. They were being led deeper into the facility, farther from the power center and her team. If they didn’t act soon, they might never find their way back.

Strakov turned to face her again, his expression cold. “You’ve been asking yourself why I haven’t killed you yet. Let me answer that question clearly: I don’t need to kill you to win. By keeping you alive, I ensure your friends waste time trying to find you, leaving me and my men free to complete our work and leave without interference.”

“And when you’re done?” Julie pressed.

Strakov’s smile returned, razor-sharp. He didn’t answer.

He gestured for the guard to push them forward, his tone growing colder with every word. “You don’t need to worry about that. Your friends may try to find you, of course — if they’re alive. They’ll waste precious time chasing shadows while I finish what I came here to do. And — ” he paused as a massive tremor shook the foundation of the base, everyone reaching for the nearest wall. “ — I do not think that will take long.”

Julie’s heart pounded as the bulkhead sealed shut behind them, the sound echoing through the corridor like a final warning. Strakov’s plan was clear now. He didn’t just want to win — he wanted to make a point.

As the group pressed on, Julie cast one last glance over her shoulder, silently willing Ben to find her. Wherever he was, whatever he was facing, she hoped he was moving fast.

Because time was running out.

CHAPTER 53

BEN

The corridor had become a warzone.

Reggie had sprinted ahead the moment Strakov and his men dragged Julie and Ilya from the power station, his rifle spitting bullets as he chased after them. The guards covering their retreat immediately turned, returning fire and forcing him to dive behind a support beam.

Ben and Tom weren’t far behind, moving quickly to back him up.

Freddie was still back in the power station beneath the control room, trying to work on shutting the place down. There was no way to know if he was succeeding or not, but Ben did hear a few shouts — some from Freddie, some from one of the engineers who had cowered inside when they’d barged in.

Apparently, the engineer was not a fan of Freddie’s actions, but Ben knew they were going to be even less a fan of Freddie’s persuasion.

Next to Ben, Tom was slowing, his gunshot wound dragging him down. His breathing was ragged, and sweat beaded on his pale face.

“Stay back,” Ben ordered, throwing a hand out as Tom nearly stumbled.

Tom shook his head, raising his pistol with shaky determination. “Not a chance.”

There wasn’t time to argue.

Ahead, Reggie ducked as a burst of gunfire stitched across the corridor, hitting the metal beam just inches from his head.

“These guys aren’t letting up!” he barked.

Ben pressed himself against the wall, heart pounding. He glanced around the edge of the corridor and caught sight of the two remaining guards, both repositioning, their rifles trained on Reggie’s position.

Ben had one chance.

He moved fast, stepping out just enough to get a clean shot. His rifle kicked against his shoulder as he fired twice.

The first bullet hit its mark, punching into the shoulder of the nearest guard. The man staggered, but before he could react, Reggie sprang from cover.

With brutal efficiency, Reggie grabbed the man’s rifle, twisted it free, and slammed the butt of it into his face. The soldier crumpled instantly.

But the second guard was already reacting. He swung his weapon toward Ben, but Tom, weak or not, fired first.

The bullet caught the guard in the leg, dropping him to one knee. Ben followed up with a shot to the chest, ending the fight.

Panting, he turned to Reggie. “That it?”

“Not even close,” Reggie muttered, glancing up the hall.

Ben followed his gaze just in time to see two more soldiers round the corner ahead, their rifles raised.

“Shit — ”

The guards opened fire.

Ben barely had time to throw himself behind cover as bullets slammed into the metal walls, sending sparks flying.

Reggie cursed and ducked behind a low control console, while Tom barely managed to drag himself behind a pipe system along the wall.

They were pinned.

The gunfire was relentless, echoing off the metal corridor like a drumbeat of death. Every time Ben tried to move, another burst forced him to stay down.

“We can’t stay here!” Reggie yelled over the noise.

Ben gritted his teeth. He knew that. But any attempt to move right now was suicide.

Then, as if the station itself had reached its breaking point — everything changed.

A deep, groaning sound rolled through the walls, low and ominous, like the metal guts of the facility were crying out.

Then the tremors hit.

The ground lurched violently beneath them, sending Reggie sprawling. Ben barely managed to hold onto the wall, his vision blurring as the entire station shook.

From somewhere deep below, a massive crack echoed through the halls, followed by a high-pitched screech of metal under immense pressure.

Pipes along the ceiling split open, spewing scalding steam and water into the corridor. Sparks erupted from exposed wiring, and a series of emergency lights flickered on, bathing the hall in flashing red.

“Christ,” Reggie gasped, shielding his face from the steam.

Ben turned sharply, trying to regain his bearings, but his stomach dropped as he saw the corridor behind them begin to buckle.

More than just the walls were shaking — something structural was failing.

And fast.

The guards ahead of them had stopped firing. Even they seemed frozen by the sheer violence of the tremors. One of them staggered, looking back in alarm.

A second later, a deafening sound cracked through the air.

Then the wall behind the soldiers exploded inward.

Ben had a fraction of a second to see the flood of water surging forward — before everything went dark.

CHAPTER 54

BEN

The rush of seawater hit like a collapsing dam.

It took Ben’s breath away, especially since everything around was bathed in pitch-black darkness. He couldn’t see directly in front of his face, yet he blinked a few times, trying in vain.

He heard a popping sound, then a gentle hum as light trickled back into the space. It was dimmer, recessed fluorescents on either side of him. The generators.

The station’s main power had been cut, but the backup generators had done their job, kicking in a moment later.

But the damage had been done.

Another burst of cold, briny water surged into the corridor, churning with debris and knocking Ben off his feet. The impact sent him crashing against the bulkhead, his shoulder slamming hard into the reinforced steel. He barely had time to suck in a breath before the wave dragged him further down the hall.

Somewhere in the chaos, Reggie shouted — a garbled noise lost in the flood.

Ben twisted, forcing himself upright, gasping as the icy water reached his chest. It was rising fast.

A massive groan reverberated through the station’s framework, metal twisting and screaming under the pressure. The walls trembled, deep fissures spiderwebbing across the ceiling, spewing even more water into the passage.

Freddie.

Ben’s brain kicked into gear. The only way seawater was flooding in this fast was if someone had sabotaged the power station’s internal infrastructure — the sealed pressure barriers, the emergency pumps.

Freddie had done something.

Good man.

Ben gritted his teeth and fought against the current, gripping onto a protruding pipe for leverage. The water was still rushing in, but he was stable. He turned his head sharply, searching for Reggie.

“Reggie!” he bellowed, his voice nearly swallowed by the roaring flood.

A few feet ahead, Reggie clung to a rail along the wall, coughing and cursing. Tom was barely holding on next to him, his wounded side slowing him down.

Ben’s stomach twisted.

Tom was injured. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up much longer.

Freddie barreled into view, gripping the corner of the bulkhead doorway, his face set in grim determination.

“Freddie, what the hell did you do?” Ben yelled over the rushing water.

Freddie bared his teeth in something halfway between a grin and a grimace. “Pulled the damn failsafes! But this place isn’t just powered down, it’s collapsing!”

Ben didn’t waste time reacting. He already knew what that meant.

They were out of time.

The station wouldn’t hold much longer — not with Polaris running at full capacity and the structural damage Freddie had triggered.

“Then we need to move,” Ben snapped.

Reggie nodded sharply, grabbing onto Tom and looping the injured man’s arm over his shoulder. “Where to?”

Ben didn’t hesitate.

“We find Julie and Ilya, now!”

Freddie turned, raising his rifle. “Then let’s clear the way.”

The four of them surged forward, wading through knee-high water, moving as fast as the unstable ground allowed. The station was crumbling, bulkheads buckling, the lighting flickering wildly as if the entire system was shorting out.

But their problems weren’t just structural.

Shouting from ahead.

Ben snapped his head up just in time to see two more soldiers scrambling around the corner, their boots splashing through the flooded corridor.

One of them opened fire immediately.

Ben barely had time to drop behind the remains of a collapsed console before bullets slammed into the wall behind him, sending chunks of metal spraying into the air.

Freddie returned fire first, his rifle barking sharply in the confined space. The first soldier took a hit to the shoulder, spinning sideways, but the second was already adjusting, firing back.

Ben pivoted, squeezing off three quick shots. His bullets ripped through the soldier’s torso, dropping him instantly.

Reggie, still supporting Tom, raised his own weapon. His single shot punched into the wounded soldier’s chest, finishing him off.

Silence, save for the relentless groan of the station coming apart.

Ben exhaled sharply, stepping over the bodies.

“That’s all of them down here,” Freddie muttered. “For now.”

Ben didn’t feel any relief.

Strakov had Julie and Ilya. If they didn’t reach them now, they wouldn’t reach them at all.

Ben turned to Freddie. “Where’s the nearest exit from here?”

Freddie hesitated, then pointed up the flooded hallway. “I think I remember seeing a stairwell junction about thirty yards ahead, but with the structural — ”

Ben was already moving.

He sprinted ahead, water sloshing around his legs, his boots slipping against the flooded metal floor. The others followed close behind, the entire station shaking apart around them.

By the time they reached the junction, the destruction was even worse.

Pipes had ruptured, spewing scalding steam. The floor panels had buckled, creating uneven gaps and sharp edges. A dead soldier lay sprawled across a console, blood mixing with the rising water.

And at the far end, a massive steel door stood slightly ajar.

Ben’s stomach clenched.

Strakov had come through here.

He turned to the others. “This is it. We find them, we get them, and we get the hell out of here.”

Reggie nodded, gripping his rifle tighter. “No arguments here.”

Freddie chambered another round. “Let’s end this.”

Ben stepped forward, pushing the heavy steel door open —

And ran straight into chaos.

CHAPTER 55

JULIE

The moment the power died, the station seemed to exhale.

The constant hum of Polaris — ever-present, vibrating through the walls and floor — vanished, leaving behind a silence so absolute it felt suffocating. For a split second, the only sounds were their breathing and the faint shifting of steel plates settling under their feet.

Then the emergency lights flickered on, bathing the corridor in a deep red glow. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the grated floor, twisting the outlines of their figures against the walls. The air felt heavier, thick with the stale tang of coolant, oil, and something burned.

Julie kept her stance firm, refusing to let her body betray the relief surging through her.

Ben did it.

She darted a glance toward Ilya, who was already looking back at her. The brief flicker of hope in Ilya’s expression was enough to confirm it — whatever had happened in the power station, it wasn’t minor.

Strakov stiffened. His jaw locked, his fists curling at his sides as he took in the sudden loss of power, the flickering emergency lights. His entire body radiated a sharp, simmering frustration.

Julie could almost hear his thoughts, the quick calculations running through his head. She didn’t know what his original plan had been once Polaris was fully online, but now it was faltering, and she saw — for the first time — uncertainty in his cold, calculating eyes.

Strakov lifted his radio, pressing the receiver to his ear. “Control. Report.”

Nothing.

Not even static.

He tried again, his grip tightening. “Control.”

Silence.

His nostrils flared. The red light above them buzzed, flickering slightly.

Julie stayed quiet, watching him, taking in every shift of his posture.

Strakov exhaled through his nose, then turned to one of the guards. “Check the power station. See if it can be restarted.”

The soldier hesitated for half a second, then nodded, gripping his rifle as he strode off, disappearing down the darkened corridor.

Julie forced herself to keep still. One down.

But the second guard stayed planted at Strakov’s side, his rifle firmly raised, his gaze flicking between Julie and Ilya with rigid focus.

Julie’s pulse hammered against her ribs, but she schooled her face into a mask of calm indifference.

Then Strakov turned to her.

And for the first time since she’d been taken, she saw something different in his expression.

Resignation.

And something uglier — relief.

His lips curled into something resembling a smirk, but it wasn’t amused. It was final.

“You know,” he said, voice low, controlled, “I was ordered to keep you alive.”

Julie’s hands curled into fists. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t speak.

Strakov stepped forward, just slightly, letting the emergency lights cast sharp shadows across his face. “I followed those orders. Even when I knew it was a mistake. Even when I wanted to put a bullet in your husband the moment I saw him.”

Julie’s throat tightened. I won’t give him the reaction he wants.

Strakov tilted his head, his expression almost amused. “And yet, after all that patience, after all those orders I obeyed… he still made his choice.”

Julie’s stomach dropped.

Strakov’s voice darkened. “I kept you alive as bait. That was your only value to me. A leash on your husband.”

Julie felt Ilya shift beside her, just slightly, but Strakov ignored her completely.

He took another slow step forward, his eyes never leaving Julie’s. “Now? The game is over. Your husband has chosen this station over you. And since I no longer have a use for either of you…”

The cold steel of his sidearm slid from its holster.

Julie’s breath caught.

Strakov lifted the pistol casually, as if it was an afterthought, something to be dealt with before moving on to more important matters.

“You and your CSO friend are going to die here.”

You and your CSO friend…

Something about the way he’d said it jogged Julie’s memory. Julie’s pulse roared in her ears. The red emergency lights flickered again.

CSO friend…

All this time, Dr. Ilya Markopov had been a wild card. Sure, this entire research facility was a wild card, but they were at least known unknowns. They were the bad guys. Strakov, his guard, the handful of researchers working here.

But Ilya had been sent to them by Mr. E. From the Faction. She was used to the CSO’s benefactor keeping his cards close to his chest, and she’d learned to trust his judgment, generally. So they hadn’t asked too many questions about her involvement on this mission.

But now it was clear Julie needed to ask more questions. Mr. E surely couldn’t have anticipated that they would need a trained, qualified underwater geologist on this mission, unless he was sure it was supposed to be a simple exploratory expedition. But he’d outfitted them with submersibles. Weaponry. A team of paramilitary men and women.

He knew they’d run into trouble.

That much was fine — again, she’d come to expect it from the mysterious billionaire.

But send a civilian who had nothing to do with the CSO or the military? Her expertise could have been tapped remotely. A brief detailing what she knew of this place would have sufficed.

Ilya Markopov was here for a different reason. Julie didn’t know what that reason was, but she needed to find out. Was she working against the CSO? Against her and Ben? Was she actually playing the role of double-agent?

Ilya exhaled sharply, shifting her stance, but Julie could feel a new tension in the air as she noticed the second guard’s rifle still trained on them.

Strakov’s fingers tightened around his gun, his movements smooth, practiced.

He’s actually going to do it.

Julie’s mind raced. Options. She needed an opening — any opening.

She had seconds.

CHAPTER 56

BEN

The moment Ben stepped through the heavy bulkhead door, he knew things had gone from bad to worse.

The station was failing.

Seawater poured through fresh fractures in the walls, thick streams cascading down like rain. The grated floor was already submerged up to his ankles, and the previously silent Polaris machine had now shifted into something much worse — a deep, unnatural vibration that pulsed through the metal beneath his feet, resonating in his bones.

Something in the distance groaned — a bulkhead failing, steel twisting under pressure.

Ben moved forward, rifle raised, scanning for movement.

Freddie came up beside him, his breath controlled but tense. “This place isn’t gonna hold much longer.”

Reggie and Tom were right behind them, Tom still leaning against Reggie for support. The wounded man was pale, but determined. “Then we better move fast.”

Ben’s gut twisted as he took in their surroundings. The flooding corridor stretched ahead, the water rippling as debris floated lazily along the surface — chunks of ceiling panels, shattered glass, tangled wiring.

And further ahead, leading deeper into the facility, a trail of blood smeared across the walls.

His fingers clenched around the rifle grip. “We need to move.”

Freddie took the lead this time, his massive frame plowing through the knee-deep water as they waded forward.

The further they went, the worse the flooding got. It was an odd realization, to Ben. They were underwater, so the flooding wasn’t necessarily going to happen from the bottom floor up — if the station’s ceiling had been ruptured, it was possible this higher level would flood faster, at least until the water found a way to drain to the lower level.

The walls hissed as moisture seeped into exposed wiring, sparks flickering dangerously in the air.

Tom winced as he brushed against the hot water, but he gritted his teeth and pushed forward.

Ben could feel the tension in every step, the weight of Polaris pressing down on them like a living thing.

They were running out of time.

The corridor bent sharply to the left, leading toward another junction where three different hallways converged, a section of the base Ben hadn’t been in before.

Ben barely had time to register movement before the first soldier stepped into view.

Freddie reacted first.

The moment the enemy turned his head toward them, Freddie surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the man’s midsection. The soldier let out a choked grunt as he was driven backward, his rifle knocked aside as Freddie wrenched it from his grip.

Ben swung his rifle up toward the second soldier just as the man raised his own weapon.

A burst of gunfire tore through the corridor.

The sound was deafening in the confined space, but Ben didn’t flinch. His bullet hit center mass, sending the guard sprawling backward into the water.

Freddie shoved the first soldier face-first into the flooding corridor, his hands tightening around the man’s throat. There was a brief struggle, a splash, and then — nothing.

Ben exhaled sharply, the gunfire still ringing in his ears.

Reggie crouched next to Tom, shielding him in case there were more.

The station shuddered violently, another section of bulkhead groaning under the strain of water pressure.

Ben wiped the spray of seawater from his face. “Keep moving.”

They barely made it ten more steps before another pair of soldiers appeared from a side corridor.

Ben ducked behind an overturned steel cabinet as a burst of automatic fire tore through the air, bullets sparking off the walls.

“Contact!” Reggie barked, dragging Tom down beside him.

Freddie returned fire, his rifle barking three times in quick succession. The first soldier stumbled back, a round catching him in the thigh. The second tried to retreat, but Ben was faster — he squeezed the trigger and put two rounds into the man’s chest.

The soldier collapsed, his weapon clattering onto the flooded floor.

The first soldier, still clutching his leg, attempted to crawl away, but Freddie stalked forward and ended it with a single shot.

Ben took a breath, steadying himself. The firefight had lasted less than ten seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.

Then, in the distance — more voices. More footsteps.

“Shit,” Reggie muttered.

Ben’s gut clenched. They weren’t done yet.

Ben’s pulse pounded as the echoes of gunfire faded into the station’s endless groaning. The entire structure felt alive now — shuddering, shifting, threatening to collapse at any second.

And yet, the worst part wasn’t the station itself.

It was the shouts coming from further down the corridor.

More guards. More coming their way.

Ben wiped the water from his face, glancing at Freddie. “We don’t have time for another fight.”

“Then we’d better not stick around,” Freddie muttered.

Reggie swore under his breath. “What about Julie and Ilya?”

“We keep moving,” Ben snapped. “We find them, get them out of here, and then — ”

A deep, metallic groan cut him off. From somewhere behind them, a section of the station gave way.

The sound was like thunder underwater, a sudden, deafening screech of metal tearing apart under pressure. A moment later, a rush of seawater exploded into the corridor behind them.

Tom barely had time to shout before the wave hit. The water surged forward, crashing into them with brutal force. Ben was swept off his feet, thrown backward into the submerged floor. Cold filled his lungs, stealing his breath as he tumbled blindly through the current.

His shoulder slammed against a wall. He twisted, arms scrambling for something to grab onto —

His fingers caught the edge of a doorframe.

Ben clenched his jaw and yanked himself forward, planting his boots against the wall and pushing up.

The flood wasn’t deep yet — waist-high now, but rising fast.

Freddie was already up, coughing out water as he grabbed Reggie’s jacket, hauling him upright. Tom had managed to brace himself against a set of pipes.

“Ben!” Freddie shouted.

Ben turned just in time to see three figures appear down the hall. More soldiers. And these guys were ready.

The guards opened fire.

Ben dove behind a fallen console, water splashing up around him as bullets tore through the corridor.

Freddie cursed, dragging Reggie down behind cover. “This is getting old!”

Ben gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. They couldn’t win this fight if they stayed put.

They had to move.

The seawater was still rising, sloshing over debris, licking at the bodies of the soldiers they’d already taken down. If they waited much longer, the whole corridor would become impassable.

Ben turned to Freddie. “Flank left.”

Freddie nodded without hesitation.

Ben signaled to Reggie. “Cover us.”

Reggie pulled his rifle up, leaning just enough to return fire. The sharp crack-crack of his shots filled the air, forcing the soldiers to duck.

That was their opening.

Freddie surged left, moving through the knee-high water like it was nothing. Ben rushed forward, pushing against the current as he closed the distance between him and the enemy. One of the soldiers turned toward him — too late.

Ben fired twice, both rounds striking center mass. The soldier crumpled.

Freddie reached the second before he could react, grabbing the man by the front of his vest and slamming his head into the bulkhead. A sickening crack echoed through the hall, and the man slid motionless into the water.

Ben swung his rifle up toward the last soldier, but the man was already retreating.

He fired one last shot at them before turning, vanishing into the flooded corridor beyond.

Ben didn’t chase. They had bigger problems right now.

The station was groaning again, and this time, Ben could hear a deep, rumbling roar beneath them. Something below them — maybe another section of the power station, maybe Polaris itself — was coming apart.

He turned to Freddie. “We need to go. Now.”

Freddie didn’t argue.

They pulled Tom back to his feet, supporting his weight between them. Reggie checked his rifle, keeping an eye on the passage ahead.

Ben forced his body into motion, wading through the rising flood.

They needed to find Julie and Ilya.

And fast.

CHAPTER 57

JULIE

The muzzle of Strakov’s sidearm gleamed under the dim red emergency lights, unwavering in his grip.

Julie’s breath shallowed. The corridor felt smaller now, the stale air pressing in from all sides. The guard beside Strakov adjusted his rifle, keeping it level with them both, his stance rigid but poised. No hesitation. No mercy.

Ilya shifted slightly at her side, but Julie didn’t dare glance at her.

Think.

Strakov’s smirk was faint, but it deepened as he took another deliberate step forward, tilting his head like a man studying a problem he’d already solved.

“I am no longer playing lapdog,” he said. “No longer abiding by the order of a man I have never spoken with face-to-face.”

Julie’s jaw tightened.

“If my men return and I find out your team has somehow irreparably damaged Polaris, then only God himself can save you.” He checked his watch. “It won’t be long. Perhaps half a minute until he returns?”

The guard next to him stared blankly ahead, his eyes focused on his charge — Ilya and Julie.

Julie’s stomach twisted.

This wasn’t a bluff.

The shift in his demeanor was unmistakable — controlled, calculating, but no longer restrained. She’d seen men like him before, killers who held their violence in check only when it served their purpose.

Now, there was nothing left to hold him back.

Strakov thumbed the hammer back on his pistol.

Julie tensed.

And then Ilya spoke.

“You were friends with my father. I beg you, remember that.”

The words came quiet, but they cut through the air like a blade.

Strakov’s expression barely flickered, but Julie caught it — the briefest hesitation, a ghost of something unreadable flashing through his cold blue eyes.

Julie turned slightly, just enough to see Ilya’s face. She was staring at Strakov, her expression a careful mask. But there was something else in her gaze. Something Julie had never seen before.

Recognition.

Strakov’s smirk faded. He exhaled through his nose, but the gun stayed raised. “Little Ilya?”

She nodded.

“Pyotr Markopov was a great man.”

Was.

Julie saw Ilya’s jaw tighten, but she didn’t look away from Strakov.

“And you knew him before the collapse,” Ilya continued, her voice steady. “Before all of this.” She gestured faintly to the steel walls around them, to the dead station failing around them. “You were an uncle to me. Family.”

Strakov didn’t speak immediately. His gaze flicked to the guard beside him, then back to Ilya.

Julie’s mind whirled. This wasn’t just recognition. This wasn’t just some passing acquaintance from decades ago.

Ilya took a slow breath, and when she spoke again, the steel in her voice was unmistakable. “You used to visit our home,” she said. “When I was a child.”

Strakov’s fingers twitched.

Julie felt a pulse of cold adrenaline shoot through her veins. That had hit something. For the first time since she’d met him, Strakov seemed… human.

The cold confidence in his posture wavered, if only for a fraction of a second.

But it was enough.

“You were my father’s closest friend,” Ilya pressed. “Until you weren’t.”

Strakov’s jaw tightened. “You were nine the last time I saw you. I recognize the little girl, even now.”

Julie’s heart pounded.

Ilya swallowed. “You and my father built this place together, or what led to it. You believed in the same vision. And then he walked away. And you didn’t.”

Strakov’s grip on the gun didn’t falter, but his expression darkened.

“He abandoned the cause.”

“He abandoned you,” Ilya corrected.

Silence.

Julie’s pulse thundered in her ears.

Strakov inhaled slowly, the emergency lights casting deep shadows across his face. “Pyotr chose a different path,” he said finally. “A path that led him to turn his back on what we built, on everything we fought for. He was weak.”

Ilya shook her head. “No. He saw the truth.”

Strakov’s lips pressed into a thin line. His finger tapped the side of his pistol once, but he still hadn’t pulled the trigger.

Julie’s mind raced. This wasn’t just an argument — this was a wedge. A crack in his certainty.

Ilya had been sent here by the Faction, but not just to observe. Not just as an expert.

She had come for Strakov.

To bring him back.

And now, in the flickering red light, Julie could see the real question in Ilya’s eyes.

Had she already failed?

Julie didn’t know how deep Strakov’s loyalty to the Faction went, but she knew this — his allegiance to Russia and the Faction were not necessarily the same thing. The old Soviet dogma was in his bones, but whatever the Faction had become, it wasn’t the Soviet Union.

Maybe Strakov knew that. Maybe he didn’t.

But Ilya had been sent here to find out.

Strakov’s gaze flicked between them both, the gears in his mind turning.

And then, as quickly as the hesitation had appeared, it was gone.

Strakov inhaled sharply through his nose. His grip on the pistol tightened once more, and his smirk returned, sharper now.

“This is the difference between us, Ilya,” he said, voice colder than before. “You think words can change a man. But words will not stop what’s coming. It is inevitable. Even without Polaris, we will rise against the monster that Western civilization has become.”

Ilya’s shoulders stiffened.

Julie saw it before Strakov even spoke.

He was done listening.

“I gave you a chance,” he said.

He turned his pistol toward Ilya.

Julie moved without thinking.

She lunged, grabbing Strakov’s wrist with both hands, twisting sharply. The gun fired, a deafening crack that sent a shockwave through the corridor. The bullet hit the ceiling, sending a spray of sparks raining down.

Ilya staggered back. Her mouth fell open. She hadn’t expected him to actually fire — and certainly not at her.

Julie knew that particular betrayal was worse even than death itself.

The guard beside Strakov barked a command in Russian, yanking his rifle up, but Julie was already moving, driving her knee into Strakov’s stomach.

Strakov grunted, stumbling half a step, but he was fast — too fast. His arm twisted, wrenching free from Julie’s grip.

Then the butt of his pistol smashed into her ribs. Pain exploded through her side, and she gasped, staggering.

Strakov shoved her backward. She hit the wall hard, the impact rattling her bones.

Ilya dove for the gun Strakov had dropped, but the guard intercepted her, grabbing her by the collar and yanking her backward. Strakov straightened, rolling his shoulder, his lip curling.

Julie sucked in a breath, pushing past the pain. She tensed, ready to lunge again —

But Strakov didn’t go for the gun.

He glanced down the hall, his expression darkening.

Footsteps. Running.

Gunfire, distant but closing in.

Strakov exhaled sharply, glancing at the guard. “We’re leaving.”

The soldier nodded, moving toward Ilya. Strakov punched out with his left hand, hitting Julie and pushing her back and into Ilya. Both women fell in a heap on the station floor.

“Leave them here.”

The guard looked confused, glancing up at his boss.

“Dead. Let her husband find their bodies.”

The guard suddenly understood, and raised his rifle once more, now aiming down at the women struggling to gain purchase on the slippery, wet floor.

The bulkhead hissed open behind him, and Julie watched as Strakov turned and began walking through.

The guard’s finger curled around the trigger, and Julie started to squeeze her eyes shut.

And then the guard’s head exploded.

CHAPTER 58

BEN

Reggie lowered his rifle, chest rising and falling from the exertion. The last of Strakov’s guards lay dead on the cold steel floor, blood pooling around the cracks in the grated walkway. The scent of burnt gunpowder lingered in the air, mixing with the ever-present stench of oil and saltwater.

Ben barely took a moment to breathe. His head snapped up, scanning the corridor beyond the bodies. Strakov was gone.

“Where the hell did he go?” Reggie muttered, voice thick with adrenaline.

Julie pulled away from Ilya and shoved herself up against the nearest wall, pressing a hand to her ribs. “He ran. Down that way.” She jerked her chin toward the bulkhead at the far end of the passage. “Heading for the sub.”

Ben exchanged a look with Freddie. “Of course he is.”

Freddie wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “Well, if we want a ride home, we better get there first.”

Julie looked around sharply. “Where’s Tom?”

Freddie gestured back down the hallway. “Still breathing. I had to leave him for a second, but he’s coming.”

“I can move,” Tom’s voice cut in, strained but determined. He was limping toward them, clutching his side, his shirt dark with blood.

Julie’s jaw tightened. “Can you move fast?”

“No,” Tom admitted, “but unless you suddenly know how to pilot a Russian attack sub, you don’t have another option.”

Freddie let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, I figured Strakov won’t be offering us a lift.”

Ben barely heard them. His mind was already racing ahead. Strakov had a head start, and for the first time since this mission had gone sideways, the Russian had a clear advantage. He knew the facility inside and out, and now that the power was down, the playing field wasn’t as even as Ben would have liked.

They had to move — now.

He turned to the bulkhead ahead, gripping his rifle. “We need to go. If Strakov gets that sub running, he’s gone, and we’re dead.”

Freddie stepped forward, pressed the button to open the bulkhead. The gears groaned as the heavy door slid open.

Then he hesitated.

“Problem?” Reggie asked.

Freddie glanced at the mechanism, brow furrowing. “Power’s out. These doors? Manual now.”

Ben frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning someone has to hold the button to keep ‘em open.” Freddie shrugged. “For now, whoever holds it can still slip through before it shuts. But later?” His expression darkened. “Might not be so easy.”

Ben clenched his jaw.

Julie exhaled sharply. “We’ll deal with that when we get to it. Move.”

She and Tom slipped through first, followed by Ilya. Reggie and Ben followed close behind, then Freddie ducked through last, releasing the button just before the bulkhead hissed shut.

The hallway ahead was longer than Ben would have liked, stretching into dim emergency lighting. The station’s backup power was barely holding, casting eerie red glows against the walls. The floor was damp, slick from condensation and seawater that had begun seeping through cracks in the infrastructure.

The whole place was coming apart.

Ben didn’t like the thought of what would happen if they took too long.

Tom staggered slightly, catching himself on the wall. Julie immediately moved to his side, keeping his weight balanced.

“How much further?” Ben asked, eyes darting to Ilya.

She hesitated for half a second, then turned down the next corridor. “This way.”

Ben moved quickly through the dim corridor, his boots scuffing against the slick metal floor. The emergency lighting cast long, wavering shadows against the walls, and every few steps, the entire structure groaned around them, a deep, unsettling sound that made the back of his neck prickle. The place felt like it was dying, like Polaris itself was trying to claw its way free from the seabed before it collapsed under its own weight.

Ilya kept close, her head down, while Reggie and Freddie covered their rear, weapons ready.

They were running out of time.

But before they reached Strakov, before they even saw the sub, there was something that needed to be said.

Julie was the first to break the silence.

“You should know something,” she said, her voice low and tense.

Ben flicked his gaze toward her but didn’t slow down. “Now’s really not the best time for surprises.”

Julie pressed forward. “Ilya knew Strakov before this mission.”

Ben stopped.

The others nearly ran into him before halting, confusion flashing across their faces.

Ben turned sharply, leveling Ilya with a look that cut through the dim lighting. “Is that true?”

Ilya hesitated for a fraction of a second — just long enough for Ben to know that she had been holding onto this truth for a while.

Then, finally, she nodded.

Ben exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. “And you didn’t think that was something we should know?”

Ilya’s expression hardened. “I knew you’d react like this.”

Ben let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, so you kept it from us for our own good?”

Ilya lifted her chin, her jaw tight. “If I had told you from the start, you wouldn’t have trusted me. And you needed to.”

Ben took a step toward her, his voice lowering. “And now?”

Ilya didn’t waver. “Now you’re questioning me more than ever.”

“Damn right we are,” Reggie muttered, shifting his grip on his rifle.

Julie held up a hand before things could escalate. “Enough. Right now, it doesn’t matter what she knew before this. What matters is what she knows now.”

Ben clenched his jaw but didn’t push further. He didn’t trust Ilya, but Julie was right — this wasn’t the time for a fight.

Julie turned back to Ilya. “So tell us — where is Strakov going? And do we actually have a chance of getting to that sub before he does?”

Ilya nodded, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. “He’s running out of options, too. He thinks he’s got a head start, but the base is in worse shape than he anticipated. If the systems are failing, so is the docking bay. That sub is his only way out.”

Freddie grunted. “Ours, too. Unless any of you can hold your breath for a few thousand feet.”

Ben shook his head, forcing his frustration down. “Then we pick up the pace. We can’t let him leave us down here to die.”

They started moving again, their pace quicker this time. The corridors were beginning to slope downward — toward the lower docking bay. The air grew colder, and condensation clung to the walls in thick beads.

Then, faintly, through the hum of the emergency generators, a new sound reached them.

A deep, mechanical whine.

Ben’s stomach dropped.

Freddie stiffened beside him. “That’s an engine.”

Reggie swore. “He’s starting the damn sub.”

They were out of time.

CHAPTER 59

BEN

Ben’s pulse quickened as they hurried down the corridor, the hum of machinery from the sub bay growing steadily louder. The emergency lights flickered above, casting deep shadows across the walls and floor. Each step seemed heavier, the air thicker as if the base itself was closing in on them.

“How long do we have?” Julie asked, her voice low but urgent.

“Not long,” Ilya muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. “If Strakov’s powering up the sub, he’ll need only minutes to launch. If we don’t get there before he locks the hatch, there’s no getting him out.”

Freddie glanced back over his shoulder, his steps light but purposeful. “We’re not letting that bastard leave. We may have shut Polaris down, but if he’s out there, he’ll do whatever he can to come back and get it working again.”

Reggie nodded. “And who knows? Maybe he’s got some sort of remote switch, and can activate it from within the sub once he’s safely away.”

“True,” Freddie said. “Now that you say it, that’s exactly how I’d design it. I wouldn’t want to die here for my cause unless I really, really had to. I’d bet that’s exactly his plan — get to the sub, get away, then activate the Polaris module remotely.”

“Didn’t you shut it down?” Ben asked.

Freddie shook his head. “I don’t really know what I did, but there was a throttle thing, like an old ship’s power control. I pushed it all the way forward. Seemed to throw everything off-balance, so I assumed I overloaded it. But that doesn’t mean Strakov couldn’t just undo that from within the sub, as long as there’s at least a little power left here.”

Ben was listening, but not really paying attention. He slowed slightly to fall in step with Julie, keeping his eyes fixed on the path ahead. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be better once we stop him,” Julie said, the corner of her mouth twitching into a fleeting smile. “But let’s get one thing straight — if this comes down to shutting him down permanently, we do it. No hesitation.”

Ben nodded. “Agreed.”

Ilya, walking just ahead of them, glanced back at the exchange. Her face was hard to read — part regret, part determination. She had kept pace with them without complaint, but there was something else in her eyes, something that hadn’t been there before Strakov’s name had come up.

“You said nothing,” Ben finally said, breaking the tense silence. His voice was calm, but it carried a sharp edge. “You knew who he was this whole time, and you didn’t say a word.”

Ilya’s shoulders stiffened, but her voice was resigned. “I did not think it would help.”

“Help?” Ben’s voice rose slightly, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “He’s the reason we’re here. He’s the reason Voss and Carter are gone. And you decided it wasn’t important to mention that you knew him — personally?”

Julie stepped between them, raising a hand toward Ben before he could press further. “Let her explain.”

Ilya stopped walking and turned, her eyes locking with Ben’s. “I didn’t say anything because I knew you wouldn’t trust me. You barely know me as it is, and telling you I had a connection to Strakov? It would’ve made things worse.”

“Made things worse?” Ben shot back, his voice low and dangerous. “You mean worse than getting ambushed and nearly killed in a crumbling Soviet bunker while trying to stop him?”

Julie stepped closer, her voice calm but firm. “Enough. We don’t have time for this right now. Ilya — just tell us everything we need to know.”

Ilya exhaled, clearly weighing how much she was willing to reveal. “You know part of it already. Strakov wasn’t just some random commander. He and my father — Pyotr Markopov — were like brothers back in the 1980s. They worked together on early versions of what became Polaris.”

Ben’s breath caught. “Wait… your father was part of Polaris? I didn’t know that part.”

“Yes, early on,” Ilya said quietly. “He was one of its lead scientists. When the Soviet Union collapsed, he defected. He wanted nothing to do with the project anymore. He thought it was too dangerous, too unstable. But Strakov… he never let go. My father always warned me about him — said Strakov believed in the old Soviet dream more than anyone, even after it was gone.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ben pressed, his tone still sharp but tempered with curiosity. “If we’d known this earlier — ”

“Because I didn’t know how far Strakov had fallen,” Ilya cut him off. “Not until I saw him here. When we were kids, he was kind to me. Protective. He treated me like his own daughter. But now?” Her voice cracked slightly, and she steadied herself. “Now, he’s a fanatic. He’s not just clinging to the past — he’s willing to burn the world down to rebuild it in his image.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair, digesting this new information. “And the Faction? Why did they send you?”

Ilya’s eyes flicked to the floor for a second before meeting his gaze again. “It was someone who said he was your benefactor — Mr. E. You know this much already. But he wanted me to stop Strakov. Or… to bring him back into the fold if I could. They believed I might be able to reach him, to reason with him.”

“They?”

Ilya paused. “I don’t know if Mr. E was working with someone else at the Faction, or against them, ultimately, but Mr. E said to find Director K if possible. Someone who might be giving Strakov orders.”

“If this Director K person is here, he’s been hiding well.”

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t think he is. I believe Director K is remote, possibly giving Strakov Faction instructions — or what Strakov thinks are Faction instructions. Either way, I was sent to find Director K and to stop Strakov. They thought I could get through to him.”

“And do you still believe that?” Julie asked.

Ilya hesitated, then shook her head. “No. Not anymore. Whatever part of him I knew is gone. He’s too far down this path now.”

Freddie cleared his throat, his gaze bouncing between them. “We can psychoanalyze the guy later. Right now, we need to focus on what’s next. If Strakov’s got the sub running, we’ll be out of time in minutes.”

Julie nodded, her expression hardening. “Then we stop him — however we have to.”

They set off again, their pace quickening as they moved through the labyrinth of corridors. The hum from the sub bay grew louder with every step, a steady thrum that vibrated through the steel walls.

Ben kept his thoughts focused, pushing aside his frustration with Ilya. The truth was, they needed her now more than ever. Whatever her past with Strakov, she had invaluable knowledge about the station and the man they were up against.

But there was no denying the timing was bad — catastrophically bad. If Strakov launched in the sub and reactivated remotely, Polaris would become unstoppable. It appeared Freddie had done something to the system, but if there was any way Strakov might be able to undo that…

They rounded a final corner, and the floor sloped slightly downward. The air grew warmer, tinged with the acrid smell of heated metal and fuel.

Julie slowed, motioning for the others to stop. “We’re close.”

Ahead, the hallway opened into a vast chamber. The dim emergency lighting flickered overhead, casting shadows that danced across the walls. Beyond the open blast doors at the end of the corridor, the sub bay loomed — its sleek, black hull already humming with power.

Ben could hear it clearly now: the turbines spooling up, the deep mechanical growl of systems coming online.

“Shit,” Tom muttered. “He really is about to leave.”

Ben’s pulse spiked. They were running out of time.

“How much time do we have?” Julie whispered.

“Minutes, maybe less,” Ilya answered grimly. “Once he’s sealed inside and the sub’s reactor is fully powered, there’s nothing we can do.”

Ben clenched his fists. “Then we stop him before that happens.”

Freddie moved toward the blast door, eyeing the massive submarine just beyond it. “We’ll have to hit him hard and fast. Once he sees us, he’ll — ”

A sudden, sharp whine filled the air as the sub’s interior lights flicked on. The turbines roared louder, their pitch rising steadily.

“He’s starting the pre-launch sequence,” Tom said, his voice urgent. “We need to get there now.”

Ben nodded, his jaw set. “Freddie and I were here earlier, and we started thinking through barricading the place, but we’re too late for that now. We’ll split up. Julie and Fredie will head for the control panel to cut off the launch sequence, or figure something out. Tom, Ilya — cover the sub. If you get a clear shot at Strakov, take it.”

Freddie gave a tight nod. “Got it.”

Ilya hesitated, her eyes flicking to the sub. “Be careful. Strakov won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Ben offered a faint smile, though there was no humor in it. “The feeling’s mutual.”

They surged forward as a group, the floor vibrating beneath their feet. The hallway widened into the sub bay, and the full scale of the vessel hit Ben like a punch to the gut. He’d seen it before, but now that it was powered up and steaming in preparation for its impending swim, it seemed larger than life.

Its matte-black hull gleamed under the harsh lights, its surface bristling with antennae and sensor arrays. Steam hissed from vents along its sides, and the gangway leading to its hatch was already extended.

Ben caught a glimpse of movement near the sub’s open hatch — Strakov, standing at the top of the gangway. He disappeared inside.

“Go!” Ben shouted.

Julie and Freddie bolted for the control panel on the far side of the room, her feet pounding against the metal floor. Ben was right behind her, his eyes locked on the glowing interface ahead.

Tom, holding his side, and Ilya took up positions behind a stack of crates, their weapons raised and ready.

CHAPTER 60

STRAKOV

Strakov’s grip tightened around the pistol as he stood at the submarine’s command console, his mind racing. He could feel the vibrations of the reactor at full power beneath his feet, an arrhythmic hum that matched the pulsing of his thoughts. But he didn’t need his earned intuition from the humming sound to know that the base was falling apart. The leaks, flooding, and constant groaning of metal bent by concrete and thousands of tons of water made that obvious.

Whatever that CSO idiot had done in the power module was going to be the undoing of the base.

But Polaris was more than just a power plant, and all it needed to operate was full power and a signal to begin.

The power might be destroying the station, but as long as it maintained a radio connection to this sub, he could get far enough away and remotely activate the reason for the power module.

He could still activate Polaris.

He could still win.

The Faction would obviously have questions. They would want a post-mortem, and he’d receive a tongue-lashing from Director K.

But the Faction was just a means to an end. An end that was very close.

He focused once more on the controls in front of him. He could pilot the sub alone — he’d piloted a similar model during trial runs decades ago. Back then, it had been designed for an elite Soviet crew, not for a single man to command. Still, he knew every system, every quirk of its design, because he’d helped oversee its construction. If there was one person who could take it out of here solo, it was him.

But it wouldn’t be easy. The sub was an unwieldy beast, built for strength and stealth, not for elegant single-person operation. Maneuvering it through tight spaces and coordinating the ballast systems without help would be challenging at best, and catastrophic at worst.

No choice.

The alternative was to stay and die in this collapsing station.

He tried the override from the console once more, fingers tapping with practiced efficiency. Access Denied. Manual Lock Engaged. The same message flashed on the screen, taunting him with its stark simplicity. His eyes flicked to the monitor again, catching a clearer view of Freddie Rollins, standing at he control module outside the sub, his hands gripping the lever of the manual override.

“Of course,” Strakov muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “They always make it harder than it needs to be.”

He pulled the pistol from its holster, weighing it in his hand for a moment. Every instinct told him to stay inside the sub and find another way — but time was slipping through his fingers like sand, and he knew there was no other way. The manual override was exactly that. If someone was still in the sub bay holding the override switch, the sub bay doors would not open, period.

Damn safety protocols.

He couldn’t afford delays. Not now.

He stepped away from the console in the sub, his boots clanging against the metal floor of the submarine as he moved toward the hatch. He paused for a heartbeat, his eyes lingering on the command station. If this went wrong — if they overwhelmed him — he wouldn’t make it back to the sub.

Then again, what other option do I have?

Strakov climbed up through the hatch, emerging into the sub bay. The air was heavy with the scent of oil and salt water, thick vapor rose from leaking pipes. The red emergency lights flickered overhead, casting deep shadows across the walls.

He scanned the room. His cold, analytical mind sharpened, taking everything in at once. Freddie was still at the manual override, his back turned, oblivious to the danger. Harvey Bennett stood not far away, his rifle raised, scanning the area for movement. The man named Reggie and Harvey’s wife, Julie, were crouched near a stack of steel crates, their heads low, whispering urgently. He couldn’t see the injured man from here, but he could see the woman standing behind a tower of crates.

Ilya.

His gaze froze on her for a moment, something flickering in the depths of his expression. She stood slightly apart from the others, her face turned toward him as though sensing his presence even before she saw him.

Strakov forced the thought aside. No distractions. Not now.

He moved quickly and silently, his footsteps swallowed by the ambient noise of the bay. The bulkhead door blocking the seawater from rushing in and flooding the chamber remained closed, sealed tight because of the manual lock Freddie held down. Strakov could almost hear the sub’s reactor behind him, its power building, desperate to be unleashed.

His patience snapped.

He raised the pistol, took a step forward, and fired.

The first shot cracked through the air, striking the metal pillar beside Freddie. Sparks exploded in a shower of light as the bullet ricocheted harmlessly away.

Freddie spun around, his eyes wide, but Strakov didn’t give him a chance to react.

“You should have stayed down,” Strakov said coldly, advancing on him. He fired again.

Freddie dove to the ground just in time, rolling behind the manual override station for cover. His heavy frame slammed into the control, causing it to shift, but he held on, gritting his teeth as he forced the lever back into position. The manual override would stay down until Strakov returned to the sub and reactivated the switch from his side, unless someone once again held the manual switch down out here.

He wasn’t going to let that happen.

Strakov kept firing, advancing, each shot ringing out in sharp bursts that echoed through the sub bay.

Bennett shouted something — orders, maybe — but Strakov didn’t care. He could see it on their faces: they hadn’t expected him to leave the safety of the sub. They’d underestimated him, thought him too careful, too reliant on others.

They had forgotten who they were dealing with.

And, hopefully, they had forgotten that there were still more of his men in the base, descending toward this chamber to support Strakov’s efforts.

That was his second priority — keep the CSO riveted to himself. All enemy eyes on him, and if there were still guards rushing toward the sub bay, either in hopes of being extracted with their commander or because they wanted to protect their leader, he hoped they would be the element of surprise that would turn the tide in this one-on-many battle.

Strakov’s lip curled into a sneer as he closed the distance toward Freddie, his boots splashing through puddles of seawater on the grated floor. The station groaned around them, another tremor rattling the walls. He needed to end this quickly, but he had no extra magazine. It was the remaining twelve rounds, and he’d be done.

A sudden movement caught his eye — Bennett, circling toward him, the rifle he’d stolen from one of Strakov’s own downed soldiers raised. Strakov ducked just as the rifle barked, the shot glancing off the sub’s hull and hitting the wall behind it. His heartbeat quickened, but he didn’t slow.

“Give it up, Strakov!” Ben’s voice echoed across the bay, his tone sharp, commanding. “This isn’t going to end the way you want.”

Strakov laughed — a harsh, humorless sound. “Oh, I disagree,” he called back, his voice steady despite the chaos. “This will end exactly the way I want. With me gone and you drowning in my wake.”

He turned back toward Freddie, the man who had been holding the manual override, lifting the pistol again. “Say goodbye — ”

Another tremor hit, harder this time. The entire sub bay shuddered, a loud crack splitting the air as a pipe burst overhead, releasing a spray of scalding steam. Strakov recoiled, throwing an arm over his face as the hot vapor hissed and filled the air.

Freddie seized the opportunity. He pushed off from the control station, sprinting for cover behind a stack of crates.

Ben fired again, forcing Strakov to retreat, his shots driving him back toward the submarine.

“You can’t win this, Strakov,” Ben shouted. “You’re out of time!”

Strakov narrowed his eyes, backing toward the sub’s open hatch. “Time is something you never had,” he snarled. “And neither do your friends.”

With that, he turned and climbed back into the sub, slamming the hatch shut behind him. The seals locked into place with a hiss, cutting off the sounds of gunfire and shouting from outside. He needed to get the bay door opened before Freddie got back to the manual override switch — or one of the other CSO team members realized what Freddie had been doing.

Back at the command console, Strakov’s fingers flew over the controls. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to chase me,” he muttered, a cold smile curling his lips.

He engaged the submarine’s thrusters to standby mode, feeling the vibrations surge beneath him like a slumbering beast ready to awaken. The monitor showed the sub’s systems primed, waiting for the bay door to open and release him into the dark embrace of the ocean. His pulse was steady, his mind calm. He’d made it out of worse situations before, and he’d make it out of this one too.

They think they can trap me here. Fools.

But it wasn’t anger driving him — it was calculation. He could still win, provided he kept his wits about him and stayed a step ahead. His fingers danced across the console again, preparing to activate the bay door behind him from within the submarine.

A voice in the back of his mind told him to be careful — Bennett and the remainder of his team would not simply let him go. They were hunting him now, but this wasn’t their fight. They were amateurs playing a professional’s game.

But amateurs with nothing to lose are the most dangerous kind.

Strakov leaned back in the chair, the dim glow of the submarine’s console casting deep shadows across his face. His mind shifted gears, analyzing their movements, their options.

He had to find a way to keep them off balance — to turn this final confrontation into his victory.

His eyes flicked to the external monitor again, watching the chaos unfold in the bay. Freddie had regrouped with Ben and the others, their faces grim with determination. Perhaps they don’t understand how the manual override works? he thought.

He flicked through dialog windows, wishing the software designers had simply put an Open Bay Doors button right on the home screen. Unfortunately, because he’d left the sub and had to start over, it was going to take another ten seconds or so to get the bay door switch activated.

He watched one of the monitors as he worked. Juliette Bennett was saying something — directing them, probably. Smart, capable, and resourceful. He’d underestimated them once, and that mistake had nearly cost him everything.

Not this time.

It was time to finish what he had started.

CHAPTER 61

STRAKOV

Ten seconds. That was all Strakov needed. Ten seconds for the override system to reset, and he could open the bay door fully.

He just had to survive that long, and hope the CSO team didn’t start firing on the sub itself. It was Russian-built, of course, so he was sure it could withstand a few glancing shots. But any sustained fire would cause a rupture that would render the underwater craft completely useless.

However, the CSO group would also know that the sub was their only way out of here, as well. They wanted Strakov, but they wouldn’t risk damaging their ride out.

The CSO group had proven to be quite persistent, and far more resourceful than he’d given them credit for. That much was obvious now. But even the most relentless opponents could be worn down, outmaneuvered, and left in the dust — if you knew where to hit them.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing down at the pistol in his hand. The grip felt heavier than it should have, like it was absorbing the weight of everything that had led him to this moment. He was so close. Closer than he had ever been.

But his thoughts kept circling back to Ilya, against his desperate attempts to ignore those deeply repressed feelings. Memories from another time, when she was just a child. When her father was his closest and most trusted friend.

When he was a different man.

Ilya.

His grip on the gun tightened involuntarily at the thought of her name. His late friend Pyotr’s daughter — the girl he had once considered family.

He hadn’t seen her since she was a child, back when the world still felt predictable, back when the Soviet Union was a monolith of power and certainty. Strakov had been a younger man then, filled with ambition, blind to the collapse that was waiting just around the corner. Pyotr had been one of the brightest minds he’d ever worked with, a man whose idealism had always burned too brightly. He’d loved his country, his work, and his daughter with equal passion.

And then it had all fallen apart.

Strakov had tried to hold it together after the Union crumbled, but Pyotr had gone another way — taking Ilya with him into a quieter life, leaving the wreckage of the old world behind. They hadn’t spoken since. Strakov had always imagined that Ilya would follow her father’s path, that she would live an academic life far removed from these shadows of power and politics.

Yet here she was. Standing in his way.

Why?

He hadn’t been able to fully process it earlier, but now the question gnawed at him. Did she think she could stop him? Bring him back into the fold of the Faction like a lost prodigal son?

Was the Faction somehow behind this, too?

Surely they wouldn’t pit her against him. Surely they weren’t so hellbent on finishing whatever machinations drove them that they would send her to try to… persuade him to stop?

No, he decided. She is just naive, like her father.

He had felt a pang when he saw her — something long-buried, sharp and painful. For a split second, he had even hesitated. But he had buried that impulse quickly, telling himself it didn’t matter. She had chosen her side.

Just like I chose mine.

He exhaled slowly, glancing at the bay door controls inside the sub’s cockpit. The digital display blinked at him. “Override Locked.”

Five more seconds.

It was almost time. Once the system reset, he would be free. No more ghosts from the past. No more compromises.

He stared at the red glow of the emergency lights washing over the bay outside. His eyes flicked to the external monitor, scanning the space.

Clear.

He could still make it. He could still leave everything behind. Ilya, Bennett, his ragtag CSO team — let them sink with the station. Polaris would survive. He would survive.

The override lock clicked off.

Strakov allowed himself a brief smile, leaning forward while pressing the OPEN BAY DOOR switch.

Nothing happened.

His smile faded. He pressed the switch again, harder this time. Still nothing.

His eyes snapped to the external monitor. The bulkhead door stood stubbornly shut.

Then he saw it.

Standing in front of the override switch, directly beneath the bay camera, was Harvey Bennett. His eyes locked on the camera, his face set in grim determination. His hand gripped the manual override lever, holding it firmly in place.

Strakov stared at him for a moment, a slow boil of anger rising in his chest. Of course. The man was nothing if not persistent. And, apparently, whip-smart.

Strakov leaned closer to the monitor, his lips curling into a sneer. “You just can’t let go, can you?” he muttered under his breath.

Harvey Bennett had no doubt seen exactly what Freddie Rollins had done, understood, and rather than act immediately, let Strakov think he was in the clear. Then, at just the right moment — likely indicated by a matching countdown timer on the little control box in the bay — Harvey had made his move.

It was just at the correct time — right when Strakov believed he had won.

No.

Right when Strakov believed he had won, and had stopped being vigilant.

He tensed. He was biding his time. Why?

Bennett was obviously working toward some goal beyond just simply not letting Strakov open the bay doors. He had calculated this move, knowing that Strakov would be focused on…

The countdown.

It was a disctraction.

The thought barely had time to register before something shifted behind him — a faint noise, the slightest disturbance in the still air of the sub’s cabin. Strakov froze, every nerve in his body going taut.

He wasn’t alone.

He turned slowly, his finger tightening around the trigger of his pistol, keeping it hidden. The dim emergency lights from the bay barely illuminated the interior of the sub, casting long shadows across the cramped space.

Then he saw him.

Reggie, standing near the entrance to the cabin, a stolen rifle slung across his shoulder, his face calm, almost amused. He raised a pistol — also stolen off one of Strakov’s men — and pointed it directly at his head.

“Going somewhere?” Reggie asked, his voice low and steady.

Strakov’s pulse quickened, but he kept his expression neutral. Never show weakness.

“You’re too late,” Strakov said, his voice cool despite the tension crackling in the air. “You think you’ve stopped me? Polaris is already in motion. You’ve only delayed the inevitable.”

Reggie didn’t move, didn’t even blink. “Yeah, maybe. But here’s the thing — you’re not going anywhere. Not until we have a little chat.”

Strakov considered his options. He could shoot Reggie, but the confined space made it risky — one wrong move, and they’d both be dead. And the man clearly had backup waiting outside.

Besides, this man was one of the military-trained members of the CSO team. He wasn’t about to assume he could turn around, stand, and outdraw a man like this who was already pointing a weapon directly at him.

Think.

Reggie nodded toward the door. “Come on, Admiral. Time to leave your little ship. Unless you want to find out how good I am at close-quarters shooting.”

Strakov clenched his jaw. He was so close.

But not close enough.

With a calculated calm, he released his pistol. “Fine,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “But know this — you’ll regret not letting me leave when you had the chance.”

Reggie smirked. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before, champ.”

He stepped aside, gesturing for Strakov to move toward the exit.

Strakov hesitated for a split second, his mind still racing, searching for a way out. But there was none — not yet.

He moved past Reggie, stepping into the narrow passage leading back to the bay. His eyes flicked to the monitor one last time, locking onto the image of Harvey Bennett, still standing at the override switch, waiting.

As Strakov stepped out of the sub, the red emergency lights cast eerie shadows across the bay. The CSO team stood waiting for him — Freddie, Julie, Ben, and Ilya, all watching him with a mix of caution and resolve.

Harvey finally let go of the override lever, stepping forward, his eyes never leaving Strakov.

CHAPTER 62

BEN

The sub bay smelled of salt, engine oil, and now sweat. Everyone, on both sides of the standoff, was on edge. Red emergency lights flickered across the high steel walls, casting long, jagged shadows that made the place feel even more like a tomb. The door to the submarine once again hissed shut behind Strakov as he stepped down the narrow ramp.

Ben watched him carefully. Not a twitch. Not a single crack in his icy exterior. The man was either supremely confident — or too stubborn to realize when he’d lost.

Reggie kept his pistol raised, following Strakov with his eyes. Freddie now stood by the manual override lever, having taken Ben’s place, his knuckles still white from gripping it earlier, his breath steady but deliberate.

Julie came up beside Ben, her eyes flicking from Strakov to the submarine and back again. Ilya hovered a few steps behind, her face unreadable, her posture tense. She hadn’t said much since they’d learned about her connection to Strakov. Tom was struggling nearby, but still breathing.

“I think that’s far enough,” Ben said, his voice calm but firm.

Strakov stopped a few paces from the group, his hands loose at his sides, his pale blue eyes scanning the faces in front of him. He seemed more amused than threatened.

“End of the line,” Ben added.

Strakov lifted his chin, the barest flicker of a smile on his lips. “Is it?”

Ben crossed his arms, not breaking eye contact. “We’re not letting you leave with that sub.”

Strakov exhaled, slow and deliberate. He looked at each of them in turn — Reggie with his steady aim, Freddie by the lever, Julie’s determined stare, and finally Ilya, his gaze lingering on her longer than the others.

“Ah,” Strakov said quietly, his tone softening for the first time. “Ilya… you’ve always been the one I could never predict.”

Ilya didn’t respond, her eyes locking onto his, hard and unflinching.

“Turns out, you’re just like your father,” Strakov continued. His voice wasn’t filled with malice, but something deeper — nostalgia, regret, perhaps even affection. “He was always so certain he could change the world.”

Ilya’s jaw tightened. “He did change the world. He walked away from men like you.”

Strakov’s lips twitched, but there was no warmth in the gesture. “No. He abandoned his work. He left it unfinished, and others had to pick up the pieces.” His voice sharpened. “He believed his work would be a positive force in the world, that it would somehow make governments gently agree to a ceasefire. But I’m a realist. I saw it for what it was. I stayed. I carried on the mission when no one else would.”

Ben could feel the tension coiling tighter with every word. Strakov’s practiced control was unraveling, but even a threatened animal could strike with deadly precision. And a cornered animal was more likely to do just that.

“Enough with the history lesson,” Ben said, stepping between Strakov and Ilya. “We’re not interested in your justification. We’re interested in how this ends.”

Strakov tilted his head slightly. “How it ends?” He let out a short, dry laugh. “That’s the thing about stories like ours, Mr. Bennett. They never truly end. They just — ”

The station shook violently beneath their feet, cutting him off. Pipes overhead groaned and hissed, leaking steam into the bay. The distant sound of rushing water filled the air, growing louder by the second.

Freddie swore under his breath. “We need to get out of here. This place isn’t going to hold much longer.”

Julie’s eyes darted toward the submarine. “Sub’s our only way out.”

“Let’s take him out,” Reggie said flatly, his pistol unwavering. “Now. Before he makes this worse.”

Strakov raised a brow, his expression calm despite the chaos around him. “Ah, yes. The predictable solution. Shoot me, and then what? You’re short a pilot.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “We’ve got one.”

He glanced at Tom, who leaned against a support beam, pale but alert. His injured arm was wrapped hastily in gauze, but he managed a weak smile. “I’ve piloted worse.”

Strakov smirked. “Brave, but foolish. That sub was designed for a crew — not a lone pilot with a gunshot wound.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Even with our modifications to the diesel engine and modernizations to the automations, it will be difficult for me to pilot it alone. Even then, there are trim and ballast systems that will need two trained crew, at the very least. Do you really think you can make it out in time?”

The ground beneath them buckled again, the vibration rattling the steel grating. Water spilled across the floor, pooling at their feet.

“We’ll manage,” Ben said, his voice hard. “But you won’t be joining us.”

Strakov’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flicked toward the submarine — calculating, weighing his chances.

Ben saw the shift, the tiny spark of resolve in the man’s posture. He’s going to make a move.

“Don’t,” Ben warned, his voice low.

For a moment, the tension stretched impossibly tight, the hum of the failing station and the distant rush of water the only sounds.

Then Strakov smiled — slow, deliberate, almost sad. “I should have killed you all when I had the chance,” he said softly.

Ben’s grip tightened. “Yeah, well, snooze you lose, old man. Now you’re out of time.”

Another tremor hit, and this time, the lights flickered dangerously low. Strakov’s eyes flicked toward the submarine again, but Reggie stepped forward, closing the distance, his pistol aimed squarely at Strakov’s chest.

“You’re done,” Reggie said, his voice calm but deadly. “Move again, and I’ll put you down.”

For the first time, something in Strakov’s eyes shifted — a flicker of recognition, perhaps acceptance.

He raised his hands slowly, the pistol hanging loosely from his fingers. “You win,” he said quietly.

Reggie grabbed the pistol and nodded toward Freddie. “Any reason we don’t just off him, right now?”

Ben shook his head. “Too easy a death. And I’d rather keep my conscious clean.”

At this, Strakov barked a laugh. “Leaving me here to die is still killing me, Bennett.”

Ben forced a grin. “I was joking. Truthfully, I’ll sleep easy at night knowing you didn’t get the satisfaction of a quick death. I’m thinking it will be the cold that gets you, right? Before you run out of air. I mean, I’d bet a scrappy old Red with something to prove like you would figure out how to get an extra half-hour of air, maybe from an upturned barrel or something.”

“Be harder if his hands were tied behind his back,” Reggie added.

Ben cocked an eyebrow. He looked at his friend, but Freddie spoke first. “There’s some wire over there. I think we can make that happen.”

Ben nodded. Reggie and Freddie immediately snapped into action, Freddie moving for the wire he’d seen and Reggie stepping back behind Strakov, and roughly pulling his hands backward.

“This is how you solve your problems?” Strakov asked. “America is worse off than I thought.”

Julie stepped up to the tall Russian, reared back, and punched through the man’s nose. In spite of himself, Strakov lost all composure, falling to a knee as blood flew from his nose and mouth. Ben saw a few teeth, now freed, rattle to the concrete floor.

His eyes widened. “Uh, Jules, you okay?”

She was rubbing her fist. “Never better, darling,” she said in a singsong voice. “And I’ve still got a free hand that doesn’t hurt like hell.”

Strakov spat out a wad of blood and saliva, his face now a mask of rage and pain. “You… insufferable… Americans are fools. You believe — ”

“We’ve got plenty more volunteers for this game, Strakov,” Ben snapped. “Want to see how hard I hit?”

CHAPTER 63

JULIE

The sub bay trembled underfoot, a low groan reverberating through the walls as more cracks splintered across the concrete. Julie stood near the hatch of the submarine, her pulse hammering in her chest. The tang of saltwater and engine exhaust thickened the air, making it hard to breathe. She shot a glance toward the far side of the room where Strakov sat, wrists bound tightly behind him, his back pressed against a support column.

His face was calm, unreadable. Too calm. His eyes tracked them as they moved about the bay, the flicker of red emergency lights casting shadows over his angular features.

What are you waiting for? Julie wondered, her instincts screaming that Strakov knew something they didn’t.

“Tom, how’s it looking?” Ben called from the open hatch, his voice tense but steady.

Tom sat slumped in the pilot’s chair inside the sub, his arm still bandaged from the gunshot wound. His other hand flew over the console, flipping switches and studying the readouts with narrowed eyes. He looked pale, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, but he was focused.

“It’s… doable, maybe,” Tom said, his voice thin, still scanning the Russian controls with a furrowed brow. He tapped the worn metal panel beside him, exhaling sharply. “I recognize it. This isn’t just any Piranha-class sub. They only built a few of these back in the ‘80s and ‘90s, and they weren’t exactly mass-producing them. But this one? It seems newer. Way newer.”

Ben stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “How new?”

Tom shook his head. “Hard to say exactly, but it’s been heavily modified. Reinforced hull plating, upgraded battery banks — someone took the original Piranha design and modernized it. Probably black-budget work, because as far as I knew, these things were supposed to be retired decades ago.” His fingers traced the edge of the control panel. “But that actually might be good news.”

Reggie scoffed. “How is being in a ghost sub good news?”

Tom gestured toward the interface. “Because if they modernized it, they probably added some automation. Which means Strakov wasn’t completely insane thinking he could pilot this thing solo.” He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But let’s be real — the guy was still overconfident. Even with upgrades, this sub wasn’t designed for a one-man crew. The ballast system’s still manual, torpedo tubes are offline without extra hands, and if we run into any trouble with propulsion, we’re screwed.”

Ben folded his arms. “But we can drive it.”

Tom hesitated for only a second before nodding. “I’ll need ten minutes to finish the startup sequence, but yeah — the sub’s operational. I just need to confirm connection with the bay doors so we can open them. And if Strakov really thought he could do this alone…” He let out a breath. “Then maybe we actually stand a chance.” Freddie stood near the manual override lever for the bulkhead, keeping watch while Reggie paced the floor nearby, his rifle slung low but ready. Julie and Ben exchanged a brief glance before Julie stepped toward the sub’s cockpit.

“You sure you’re good to pilot?” she asked Tom, her tone softer now.

Tom gave her a weak smile. “I’ve got enough in me to get us out of here. Don’t worry about that.”

But the way his fingers trembled slightly on the console didn’t fill her with confidence.

Ben leaned against the doorway, his eyes darting between the submarine and Strakov. “We’ve got maybe five minutes before this whole place starts flooding. Let’s get those doors open and get out of here.”

Tom nodded and keyed in a command, his eyes flicking toward the screen. The sub’s external cameras displayed the massive bay doors ahead — a towering steel barrier that would retract, flooding the chamber with open water and giving them access to the ocean beyond.

“Okay… opening bay doors,” Tom muttered, pressing the command.

Nothing happened.

Julie’s stomach dropped.

Tom frowned and pressed it again. Still nothing.

“Why aren’t they opening?” Julie asked, her voice tight.

Tom leaned closer to the screen, scanning the diagnostics. “The station’s connection to the sub bay doors is… gone.” His voice grew more urgent. “Looks like one of the power relays to the hydraulics was severed when the station shifted. The doors are dead from the sub’s controls.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

“You’re telling me we can’t open them from here?” Ben asked, stepping closer.

“Not remotely,” Tom said. He tapped the screen, frustration bleeding into his voice. “The only way to open the bay doors is to override them manually from the control panel on the far wall.”

Reggie’s eyes flicked toward the control panel — a small console near the bulkhead that connected directly to the bay’s hydraulic system. “So, someone goes over there and opens it, right?”

Tom exhaled slowly, his face grim. “Not exactly. Someone has to hold that switch down for the entire sequence — probably a full minute, maybe longer. The hydraulics will draw power from the station’s backup generator, but it’s a safety mechanism. Once the process starts, it can’t be interrupted, or the whole thing locks up permanently.

“We can get the doors open, but…”

Julie’s pulse quickened as the implications sank in. Whoever stayed behind to hold that switch would have no time to get back to the sub once the doors opened. They’d be trapped in the bay as the water filled the space.

And it wouldn’t be a gentle trickle. Whoever dared risk it would meet a certain, wet and cold death. There was simply no way they could swim against the barrage of water, increasing in power with every inch the bay doors opened, to get to the sub’s hatch.

Ben seemed to reach the same conclusion. His face hardened, his jaw clenching as he looked from the control panel to the submarine.

“So… someone has to stay behind,” Freddie said quietly, breaking the silence.

No one spoke for a long moment.

Julie’s eyes darted toward the control panel, her thoughts racing.

Strakov chuckled softly from his spot on the floor, his voice picked up easily from a shipboard microphone and piped into the onboard speaker system. “Well,” he said, his tone almost mocking, “I did say you wouldn’t make it out of here.”

Julie’s fists clenched at her sides, but she ignored him, her mind still spinning. There had to be another way. There had to be.

Reggie shook his head. “We’re not leaving anyone behind. There’s gotta be something we’re missing.”

Tom didn’t respond right away. He studied the diagnostics again, his lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, he looked up, his eyes dark.

“There’s no other way,” he said quietly.

The station groaned again, water trickling from the seams in the walls, pooling around their feet. Time was running out.

Ben glanced at the panel, then back at the sub. His eyes were steady, but Julie could see the gears turning. He was already calculating how to do this, how to be the one to stay behind.

Julie’s heart tightened, and a mix of fear — and anger — welled up. “No,” she said, stepping forward. “We’re not deciding anything yet.” You don’t get to make this decision.

Ben opened his mouth to argue, but Julie cut him off before he could, her voice firm. “Not yet.”

Freddie scanned the bay. “Then we need a plan. Fast.”

CHAPTER 64

BEN

The air inside the sub felt stifling, every breath weighted with urgency and dread. Ben stood near the main control panel, sweat beading on his forehead as the hum of the submarine’s systems slowly grew louder. Emergency lights flickered overhead, casting shadows that danced along the walls, making the space feel even more claustrophobic.

“Reggie! Check the primary ballast controls!” Tom’s voice echoed sharply, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Freddie, confirm the pressure in the aft tanks and make sure we’re not taking on water!”

Freddie nodded and bolted toward the rear, disappearing into the narrow corridor, his heavy footsteps thudding against the metal grating.

Tom spun back to face the console, his fingers flying across the switches. His eyes darted between the blinking lights and the gauges, a grim expression tightening his jaw.

“Ben,” Tom said without looking up. “We’ve got five minutes — max — before this bay becomes a tomb. If we’re not moving by then, the doors won’t open, and we’ll be stuck here. Forever.”

So much for another plan.

Ben nodded, his throat dry. He knew what had to be done, but saying it out loud was harder than he thought. His stomach knotted, a cold dread settling in his chest. He knew already how this was going to go. Freddie, Reggie, Tom — they were military. Men who understood what it meant to lay one’s life down to save others. Men who understood why Ben was going to make this decision for all of them.

But Julie was not military-trained. And she was his wife.

There was nothing he could say to convince her, so he needed to accept that. It needs to be done, no matter what she thinks.

“I’ll stay behind,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm.

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

Julie froze mid-step, her eyes locking onto him. “What?”

Ben stood his ground, his eyes steady on hers. “Someone has to stay and manually override the doors. If I don’t, they won’t open, and none of you are getting out of here.”

“No.” Her response was immediate, sharp and final. She shook her head, her eyes blazing with a mix of fear and fury. “No way in hell.”

“Julie — ”

“I said no!” She stormed toward him, planting herself directly in front of him. “You are not staying behind. End of discussion.”

Ben clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. “It’s the only way. This was my mission from the start. My job. I knew the risks when I signed up for it.”

Julie’s chest heaved, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Your job is to come home to me. To Hope. We need you.”

Ben felt his heart crack at the mention of their daughter. He closed his eyes for a second, steadying himself. “I know,” he said quietly. “And that’s exactly why I have to do this. If I don’t, none of you are getting out of here. This is how I protect you.”

Julie’s eyes filled with tears, her shoulders shaking. “Protect us by staying with us! Not by sacrificing yourself!”

“There’s no other choice!” Ben’s voice rose, his frustration finally boiling over. “Look around you! The station is falling apart, and we’re out of time!”

The floor beneath them shuddered violently, nearly knocking them off balance. Sparks rained down from a panel near the ceiling, and a loud groan echoed through the hull.

Tom turned from the console, his face pale. “Four minutes!”

Julie ignored him, her focus locked entirely on Ben. Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “If you stay behind, you’re choosing to leave us. To leave me.”

Ben’s throat tightened. His eyes burned, and his breath came in short, ragged bursts. “You think I want this?” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “You think I’m choosing this because I want to? I don’t. But someone has to, and there’s no time to argue!”

Julie’s tears spilled over, her face twisting in anguish. “Then we’ll figure something else out. We always do. Always!”

“There’s nothing left to figure out!” Ben’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “The station’s fractured. Polaris is barely holding together. Tom just said we have four minutes to get out before the doors won’t open at all. We’re out of time, Jules!”

Tom’s voice broke in again, urgent and desperate. “If we don’t flood the chamber and move now, those doors won’t budge. This isn’t a movie where someone swoops in with a miracle. This is physics. This is reality. We have to go!”

Julie turned on Tom, pointing a trembling finger at him. “You stay out of this!”

Tom threw his hands up, his face red. “Fine! Keep arguing, but just so you know — we’ve got maybe three minutes left before the pressure locks us in here permanently. So decide fast!”

Ben reached for Julie, his hands gripping her shoulders. His voice softened, barely above a whisper. “Jules… I love you. You know that. But we don’t have time. This is how I save you.”

Julie shook her head, sobbing openly now. “No. Please, no.”

Ben’s heart shattered. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “But there’s no other way.”

Julie suddenly tensed, her eyes narrowing. “No. You’re not doing this.”

Before Ben could react, she lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and trying to pull him back from the hatch. “I won’t let you do this!”

“Julie, stop!” Ben struggled to free himself, his pulse racing.

“Reggie!” Julie screamed. “Don’t let him go!”

Reggie stood frozen in the doorway, his face pale and stricken.

Ben locked eyes with him. “Reggie, listen to me. Hold her back. You have to. If you don’t, she’ll follow me. You know she will.”

Reggie’s jaw clenched, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He nodded reluctantly and moved toward Julie.

Julie thrashed against him, her voice breaking. “No! Let me go! Ben, please!”

Ben bit down on his lip so hard he tasted blood. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to stay with her, to hold her and tell her it would all be okay.

But he couldn’t.

He gently pried her fingers loose, stepping back toward the hatch.

“I’ll see you again,” he said, his voice trembling. “I promise.”

Then something caught his eye.

The emergency hatch on the top of the sub — it was open.

CHAPTER 65

BEN

“She’s holding the override,” Freddie called out, leaning over the monitor, sweat running down his face. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the tension in every word. “The doors are opening, but she’s gotta keep holding it, or they’ll close again. It’s all manual now.”

Ben’s heart sank as he stared at the screen, his pulse racing. The bay doors were barely a quarter open, each inch revealing a fresh torrent of seawater pouring in, the pressure unforgiving. It wasn’t a sudden explosion of water — it was relentless. Every inch the doors opened meant twice the water, twice the force.

“Come on, Ilya,” Julie whispered, her fists clenched on the console in front of her. “You’ve got this.”

The camera feed flickered, showing Ilya waist-deep in water, her arms braced against the manual lever. Her face was calm — too calm for someone who knew exactly what was coming.

She wasn’t fighting for survival. She was making sure they got out, no matter the cost.

Tom’s hands flew across the submarine’s controls, his jaw set. “Doors at fifty percent… sixty. Once they’re fully open, the bay will flood fast. She’ll be completely submerged in frigid water almost instantly. We’ll be buoyant enough to push through once the water fills and the pressure equalizes, but if she lets go early — ”

“She won’t,” Ben said, his voice rough. He knew it in his bones.

Julie leaned in, her voice trembling. “We’ll pull her back in. As soon as the doors are open, she can swim to us.”

But Ben didn’t answer. He knew he didn’t need to — it wasn’t a rational thought, and Julie would know that. It was wishful thinking, but it was impossible. He’d already seen it in Ilya’s eyes — on that last, brief glance at the camera.

There was no swimming in these waters, and certainly no waiting around for the chamber to fill — besides, once the sub was buoyant, the chamber would be filling far too quickly for her to get back. No chance of escape for her.

This was a death sentence, and she knew it.

The station groaned, the sound echoing through the sub as another tremor rattled the walls. Loose bolts clattered to the floor, and overhead pipes hissed with escaping steam.

“Eighty percent!” Tom shouted. “Almost there!”

The water around Ilya surged, reaching her chest now. It poured through the opening bay doors in a ceaseless flow, the volume increasing exponentially. The water wasn’t coming in any faster — but there was more of it with every second, every inch those doors rose.

Ilya held her ground, her knuckles white on the lever, her legs braced against the force of the current.

“Hold on, Ilya!” Julie cried, her voice cracking.

“Ninety percent!” Tom called out. “We’re almost — ”

The bay doors hit their maximum extension with a heavy clunk. The chamber was fully open now, and the full volume of the ocean outside came rushing in.

A wall of water surged into the bay, slamming into Ilya with brutal force.

She vanished beneath the surface.

And the bay doors immediately began to close. The massive blast of water was nothing compared to the hydraulic press controlling the bay doors closing mechanism. The torrent continued to raise the water level by the second, but the overall amount of it lessened as the doors closed once more.

“No!” Julie screamed, her voice raw. She slammed her hand against the hull, her eyes locked on the screen showing the swirling mass of water filling the chamber.

Ben’s breath caught in his throat, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes stayed glued to the monitor, scanning the churning water for any sign of her.

Seconds stretched into an eternity.

Then — there she was.

Ilya resurfaced, gasping for air. She clung to a support beam, coughing violently, her body battered but still determined. Her hand shot out toward the lever again, gripping it with every ounce of strength she had left.

The doors stopped closing.

“She’s still there!” Freddie shouted.

“She’s a damn warrior,” Reggie muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

The water was already up to her shoulders. The bay was filling rapidly now, rising toward the ceiling. Soon, there would be no air left.

“She’s doing it,” Tom said, his voice tight. “We’ll be able to move in less than a minute.”

CHAPTER 66

STRAKOV

The water was rising too fast now.

Strakov exhaled slowly, feeling the icy surge creep past his ribs. His fingers twitched behind his back, bound tightly to the column. Every breath drew in the stinging scent of saltwater and metal. The alarms had died with the power grid, leaving only the dull roar of rushing seawater and the creak of a collapsing station. Across the chamber, Ilya stood with her back against the wall, gripping the override lever like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her face was pale — paler than it should have been, her dark hair plastered against her skin, her lips trembling from cold. She had been holding that lever far too long.

Strakov studied her, tilting his head slightly. He had watched men break before — had watched their wills crumble, their hands tremble, their eyes go vacant. But Ilya hadn’t broken. Not even close. She hated him, and she was winning. His jaw clenched, not from anger but from something deeper.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said finally, his voice rasping against the cold.

Ilya let out a short, humorless breath. “You’re one to talk.”

Strakov almost smiled. Of course, she would be defiant to the end. Markova blood ran hot. Pyotr had been the same way — stubborn, unshakable in his ideals, blind to the bigger picture. That was why they had parted ways in the first place. That was why Strakov was here, drowning, and she was still fighting.

The water swirled higher, reaching her chest now. She adjusted her stance, bracing herself as another surge slammed into her, nearly knocking her from her feet. She gritted her teeth and held on.

“You should have walked away from all of this, Ilya,” Strakov said, his voice low. “You should have let go.”

Ilya laughed dryly, shaking her head. “And do what? Join the Faction?”

Strakov’s expression darkened. “They sent you,” he murmured.

Ilya didn’t confirm it, but she didn’t have to.

Strakov inhaled slowly, letting the pieces settle. Of course. Of course, they had sent her. Not to kill him — no, if Director K wanted that, he wouldn’t have wasted a valuable asset like Ilya. They had sent her to bring him back, to drag him out of Polaris before it collapsed, to reintegrate him into their grand design.

Strakov scoffed. “Pyotr would have hated that.”

Ilya’s eyes snapped to his, the fire behind them sharp and cutting. “Don’t you dare talk about my father.”

Strakov didn’t flinch. “You think I betrayed him,” he said, his voice quiet. “That I twisted everything he believed in. That I abandoned you.”

Ilya said nothing.

Strakov exhaled sharply, looking away. “You’re not wrong.” The admission surprised even himself.

Ilya’s brow furrowed.

Strakov met her gaze again, something unreadable in his expression. “Your father was brilliant,” he said. “And a fool. He believed in things. He thought the world could be changed with words, with reason. But that is not how the world works, Ilya. And it never did.” His voice hardened. “And it never will.”

Ilya swallowed, her throat bobbing. “No. But that’s how he worked.”

And that was the difference. Pyotr had believed in things because he had the luxury of believing. Because he had never been forced to see the world for what it truly was. And Ilya — she had inherited that same weakness. That same naive belief that people like Strakov could be saved.

But she had been wrong.

The station groaned, steel plates screaming as the chamber buckled under the weight of the ocean. The sub rattled against its dock, the magnetic clamps straining under the pressure. The water surged again, reaching Ilya’s shoulders. She sucked in a sharp breath, her arms trembling as she held the override lever.

Strakov felt his throat tighten.

“You need to let go,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Ilya blinked, water streaming down her face. “If I do, the doors will close.”

Strakov nodded once. “Yes.”

Ilya exhaled, her breath shaking. “Then I can’t.”

The simplicity of it settled between them. Strakov’s hands flexed behind his back, his fingers numb from the cold. The water was at his chest now, and soon it would be over his head. This was how it ended. He had fought his entire life, had bled for his cause, had built something out of the ashes of the past. He had believed in it. He had killed for it.

And now? Now he was here, floating against a column, shivering and drowning next to the only piece of his old life he had left. He had always thought he would die in battle. A bullet to the head. A knife to the ribs. Quick, decisive, fitting.

But instead — this.

His body, sinking into the darkness.

Forgotten.

Lost.

The water surged again, nearly reaching his chin. Ilya gasped, clinging to the lever, her entire body shaking violently from the cold. Strakov swallowed, feeling the last traces of warmth leave his limbs. He should have never seen her again. It would have been easier.

But now, staring at her — his best friend’s daughter, the girl he had left behind — he found himself wondering. If he had stayed. If he had tried. If he had been different. Would this be different?

The water rose again, completely submerging them now. In a sadistic twist of luck, the young man piloting his submarine, the injured one named Tom, had apparently figured out how to turn on the flood lights.

Instead of being able to hold his breath until the end, dying alone in complete darkness, Strakov could easily see Ilya, floating beneath the sloshing current, losing hold, and then miraculously swimming back up to grab the bay door switch again.

She spasmed, the cold fighting against her will, her instincts stubborn. But still she held fast.

The sub jolted. The clamps released, and it began floating gently upward. The override lever clicked, and the bay doors stopped, now fully open.

He watched as the daughter of his once closest confidant held the lever to keep the door open, her eyes boring holes through him.

The sub pulled backward, surprising Strakov. Apparently the kid was quite capable, and could possibly even figure out how to pilot the sub to the surface.

Ilya finally let go as her air expired, and she flew upward, her lungs pulling her toward a surface that wasn’t there. He watched her hit the ceiling of the sub bay, eyes wide as her involuntary human wiring realized the predicament, her animal instincts raging against the truth.

He had a bit more air in his lungs, and he forced the burning sensation down momentarily, choosing to go out on his own terms, not looking at Ilya’s thrashing.

But she had done it.

She had won.

Strakov closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the column. For a brief, fleeting moment, he almost — almost — felt proud.

CHAPTER 67

BEN

Already Ben felt the sub rising from its perch on the dock, the water roaring in jostled it left and right, but the magnetic clamps holding the sub to the bay dock held fast. Ben could see Tom’s hand hovering over a button he assumed would release the magnetic hold and let them float free.

His other hand was holding his side, which had been hastily wrapped by Ilya earlier. It was covered in blood.

Julie shook her head, her face pale. “Ilya, let go! You did it! You don’t have to hold it anymore!”

But Ilya didn’t move.

She locked eyes with the camera again — directly at Ben — and gave the faintest of nods. Her head fell beneath the icy waters, and the monitor’s feed took on a ghostlike, bluish hue as the camera on the sub’s exterior was submerged.

Ben’s breath hitched. He understood. Thank you, Ilya.

Miraculously, she held the lever for another thirty seconds, and Ben held his breath with her.

She won.

He let out the breath, and watched as she gasped on the monitor, convulsing underwater.

Then, finally, her fingers slipped from the lever.

The current seized her instantly, slamming her against the far wall. Her body went limp as the water consumed her, pulling her deeper into the dark.

“Go! Now!”

“We’re free!” Tom shouted, snapping Ben out of his daze. “We’ve got thirty seconds before those doors close too far to let us out!”

“Punch it!” Ben roared. “Get us out of here!”

Tom threw the sub into full power, the engines roaring to life. The submarine surged backward, cutting through the churning water with brute force. The deck rattled beneath them as they shot toward the open bay doors.

Julie clung to the console, her face a mask of grief and determination. “We’ll make it,” she said, her voice shaking. “We’ll make it count.”

The external cameras showed the bay shrinking behind them, the swirling chaos fading into darkness. The bay fell in a shroud of darkness, shadows dancing inside the closing doors. Stone and concrete fell as the Polaris station collapsed, and Ben thought he could see smaller shapes floating between the larger pieces of crushed rock and boulders.

Ilya.

She’d saved them, and paid the ultimate price.

They were free.

Silence fell inside the sub, broken only by the hum of the engines and the sound of their ragged breathing.

No one spoke.

Tom focused on the controls, his jaw tight. Freddie slumped into a seat near the hatch, running a hand down his face. Reggie leaned against the wall, his shoulders sagging.

Julie sat down slowly, her hands trembling.

Ben stood in the center of the sub, staring blankly at the monitor over Tom’s shoulder. He could still see her face in his mind — that last glance, that nod.

“She knew,” Julie whispered. “She knew what she was doing.”

Ben nodded slowly, his throat tight. “Yeah… she did.”

Reggie exhaled, his voice low. “She saved us.”

Freddie closed his eyes. “She deserved better.”

Tom’s hands tightened on the controls. “Then we’ll make sure what she did wasn’t for nothing.”

Ben turned toward the front of the sub, his face set with grim determination.

“We will,” he said quietly. “We owe her that.”

CHAPTER 68

JULIE

The submarine jolted violently as the ocean swallowed what was left of Polaris Base. Julie braced herself against the metal wall, heart hammering as she struggled to stay upright. The last thing she saw through the porthole was a cloud of debris and rushing water, a dark vortex pulling what remained of the facility into the abyss.

Then everything was black.

The pressure wave hit them seconds later, slamming into the submarine with a force that sent them rocking sideways. Metal groaned in protest, and for a moment, Julie was sure they were about to be dragged down with the collapsing base.

“Tom! Get us the hell out of here!” Freddie bellowed.

Tom’s voice came from the pilot’s seat, strained and breathless. “I’m working on it!” His fingers flew over the Russian-labeled controls, adjusting the ballast tanks and thrusters as the sub pitched and rolled.

Julie clutched a nearby handrail as the sub lurched upward, the engines straining against the water’s pull. Every second felt like an eternity. The emergency lights flickered, casting everything in eerie red glows and deep shadows.

Ben staggered toward Tom’s seat, gripping the back of it to steady himself. “How bad?”

Tom didn’t take his eyes off the instruments. “Hull’s intact, but if we don’t break free now, we’re gonna be part of the wreckage!”

The seafloor disappeared beneath them, swallowed by the swirling chaos of the collapsing station. The sub trembled violently, as if resisting the very idea of leaving.

Julie held her breath. Come on. Come on.

Then — a sudden, gut-wrenching jolt.

The sub shot upward, the thrusters propelling them toward the surface. The pressure equalized, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the relentless shaking eased.

Silence.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Julie finally exhaled, her lungs burning from holding it in.

Tom slumped back in his seat, shoulders heaving. “We’re clear.”

Freddie let out a short, breathless laugh, running a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

Reggie, still gripping the edge of a console, shook his head. “I thought we were done for.”

Ben didn’t say anything. He just pressed a hand to his forehead, breathing hard.

Julie swallowed past the lump in her throat. Ilya was gone. Carter Holt, Rachel Voss — dead.

She squeezed her eyes shut for half a second, pushing the thought down. Later. They could mourn later. Right now, they had to survive.

Tom straightened, his hands moving across the controls again. “I’m gonna level us out, then start the ascent. We should reach the surface in a few minutes.”

Julie let out a shaky breath. We made it. But as she turned toward Tom, her relief was short-lived.

His face was pale, his breathing shallow. His right hand trembled as he adjusted a switch, blood still seeping through the bandage on his side.

Julie’s stomach clenched. He’s getting worse. “Tom, you need to rest,” she said, moving closer.

“I’ll rest when we’re on the surface,” he muttered.

Julie wasn’t having it. “Freddie, find a first aid kit. Now.”

Freddie nodded and disappeared down the narrow corridor, his footsteps heavy against the grated floor.

Tom didn’t protest, which worried her even more.

Ben crouched beside the pilot’s chair, watching Tom closely. “How much longer?”

Tom exhaled, adjusting their trajectory. “Maybe five minutes. If nothing else decides to kill us.”

The sub rattled slightly, and Julie’s grip tightened on the back of Tom’s seat.

Five minutes.

They just had to hold on for five more minutes.

The submarine climbed steadily, the pressure readings shifting as they rose. The water outside was pitch black, but the depth gauge told them what they needed to know.

“Two hundred feet,” Tom muttered.

Julie felt the shift in her stomach as the pressure continued to drop. Almost there.

Freddie returned, carrying a metal first aid box with faded Cyrillic lettering across the front. He popped it open, revealing cotton bandages, ampoules of liquid, and a few crude medical tools.

Julie grabbed a pressure bandage and a vial of what looked like antiseptic. “Tom, let me see it.”

Tom shook his head. “Not until we’re up.”

Julie clenched her jaw. Stubborn bastard. That’s okay, she could handle one of those — she was married to one, after all.

The submarine shuddered slightly, the water shifting around them.

“One hundred feet,” Tom muttered.

Julie glanced at Ben. His expression was tight, his hands braced against the wall. They were close.

Then — a deep groan from the hull.

Tom cursed under his breath. “Hang on — ”

The sub lurched violently, sending Julie stumbling sideways.

“What the hell was that?!” Reggie shouted.

Ben grabbed onto a rail, eyes darting to Tom.

Tom’s fingers flew over the controls. “Shit. Some sort of pressure pockets, I guess. Massive bubbles from air escaping the base as it falls apart — leftover instability from the collapse. It’s messing with our ascent.”

Julie’s stomach twisted. The sub pitched slightly, tilting to one side. “Can you make it mess with us… less?”

“Trying,” Tom muttered. His hands were shaking. His breathing was getting worse.

Julie grabbed his arm. “You can’t do this like this. You need — ”

“I’ve got it!” Tom snapped.

She stared at him, then backed off, pressing her lips together.

Ben leaned in. “What do you need us to do?”

Tom exhaled, forcing himself to focus. “Just — hold on.”

The last twenty feet stretched into eternity. Julie barely breathed as the depth gauge ticked upward, the numbers shifting with agonizing slowness.

Tom’s knuckles were white against the controls.

Ben’s hands were clenched into fists.

“Brace!” Tom shouted.

The submarine breached like a humpback whale, shooting upward, bow-first, into the frigid air of the Bering Sea. Water exploded outward, sending the vessel rocking violently, tipping back and forth as it righted itself. The sudden shift in buoyancy threw them all sideways, crashing into walls and seats.

Julie caught herself on the back of Tom’s chair. Her lungs burned, heart hammering.

Then — silence.

The motion settled. The hull stopped groaning.

Freddie let out a breathless laugh. “We’re up.”

Julie sucked in a breath, forcing herself to believe it. They had survived the depths.

She turned back to Tom. He had slumped forward in his seat, his breathing ragged. The adrenaline was fading, and the blood loss was taking its toll.

Julie grabbed the first aid kit. “Help me get him to the floor.”

Ben and Reggie moved fast, supporting Tom as they eased him down.

Julie ripped the old piece of cloth Ilya had applied from his wound, revealing the still-seeping hole.

Tom groaned. “Feels worse than it looks, right?”

Julie shot him a glare. “Shut up.” She grabbed a fresh bandage, pressing it firmly against the wound. Tom hissed in pain, but he didn’t fight her.

Freddie held up a small glass ampoule from the kit. “You think this is an antibiotic? Or a painkiller?”

Julie took it, reading the Russian label, surprised to see latin text beneath the Cyrillic lettering.

She sounded it out. “Cefazolin,” she muttered. “It’s… something. Prep a syringe.”

Freddie moved fast, snapping the ampoule open and drawing the liquid into a slightly outdated syringe.

Julie wrapped the new pressure bandage around Tom’s torso, tying it tight.

Ben hovered nearby, his face tight with concern.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Julie said, mostly for herself.

Tom let out a weak laugh. “You sure?”

Julie met his gaze. “I don’t save people just to lose them five minutes later.”

Freddie handed her the syringe. She injected it into Tom’s arm, ignoring his muttered curse.

Reggie checked the controls. “We need to figure out where we are. Bonus points if we can figure out how to use the comms here to hail a U.S. Coast Guard ship.”

Julie exhaled. “One thing at a time.”

They had made it to the surface.

CHAPTER 69

JULIE

The submarine rocked gently, shifting with the ocean’s surface as if the waves themselves couldn’t quite decide what to do with them. The Polaris base was gone, swallowed by the depths, but the weight of it still clung to Julie’s chest, heavy and unrelenting.

Tom was still lying on the floor of the sub, his face pale but his breathing steadier. Julie’s hands were slick with blood — not just Tom’s, but Ilya’s, too. Even though she’d never touched her, the image of Ilya disappearing behind the roaring flood of seawater was burned into her mind.

Gone. Just like that.

Ben knelt beside Tom, eyes flicking over his face. “He’s stabilizing, right?”

Julie nodded, securing the last of the bandages over the wound. “For now. But he’s weak. We need to get him out of here, and somewhere with real medicine. Or at least somewhere with medicine that has labels we can understand, and was packaged this decade.”

Reggie hovered over the control panel, his fingers skimming across the unfamiliar Russian labels. “We need to figure out where ‘here’ even is.”

Freddie, still crouched nearby, let out a breath and wiped a hand over his face. “Well, we’re not at the bottom of the ocean anymore, so that’s a start. And I’m sure we’re not far from where the Aurora was.”

She thought again of Rachel Voss, her last efforts to warn them that Strakov and the Polaris station was, indeed, hostile.

Julie ran a hand over Tom’s forehead. His skin was warm, clammy. He blinked up at her, his usual sharp gaze dulled by exhaustion. “Did we win?”

Julie almost laughed, but it came out more like a scoff. “We’re… alive. Most of us.”

Tom smirked weakly. “Close enough.”

Reggie cursed from the console. “Okay, so — bad news first. We don’t have full comms. Something must have gotten fried when the station’s power system was fluctuating.”

Ben straightened. “And the good news?”

“We do have some functionality. Shortwave range.” He adjusted a knob, listening to the faint crackle of static. “No guarantee anyone’s listening, though.”

Freddie crossed his arms. “You think Voss is still up there?”

Ben exhaled sharply. “I doubt it.”

The thought settled over them like a stone.

Julie sat back on her heels, rolling her shoulders. “We need to at least get a signal out. If anyone’s listening, I don’t care who, they need to know we’re here.”

Reggie nodded, flipping another switch. “I’m working on it. Just give me a sec.”

Freddie turned to Ben. “What’s the plan?”

Ben’s jaw was tight, his eyes distant. “Right now? We need to keep moving. We can’t just sit here and wait for someone to find us. This sub was made to be hard to spot, even breached. Plus, we’re not exactly in a cruise port — there’s not going to be a lot of traffic.”

Julie frowned. “But this is the Bering sea. There are probably a few US Navy ships floating around.”

“And a few Russian Navy ships,” Reggie countered. “Not to mention, we’re in a Russian ship. If a US ship sees us, what if they just blow us out of the water — literally?”

Ben didn’t answer right away. His gaze flickered to the small porthole, the dark sea beyond stretching endlessly in every direction. They were alone out here. Completely, utterly alone. The sun would have been poking up and offering at least a bit of morning light, but this far north that wouldn’t happen for another few hours.

Instead, all he saw was inky blackness, punctuated by cresting white waves that appeared as dark-gray shadows.

Julie had been in bad situations before. She’d fought against the odds. But something about this felt different.

Ben finally exhaled. “Then we head back the direction St. Matthew Island was in, best we can. We keep trying the radio. And we hope to hell that Voss or someone else is listening.”

Reggie let out a frustrated grunt. “I can try boosting the signal, but if we push too hard, we risk frying what little we’ve got.”

Julie pressed her fingers to her temples, pushing away the dull ache blooming behind her eyes. One thing at a time. “Just keep working on it,” she said. “We’ll take our chances.”

Tom let out a quiet chuckle. “Taking chances seems to be our specialty.”

Julie looked down at him. “You just focus on staying awake.”

Tom gave her a lazy thumbs-up, his eyelids heavy.

Freddie stood and stretched, glancing around the cabin. “Alright. If we’re playing the waiting game, we might as well do an inventory check. See what we actually have on board.”

Julie nodded. “Good idea.”

They had a submarine, but no guarantee of rescue.

They had a wounded pilot, but at least he was still breathing.

They had a radio, but no certainty anyone was listening.

And they had each other.

For now, that would have to be enough.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Julie sat beside Tom, checking his pulse for the third time in ten minutes. It was steady, though weaker than she liked. He needed real medical attention, and soon.

Reggie was still fiddling with the radio, muttering curses under his breath. “Come on, you piece of — ”

A burst of static cut him off.

Everyone went still. Julie’s heart skipped. The static crackled again, this time followed by something barely audible.

“…repeat, unknown vessel, identify yourself…” A brief pause. Then — “…if you are receiving, identify…”

Freddie let out a breath. “Holy shit.”

Julie’s fingers dug into her knees. “Answer them.”

Reggie didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward and pressed the transmit button. “This is… an American team aboard a Russian sub. We request immediate assistance. We are — ” he hesitated, glancing at Ben. “Where the hell are we?”

Ben frowned, checking the navigation system. He squinted at the Cyrillic text, his brain struggling to make sense of it.

Julie leaned in, eyes scanning the readout. “You may have heard a distress call from our vessel, the Aurora. If so, we’re about twenty miles from her last known position.”

Reggie relayed the info.

The radio went silent for a long moment. Then:

“…understood. Hold position.”

Julie’s hands clenched. Who was that?

“Do we trust them?” Freddie muttered.

Ben’s expression remained unreadable. “Do we have a choice?”

More silence, then — “…confirmed. Help is on the way.”

Julie exhaled, her pulse finally slowing.

The submarine drifted, bobbing gently with the rolling ocean. The radio stayed silent after the last transmission, but Julie couldn’t shake the feeling that things weren’t over yet. Ben paced near the hatch, his muscles tight with pent-up tension. Freddie sat near the ballast controls, watching the instruments.

Tom stirred, shifting against the floor. “How’s it looking?”

Julie smirked. “Better than it did an hour ago Anything we need to do? Can you tell us how to pilot this thing?”

Tom let out a weak laugh, then gave a slight shake of his head. “No, I wish. It’s complicated even for me to understand, and it’s no help at all that all the instrument labels are in Russian. By the time I explained where everything was, you’d forget it all.”

Julie nodded.

A new sound filled the cabin. A low, distant rumble.

She snapped her head up.

Freddie frowned. “Is that — ?”

Ben bolted for the periscope, his heart hammering. He adjusted the lens, scanning the horizon. He exhaled sharply, lowering the periscope. “We’ve got company.”

Julie stood, pulse quickening. “Friendly?”

Ben’s jaw clenched. “We’re about to find out.”

CHAPTER 70

BEN

Ben’s hands tightened around the periscope as he adjusted the focus, his pulse thudding in his ears. The distant vessel cut through the dark waters like a specter, its hull barely visible against the black horizon.

The radio transmission had been brief, almost clinical. No identifiers. No clear indication of allegiance. Just: Hold position. Help is on the way.

But help from who? The man speaking on the radio sounded American. But it was an easy accent to pull off. Perhaps the guy was conning them, tricking them into pliability.

Ben lowered the periscope and turned to the others. “We’ve got an inbound ship. Maybe two. Can’t tell from this angle.”

Freddie pushed himself off the ballast controls. “Any chance it’s ours?”

Ben hesitated, then shook his head. “Not enough information.”

Julie stepped forward, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Could it be Russian?”

“Could be,” Ben admitted. “Or someone else entirely.”

Reggie leaned against the radio console. “So we’re either about to be rescued or shot out of the water.”

Silence settled over the cabin.

Tom shifted slightly from where he lay, wincing. “Maybe they’ll just ask nicely before they decide to kill us.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Super helpful, Tom.” Ben saw her smile, and he knew she wasn’t just laughing. She was happy Tom was feeling at least a bit better.

Might need you to stay awake and pilot this ship, Tom, he thought.

Freddie moved toward the hatch, peering through the small viewport. “If we’re getting boarded, we need to be ready.”

Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And how do you suggest we do that? We’re sitting in a Russian sub, wounded, with half a working radio and no real weapons.”

Freddie smirked. “So, a standard Tuesday for us.”

Reggie snorted. “I really hate how accurate that is.”

Ben exhaled sharply, then turned back toward the periscope. He had a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling.

Because this was too fast.

They’d just barely surfaced, had only sent a single distress call. For any ship to be this close, to respond this quickly, meant one of two things:

Either it was a patrol ship that just happened to be nearby…

Or someone had been watching them. Waiting.

Ben turned to Reggie. “See if they’ll respond again. Ask them to identify themselves.”

Reggie gave him a wary look but nodded. He leaned forward and pressed the transmit button. “Unidentified vessel, this is — ” He hesitated, glancing at Ben. “This is the crew of the Aurora. Requesting identification.”

A long pause. Then static.

Julie’s hands curled into fists. “That’s probably not good.”

Then, suddenly —

“This is Captain Mikhail Vasin of the Russian Navy. You are in possession of stolen Russian property. Power down your vessel immediately and prepare to be boarded.”

Ben’s stomach dropped.

“Well shit,” Reggie muttered.

Freddie let out a slow breath. “Welp. There it is.”

Julie spun toward Ben. “What do we do?”

Ben’s mind raced. Power down? That meant they weren’t firing immediately. That meant they wanted the sub intact.

That meant they were still valuable, which was both good and bad. Tom let out a weak laugh from the floor. “Would now be a bad time to mention I really don’t want to be in a Russian prison?”

Reggie shook his head. “Buddy, I don’t think that’s anyone’s first pick.”

Ben clenched his jaw. “We’re not surrendering.”

Julie’s eyes flickered with worry. “Ben, if we don’t — ”

“They’ll board us, take the sub, take us.” He shook his head. “I’m not letting that happen.”

Another crackle from the radio. “Power down immediately, or we will open fire.”

Freddie crossed his arms. “Alright, so, do we pretend to comply and stall, or do we start making bad decisions right now?”

Ben smirked. “Why not both?”

Julie shot him a you’re insane look. “What’s the plan?”

Ben turned toward Tom. “Can we move?”

Tom exhaled slowly, trying to push himself up. His arms trembled, and he collapsed back against the floor, his face twisted in frustration. “I can’t steer like this, man.”

Ben clenched his teeth. Tom was their only real pilot. “If we help you into the seat?”

Tom nodded, and Julie and Freddie helped him toward the pilot’s chair once again.

Tom’s gaze flicked to her, then to the control panel. He let out a breath, shaky. “Alright. Fine. Give me some support. Exactly as I say, when I say it. We can’t outrun a warship, but we can dive again and at least try to get the hell out of their firing range. Which is, admittedly, probably impossible since it’s not very deep here.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow. “You do remember we barely made it back up here in one piece, right?”

“Not a lot of better options,” Tom gritted out.

Ben nodded. “Then we move.”

Reggie swore and grabbed the radio. “Guess that means I’m telling them to screw off.”

Ben turned back to the periscope, watching as the distant ship grew closer. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Tell them to screw off.”

Reggie pressed the transmit button. “Negative, Captain. We will not be surrendering today.”

A long silence.

Then —

“Understood.”

Ben’s gut twisted.

Julie’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s bad.”

A sudden, deafening boom shook the submarine.

The cabin lights flickered.

Freddie staggered back. “They’re firing? Already?”

Ben shoved himself toward the controls. “Tom, now!”

Tom gritted his teeth, reaching for the ballast controls. “Diving!”

Another boom. The submarine lurched, the force sending them sprawling. Julie hit the side panel hard, gasping as she caught herself. Reggie grabbed onto the nearest railing. Freddie was already moving toward the pressure gauges.

“Depth?” Ben barked.

Freddie squinted at the Russian labels. “Uh — down? ”

Ben shot him a glare.

Freddie shrugged. “I don’t read Cyrillic, man!”

Tom swore. “We’re not dropping fast enough!”

Another explosion rocked the sub. The hull screeched, metal groaning under the pressure. Julie’s breath hitched as she spoke, her voice a nervous whisper. “What the hell was that?”

Tom’s face paled. “Depth charge.”

Ben’s stomach dropped. “They’re trying to crush us.”

The radio crackled again in stilted English. “This is your last warning. Surrender or be destroyed.”

Ben met Julie’s gaze. She looked scared. But she also looked furious. Julie turned to Tom. “What if we go toward them?”

Tom stared at her. “I think you hit your head.”

“Seriously,” she added. “If we stay low and move fast, could we get underneath them? They can’t hit what they can’t track, and they won’t throw charges straight down — that’ll threaten their own hull integrity, right?”

“Where did you hear that?” Reggie asked.

Julie shrugged. “A movie?”

Tom chuckled. “Well, it’s sort of accurate. Most importantly, it’s probably our only move. Get underneath them — at that point, we’ll also benefit from disappearing from sonar while we’re directly below. And, with luck, we can head out another direction, causing them to have to look around for a bit before they spot us.”

Reggie groaned. “I hate how much sense that makes.”

Ben hesitated. It was insane. But a chance at success was far better than a guaranteed death. He turned to Tom. “Can you do it?”

Tom swallowed. “I can try.” Tom gripped the controls, adjusting the ballast. The submarine tilted sharply, angling downward.

Ben grabbed onto the nearest railing, his knuckles white. Freddie muttered under his breath. “If we die, I just want you all to know — I blame Tom.”

Tom smirked. “Noted.”

Another explosion rocked the water above them. But this time, it missed.

Ben exhaled. “Go. Fast.”

The submarine surged forward, their vector down and directly toward the Russian warship.

Julie gritted her teeth. “Here’s hoping they don’t expect this.”

Ben watched the depth monitor, his heart pounding. The warship loomed above them, unaware.

Freddie let out a breath. “Holy shit. This might actually work.”

CHAPTER 71

BEN

The submarine drifted in near silence, its engines idling as they matched the Russian warship’s movements above them. At the very least, their stealth capabilities were enough to keep the Russian ship looking.

It was the only card they had to play, and Ben hoped it was enough.

Ben kept his gaze locked on the sonar display, watching the bright blip pulse in rhythmic intervals. It moved slowly, scanning the area, its crew likely — hopefully he thought — convinced that Strakov’s missing sub had either escaped or sunk to the bottom of the Bering Sea.

The problem was that the stolen submarine was still alive and well, hiding directly beneath their search grid. And the CSO group couldn’t follow beneath them forever. They would either slip to the side and once again appear to the ship, starting the cat-and-mouse game once more, or they would follow beneath the ship until they ran out of juice and simply sank.

Ben wasn’t sure which would be a worse outcome for him: instant death by sudden implosion, or slow death from asphyxiation as their sub laying dying on the ocean floor.

Freddie hovered near the control panel, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “They’re not in a hurry, are they?” he muttered.

“No,” Tom rasped, his voice hoarse. He was still slumped in the pilot’s seat, one arm resting against his stomach where the bandages pressed tightly over his wound. “They’re looking for a wreck, but they’re being smart about it. If they think we’re still operational, they’ll be expecting us to run. And they’ve got far more range than we do, so there’s no sense in them taking off in a certain direction yet.”

Julie, kneeling beside him, kept one hand near the controls, helping to keep the sub steady. “Then we don’t run,” she said. “We stay right here.”

Ben nodded. “That’s the plan, for now. We keep in their blind spot and shadow them until they break off their search pattern.”

Reggie, positioned at the engineering station, let out a quiet huff. “And if they don’t break off?”

Ben didn’t answer immediately, but he let out a sigh. He wasn’t sure — that was exactly his fear as well. This seemed like the play for now, but it was only a temporary one. They had no weapons, no countermeasures — nothing but the stolen sub itself, a vessel they barely understood. And though the warship might not have exact confirmation that the sub was still intact, they wouldn’t let up easily.

Finally, he said, “Then we improvise.”

Reggie groaned. “I love that answer.”

“Why’d you groan?”

“Because that’s always our answer.”

Ben shrugged. “Got something better?”

“No, brother. That’s why I groaned.”

The silence stretched between them as the submarine continued drifting, Tom deftly mirroring the Russian ship’s slow movements. The tension in the cabin felt like a pressure system all its own, bearing down on them more than the weight of the ocean above.

Minutes crawled past.

Ben tracked the warship, watching for any deviation in its pattern. It made a slow turn, adjusting its sweep, and for one terrible moment, he thought they’d been spotted. But the sonar didn’t change — no sudden ping of active sonar sweeping their location, no maneuver that signaled they’d been detected. There were no more depth charges.

They were still invisible.

For now.

Tom inhaled sharply, shifting in his seat, grimacing as he adjusted his grip on the controls. Julie steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, though the pain in his face told a different story. “Just trying not to black out while piloting a Russian sub meant for an entire crew. No big deal.”

Julie’s lips pressed into a thin line. Ben could tell she was fighting the urge to tell him to rest, but they both knew that wasn’t an option.

Freddie leaned over the sonar display. “What do you think, Ben? How long before they give up and head back?”

What he didn’t say, and what Ben added, was, and then how long before we have to pull away from them and start this all over again?

Ben exhaled slowly. “Hard to say. They’re obviously being systematic about it, which means they probably have a search grid mapped out. If they don’t find anything soon, they’ll either expand their pattern or assume we sank.”

Reggie drummed his fingers against the console. “And let me guess — we have no way of knowing which?”

“Not unless we suddenly learn Russian in the next five minutes and figure out how to tap into their comms.”

Julie shot Ben a look. “Well, you’re full of great ideas today.”

Freddie snorted.

The warship continued its slow arc above them, making another sweep of the area. Another tense minute passed.

Then another.

Then —

“They’re turning,” Ben said, watching the sonar. “Changing course slightly. Heading west.”

Julie’s brow furrowed. “You think they’re widening their search?”

No one moved. No one spoke.

CHAPTER 72

BEN

The warship continued on its new trajectory, drifting farther from their position. They waited, Tom matching their vector, the team collectively holding their breath as the distance increased.

Ben watched the sonar display, his heart drumming in sync with the slow, pulsing blip of the Russian warship above them. It had changed course, moving westward, but it was still directly above them.

He knew they weren’t stupid. The crew up there still believed something was in the water. Maybe not them specifically, but something.

He flexed his fingers against the console, resisting the urge to drum them anxiously. Every decision now was a balance between risk and reward. If they moved too soon, they’d expose themselves. If they stayed too long, they’d be trapped in a waiting game with an enemy who had all the advantages — fuel, firepower, and patience.

Tom exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. His face was pale, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on his brow as he adjusted his grip on the controls. “They’re not leaving,” he muttered. “They’re just repositioning.”

Julie tightened her grip on the back of his chair. “So what do we do?”

“We need to disappear,” Ben said. “Completely.”

Freddie frowned. “Yeah, great. How?”

For a moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the sub’s frame under the ocean’s pressure and the rhythmic ping of the warship’s passive sonar. Then Tom straightened slightly, his eyes flickering toward the depth gauge.

“We kick up the seabed,” he said.

Ben turned to him. “Explain.”

Tom adjusted a dial, bringing up a crude schematic of the ocean floor beneath them. “If we drop to the bottom and churn up enough silt and sand, we can create a cloud dense enough to disrupt their sonar. If they’re running passive scans, it’ll mess with their readings. They’ll see nothing but noise.”

Reggie sat up. “That’s a thing?”

“It’s a thing,” Tom confirmed. “Submarines have used the ocean floor for stealth before, though usually by just resting in a trench or against the seabed’s natural features. But we don’t have that luxury. If we sit still, they might still pick us up. If we move, we risk detection.”

“So we make our own cover,” Ben finished.

“Exactly.”

Julie frowned, eyeing the screens. “And how do we ‘churn up’ the seabed? This isn’t exactly a dredging ship.”

Tom pressed his lips together, thinking. “The ballast tanks. If we purge a controlled amount of water while descending, we can disturb the sediment enough to create a temporary cloud. It won’t last forever, but it might last long enough.”

Ben mulled it over. It was risky, but it was better than waiting around and hoping the Russians got bored. “What’s the downside?”

Tom hesitated, then sighed. “We’ll have to go completely dark once we hit the bottom. No propulsion, no noise. We’ll be sitting ducks.”

Julie crossed her arms. “And if they decide to do an active sonar sweep instead?”

Tom’s expression darkened. “Then we’re screwed.”

Ben exhaled, weighing their options. If they kept drifting, they’d eventually be spotted. If they did nothing, they’d eventually run out of battery and air. But if they could pull this off…

He glanced at the sonar. The warship was still moving west, but slowly. Deliberate.

It was now or never.

“Do it,” he said.

Tom nodded, then winced as he reached for the ballast controls. Julie steadied him, taking over. “Just tell me what to do.”

Tom guided her through the sequence. A low hiss filled the cabin as water was carefully purged from the ballast tanks, changing their buoyancy. The sub’s nose dipped ever so slightly, and they began their slow descent.

Reggie and Freddie monitored the external cameras, watching as the murky ocean floor loomed closer. It was uneven, a mixture of rocky patches and fine silt deposits.

“We need to land in the soft stuff,” Tom instructed. “The more sediment we disturb, the better.”

The sub sank lower, inches at a time. The depth gauge ticked higher.

“Almost there,” Julie murmured.

Ben watched the sonar again. No changes. The warship was still sweeping.

“Steady,” Tom breathed. “We don’t want to come in too fast.”

A few more feet.

The silt swirled beneath them, a thick, undisturbed blanket of fine ocean debris.

Julie adjusted the trim, angling their descent just enough —

Contact.

A faint thump resonated through the hull as the sub settled onto the ocean floor. The lights from their exterior cameras flickered against the swirling mass of silt they’d kicked up. The cloud billowed outward, expanding slowly.

“Now we wait,” Tom said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The sub powered down, going as quiet as possible. No engine hum, no active systems beyond life support and passive sonar.

Ben’s pulse thudded in his ears.

No one moved. No one spoke.

Time dragged. Minutes stretched like hours.

Above them, the warship’s blip on sonar continued its search pattern.

No pings. No depth charges.

Just silence.

CHAPTER 73

BEN

Tom kept the sub silent for half an hour, maybe more, the vessel a lifeless husk resting in the sediment, hiding beneath its own manufactured veil.

Freddie watched as Tom adjusted a dial, his voice a whisper. “Should we risk a ping?”

Ben shook his head immediately. “No. Too risky. If they’re still up there and we give them even a hint of our location, we’re done.”

Freddie exhaled sharply but backed off, settling into an uneasy silence.

The minutes stretched on, each one dragging slower than the last. The sub remained motionless, resting on the seafloor beneath its self-made cloud of silt and debris. Every so often, a faint creak echoed through the hull, the ocean pressing in on all sides, reminding them just how deep and alone they really were.

Ben’s gaze flicked to the sonar screen. Still nothing. The warship had either moved out of range or had gone silent itself, waiting in the darkness above like a patient predator.

Thirty more minutes passed.

“Alright,” Ben finally muttered, breaking the tense silence. “We’ve been sitting long enough. Tom, what’s the safest way to check if they’re still up there?”

Tom, still pale but more alert, leaned forward, studying the controls. “Best option isn’t sonar. It’s too easy to detect. We go up slow, just enough to get visual confirmation through the periscope or the external cameras. If we don’t see anything, we fully surface, but carefully.”

Ben nodded. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

Julie adjusted the ballast controls, releasing a controlled amount of water to increase their buoyancy. The sub lifted from the seafloor in slow increments, silt swirling in its wake as it drifted upward.

The external cameras remained dark, the murky depths obscuring much of their view.

Ben leaned in, watching the displays as they crept closer to periscope depth. The tension in the cabin mounted with every foot of ascent.

Finally, Tom reached for the periscope controls, his fingers hovering over them. “Here we go,” he murmured, and slowly rotated the optics upward.

The screen flickered, adjusting to the dim ambient light filtering from the surface.

Ben held his breath.

The water in front of them — the direction the Russian warship had been heading was empty. No shadows. No movement. No looming hull of a warship waiting to pounce.

Tom exhaled, slumping slightly. “Looks clear.”

Ben didn’t relax just yet. “Let’s keep going, but slow. We surface when we’re absolutely sure.”

Tom nodded and adjusted their ascent, keeping the movements gradual. The submarine rose another few meters, the water around them growing lighter as they approached the surface.

Then, without warning, a shadow loomed on the periscope screen.

A massive, hulking shape.

Ben’s blood went cold. He’d been in precarious situations before, but feeling in the pit of his stomach told him this was something he’d never experienced.

Certain, imminent death.

“Wait,” Tom muttered, adjusting the focus. “That’s — ”

The Russian warship.

It wasn’t gone. It hadn’t left.

It had been waiting for them.

Ben realized their mistake. The Russian warship had been sent out here not to dredge up an enemy, but because they were on patrol. They were simply looking for something to do, and they had all the time in the world. He wasn’t sure how long a ship like that could stay afloat without returning to port for dry-dock maintenance, but he guessed it was years. Supply boats, planes — hell, this close to Russia, probably helicopters — could easily be dispatched for re-provisioning.

In other words, they had all the time in the world to simply wait for the sub to reappear. They’d probably decided to wait there for another few days, when the sub’s inhabitants would be forced to resurface or perish.

A perfect trap.

“Shit!” Ben barked. “They’re right on top of us! They must’ve repositioned while we were sitting on the seafloor.”

Freddie shot forward, eyes locked on the periscope feed. “They knew we’d try to surface.”

Before anyone could react, a sudden, concussive thud reverberated through the sub’s hull.

Then another.

A third.

They weren’t depth charges.

They were being shot at.

The entire submarine lurched, metal groaning under the close impact. They weren’t hit — they would have known if they were, because they’d be getting very wet by now — but Ben knew the shells were getting closer. Red warning lights flickered across the control panel as Tom struggled to compensate, his fingers flying over the Russian sub’s controls.

“We need to dive again! Now!” Freddie shouted.

“And move out of the range of fire!” Reggie added.

Another near-impact sent a violent shudder through the sub, and for the first time, Ben felt the unmistakable sensation of something they had dreaded from the beginning — actual hull damage.

Tom was already forcing the sub into a rolling dive, his good hand gripping the controls so tight his knuckles went white. The hull groaned in protest, metal straining under the sudden shift in pressure.

Another thud rang through the water, but this one was different.

It wasn’t deep, wasn’t close.

A second later, another impact.

Ben’s head snapped toward the sonar display. “Wait — what the hell was that?”

Tom adjusted the controls, bringing the sub into a controlled descent. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t them hitting us.”

Something firing at the Russian warship.

Freddie swore under his breath. “That’s… incoming fire — but not at us.”

Reggie bolted to the bow, craning his neck over the sonar display. “Another vessel. A big one.”

Ben’s heart pounded. “Who?”

“I don’t know yet, but they’re not shooting at us.”

Another impact rocked the water above them, followed by a deep, muted explosion.

A few extra seconds passed, then they heard the telltale pitch of the Russian warship’s guns, but again they weren’t aimed at them.

Julie sucked in a sharp breath. “Someone else just entered the fight.”

CHAPTER 74

JULIE

Julie pressed her palm against the cold steel of the bulkhead and forced herself to take a breath. The sudden, violent end to the Russian warship had left them all rattled, but if it meant the U.S. Navy had found them instead… it might just be the first good thing to happen in hours.

Freddie let out a low whistle. “We should probably confirm that before we throw a party.”

Reggie, still at the console, adjusted a few knobs. “I’ll try sending a ping. If it’s them, they might be listening.”

Julie exchanged a look with Ben. He gave her a small nod — permission or encouragement, she wasn’t sure which — but she turned to Reggie anyway. “Go ahead.”

Reggie pressed the transmitter button. “Unknown vessel, this is — ” He hesitated, glancing at Ben. “Hell, what are we calling ourselves?”

“The dumbasses who stole a Russian sub?” Freddie suggested.

Tom groaned from the pilot’s seat. “Not funny.”

Ben exhaled sharply. “Just tell them we’re a civilian team in distress. Keep it simple.”

Reggie nodded and tried again. “Unknown vessel, this is an American civilian team aboard a compromised Russian submarine. We are unarmed and in need of assistance.”

Silence.

Julie felt her pulse tick up. The ocean stretched endless around them, dark and empty except for whatever lay beyond the sub’s hull.

A crackle of static.

“Russian submarine, identify yourselves immediately.”

Julie sucked in a breath. The voice was calm, steady, American.

Reggie hesitated, then glanced at Ben.

Ben took the mic. “This is Harvey Bennett with the Civilian Special Operations group. We are not Russian military. Repeat, not Russian military.”

Another pause. Then —

“Mr. Bennett, this is the USS Manchester. Lower your periscope and remain surfaced. Do not make any sudden movements. We will send a team to retrieve you.”

Julie’s shoulders sagged in something close to relief.

Freddie let out a slow breath. “Hell of a way to be rescued.”

Reggie smirked. “Better than drowning.”

Ben didn’t move, his grip still tight on the mic. “Roger that, Manchester. Standing by.”

Julie shifted toward him, lowering her voice. “Do we trust them?”

Ben exhaled, his jaw tight. “Do we have a choice?”

Outside, the low thrum of approaching engines sent vibrations through the hull.

Rescue was here… they just had to hope it was the kind they wanted.

The minutes dragged by in a heavy silence. The USS Manchester had responded, but that didn’t mean they were in the clear.

Julie stole a glance at Tom. He was still pale, his breathing shallow, but at least he was conscious. They needed to get him proper medical attention — soon.

Freddie shifted uncomfortably. “What’s taking so long?”

Reggie studied the sonar screen, frowning. “They’re moving slow. Standard protocol, I guess. They don’t know if we’re actually hostile.”

“They could have just left us here,” Julie muttered.

Freddie shrugged. “They still might.”

The thought sent a cold chill through her.

Ben kept his eyes locked on the periscope readout. “We stay put. Keep the sub steady. If they think we’re making a break for it, we lose our chance.”

Julie crossed her arms, glancing at the others. “We should be ready, just in case.”

Freddie arched a brow. “For what, exactly?”

Julie hesitated. “I don’t know. But let’s not assume this is a guaranteed rescue.”

They all knew what she meant. Just because the Manchester was American didn’t mean they were safe.

Tom filled them in. The USS Manchester was an Independence-class littoral combat ship, designed for speed and versatility. It was fast, maneuverable, and carried enough firepower to reduce their stolen submarine to shrapnel if it came down to it.

And right now, they were sitting ducks.

Reggie adjusted the radio. “Manchester, this is CSO team. We are standing by. Confirm approach.”

Another pause.

Then —

“CSO team, stand by. Our boarding team is en route.”

Julie let out a slow breath.

Freddie leaned against the bulkhead, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d feel a hell of a lot better if we had a backup plan.”

Julie nodded. “Me too.”

Ben’s gaze flicked to Tom, then back to the console. “We wait.”

The minutes dragged on. Then —

A sharp clunk echoed through the hull. Julie’s heart jumped into her throat.

“What the hell was that?” Reggie whispered.

Ben motioned for silence, his posture tense. He pressed his ear against the bulkhead, listening.

Another clunk.

Freddie gritted his teeth. “That better be the Navy and not some pissed-off Russians.”

The radio crackled. “CSO team, we are preparing to board. Maintain position.”

Julie exhaled. “At least they’re still talking to us.”

Ben turned toward the others. “Alright. Everyone stay alert. We don’t do anything sudden. We let them take the lead.”

Freddie smirked. “And if they take us in as war criminals?”

Ben’s jaw tightened. “We deal with that later.”

Julie steadied herself. This was it. They were either about to be saved, or thrown into an entirely new fight.

The submarine rocked slightly as the boarding team made contact. A moment later, the outer hatch creaked open. Flashlights flooded the compartment, blinding them for a moment.

“Hands where we can see them!”

Julie obeyed immediately, lifting her hands. Ben, Reggie, and Freddie did the same. Tom groaned, but he lifted a single arm up and rested it on the control panel above his head.

A figure poked a head inside, weapon raised. While pointing at them, another person lowered themselves down into the sub. The U.S. Navy insignia on the woman’s uniform was the only thing that kept Julie from panicking.

More figures followed, coming down into the submarine like ants returning to their nest. One of them, an officer, lowered his weapon slightly and stepped forward. “Who’s in charge here?”

Ben met his gaze. “I am.”

The officer studied him for a long moment, then gestured to the others. “Move in. Secure the vessel.”

Julie’s pulse pounded as the soldiers moved around them, clearing the sub. It took all of ten seconds, considering the sub’s relatively small size, and only two separate chambers to search.

The officer stepped closer. “You want to explain why you’re in possession of a Russian submarine?”

Ben let out a slow breath. “It’s a long story.”

“Then start talking.”

“We pose no threat to you, but this submarine is barely seaworthy. Any chance you can take us back to your ride? We’ll tell you everything.”

The man looked him up and down for a long moment, then nodded at two of his crew members. They turned and ascended the ladder once more.

CHAPTER 75

JULIE

The hum of the Manchester’s engines vibrated beneath Julie’s feet, a steady reminder that, for the first time in hours, they were safe. The submarine had been abandoned, left floating in the open ocean, and now they were aboard a U.S. Navy Independence-class warship, surrounded by armed sailors and the overwhelming scent of oil, steel, and salt.

But safe didn’t necessarily mean secure.

Julie sat on a metal bench in the ship’s ready room, her hands clasped together to keep them from shaking. Across from her, Ben stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he stared at the bulkhead. Freddie and Reggie were nearby, both keeping their voices low as they exchanged muttered comments.

Tom was somewhere else entirely — below deck in the medical bay, getting the treatment he should have had hours ago. That, at least, was one relief.

The room was thick with tension, and at its center was Captain Warren, the commanding officer of the Manchester. He stood behind the steel table, his hands braced against its surface, eyes dark with frustration as he stared down at them.

“Well,” Warren finally said, his voice taut, “this is a fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”

Julie felt Ben tense beside her.

The captain continued, “I need you to understand the position you’ve put me in. We showed up to respond to a distress call from a ship called the Aurora.”

Julie’s eyes flicked to Ben, who was impassive and unreadable. But she knew her husband. Hearing of this was affecting him. He’d be wondering what happened to Rachel Voss, and the ship she went down in.

“Unfortunately, the boat was completely gone by the time our mission team arrived at its last known location. But we stuck around, tightening patrol due to another boat — Russian — that appeared in the area shortly after.”

He paused, licking his lips as if there were a bad taste on them. “And less than an hour ago, my ship fired live ordnance at that same Russian warship. A warship that was operating illegally in U.S. waters, yes, but now it’s limping back to Vladivostok with, I’m sure, its own version of events.” He let out a slow, measured breath. “And Washington isn’t going to like that.”

“They fired first,” Ben said flatly.

Warren’s eyes flicked to him. “Doesn’t matter. You think Moscow’s going to admit that? I guarantee their report will say we opened fire unprovoked, and that they had no choice but to defend themselves.”

Julie clenched her jaw. She knew he wasn’t wrong. This was how things worked — escalations could be twisted, rewritten. The truth didn’t always matter.

“The good news,” Warren went on, “is that we didn’t sink them. The bad news is that they’re still floating, which means they get to tell their side of the story. I don’t know how high this will go, but I’d be shocked if I don’t get an earful from the Pentagon within the hour.”

Ben exhaled through his nose, but Julie could see something shifting behind his eyes — something calculated.

“Captain,” he said carefully, “I need you to make a call for me.”

Warren lifted an eyebrow. “A call? Son, you think this is a small-town jail, and I’m some kind of Rent-a-cop?”

Ben shook his head. “No, sir. And I mean no disrespect. It’s just — this is all easily explainable. We’re not military, but we… have connections. And this was a sanctioned mission.”

“Sanctioned by civilians?”

Ben nodded.

“But you think you’ve got enough sway with my bosses that I can just speak your name into the phone and everything will be forgiven.”

“I can get you in touch with someone who can make sure your version of events is the one that sticks.”

Silence hung between them.

Warren studied him, skeptical. “You want me to make a classified call on an encrypted channel… for you.”

“Yes.”

Warren let out a short laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “Son, you must think I’m an idiot. Who exactly am I calling?”

Ben hesitated, then said, “Your boss. Rear Admiral, or anyone else in Washington. Tell them you have Harvey Bennett aboard.”

That got Warren’s full attention.

His gaze sharpened. “That name supposed to mean something to me?”

Ben didn’t blink. “Not to you, I guess. But to whoever picks up that call.”

Julie could practically feel the shift in the air. Reggie and Freddie exchanged glances, and Warren’s expression tightened. It was a bold move. Ben and the CSO group were hardly famous, and if someone had heard of them, it was likely due to the smear campaign Ben’s younger brother had quite successfully launched a year ago.

Surely Ben was working toward something other than hoping Captain Warren’s boss had heard of them — and liked them.

After a long moment, the captain sighed. “You know what? I’ll humor you. It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do, bobbing around out here like a damn ice cube in a whiskey glass.”

He stepped away from the table, turning toward one of the junior officers standing near the door. “Lieutenant, get me an encrypted line to the fleet admiral. Now.”

The officer nodded and hurried out.

Warren turned back to Ben. “If this gets me into more trouble than I already am, I’ll throw you overboard myself.”

Ben just nodded.

Minutes passed. No one spoke.

Then the lieutenant returned, looking both confused and uneasy. “Sir… the admiral is on the line.”

Warren shot Ben a look before stepping over to the secured console mounted on the bulkhead. He lifted the handset and spoke in clipped, professional tones.

“Sir, this is Captain Warren of the USS Manchester… I need to inform you that we were engaged with an unauthorized Russian warship in U.S. waters. You’ll receive my report shortly with more detail, of course. The vessel has since retreated, but I have something… unusual to report.”

A pause. Then Warren’s lips twitched in irritation. “No, sir, I haven’t lost my damn mind.”

Julie bit back a smirk.

Another pause. Warren exhaled sharply, his eyes flicking toward Ben. “Sir, I have a man named Harvey Bennett aboard my vessel. He requested I relay his name to you.”

Silence.

Then Warren’s brows lifted slightly. His grip tightened on the handset, and for the first time since they’d met him, he looked… uncertain.

“Yes, sir. I understand,” Warren said, his voice suddenly more formal. “I’ll wait. Sorry for the intrusion. It won’t happen again.”

He lowered the handset back to its perch and turned to Ben, his face unreadable. Julie felt her heart sink. Great, now he hates us even more.

“You mind explaining to me how this doesn’t look like massive incompetence on my part?” Warren asked.

Ben’s jaw was set, his expression unreadable. “You’ll find out in a minute.”

Warren shook his head, muttering something under his breath.

Then the lieutenant stiffened as another officer appeared in the doorway.

“Sir,” the new arrival said, “we’ve received an urgent return transmission.”

Warren lifted the handset again.

The line clicked. Then a voice, gruff and authoritative, filled the ready room.

“Captain Warren, this is Rear Admiral Tyson.”

Julie felt her pulse quicken.

Warren straightened. “Admiral, I — ”

“Spare me the report,” Tyson cut in. “I’ll get to that in a moment. What I want to know right now is why the hell you gave me the name Harvey Bennett before explaining to me why you nearly sank a Russian warship when we’re not at war.”

The room went still.

Julie turned to Ben, but he didn’t react. He just stood there, arms crossed, waiting.

Warren hesitated, his posture rigid. Then he drew in a slow breath.

“Sir,” Warren said carefully, “with all due respect… I think you should talk to him yourself.”

Tyson was quiet for a beat. Then, with the weight of command behind it, he said:

“Put him on.”

Ben stepped forward.

And Julie couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get even more complicated.

CHAPTER 76

BEN

The admiral’s voice dropped in volume but not intensity. “You have about ten seconds to explain to me why your name just landed on my desk before I order this entire mess classified and forget I ever heard it.”

Ben didn’t hesitate. “Sir, I assume you were briefed about what happened in the Bering Sea today?”

“I was briefed that one of my captains discharged weapons against a Russian ship, potentially escalating an international incident. What I wasn’t briefed on was how the hell you ended up in the middle of it.”

Ben exhaled. “Because it wasn’t an incident, Admiral. It was an operation. A hidden Russian facility, underwater geologic weapons testing. And we stopped it.”

Silence.

Then Tyson’s voice came back, quiet but razor-sharp. “Polaris?”

Bingo.

Ben’s grip tightened on the edge of the console. “So you do know about it.”

Tyson didn’t answer immediately. Then, slowly, he said, “I’ve seen the name before.”

“Well, we saw it up close,” Ben replied. “The Russians built a classified undersea station, likely during the Soviet era, designed to weaponize seismic energy. They tried to get it operational again, and they succeeded — until we shut it down. That Russian ship your captain shot at? They weren’t there for a routine patrol. They were there to extract a rogue admiral named Strakov, who was leading the project. Strakov’s men killed the entire crew of the Resolute when they tested Polaris, and they would have done the same to us if we hadn’t stopped them.”

Tyson didn’t speak for a moment, but Ben could hear the measured breathing on the other end of the line. Calculating. Processing.

“Tell me you have proof,” Tyson finally said.

Ben glanced at Reggie, who had been standing quietly behind him. The look on his friend’s face was clear: Do we?

“We have a Russian submarine sitting in your patrol zone,” Ben said. “Stolen from the very people running Polaris. That should be proof enough.”

Tyson’s exhale was sharp. “So let me get this straight. You and your people infiltrated a Soviet-era black site, disrupted an active Russian military operation, stole a nuclear-powered submarine, and somehow got the Manchester to shoot at a Russian warship? And you want me to believe this is all above board?”

“That’s the short version, yeah,” Ben said.

Julie muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

Warren had been listening in, and now he was staring at Ben like he’d grown a second head. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he mouthed.

Ben ignored him. “Admiral, I need a favor.”

Tyson gave a humorless laugh. “You need a favor?”

“I need you to connect me to my benefactor.”

Another pause.

Tyson’s voice was colder this time. “How the hell do you expect me to do that?”

“Because your entire secure communications network — the same encrypted network this conversation is happening on? He built it.”

Another silence. Longer this time. Ben imagined Tyson’s expression, imagined him realizing just how deep this went.

“You’re telling me this… person built a backdoor into our encrypted systems?” Tyson asked, voice deadly quiet.

“Yes,” Ben said simply.

“Oh, for the love of — ” Tyson was silent again. When he spoke, it was tight, restrained. “And what, exactly, does he want?”

Ben met Julie’s gaze. “Probably the same thing you want, Admiral. The truth.”

Tyson let out a slow breath, then muttered, “Stay put.” The line clicked off.

The tension on the bridge didn’t lessen, but at least now they had a direction. Ben knew that tone in Tyson’s voice — someone who had just realized a loose end they thought had been buried was suddenly standing on their deck, very much alive and causing problems.

Now, the only question was what Tyson was going to do about it.

Several minutes passed. The bridge remained silent, everyone waiting for the next shoe to drop. Ben kept his arms crossed, his eyes locked on the radio.

Warren stood near the comms station, arms folded, his fingers drumming against his bicep as he stared at the silent receiver.

The radio crackled.

“This is Rear Admiral Tyson,” came the voice over the comm. “I need to speak with Bennett.”

Ben raised an eyebrow, stepping forward. Warren shot him a sharp look but didn’t protest as Ben leaned toward the mic.

“I’m here.”

There was a brief pause before Tyson spoke again, his tone unreadable.

“Bennett, I don’t know how the hell you pulled this off, but you were right.”

Ben’s pulse quickened. “Right about what?”

Another pause. When Tyson spoke again, his voice had an edge to it, something between disbelief and annoyance. “Thirty seconds after I hung up, someone put a note in my hand. No ID, no signature. Just a simple message.”

Ben waited, barely breathing.

Tyson let out a slow exhale. “The note says: ‘Believe the American CSO group. Get them back to Alaska safely.’”

Silence.

Julie’s head snapped toward Ben. Reggie muttered something under his breath.

Warren straightened, clearly taken aback. “Sir, with all due respect, what the hell does that mean?”

“It means,” Tyson said, voice flat, “that someone just told me to stop asking questions and do what I’m told.”

Ben smirked. “So… we have a ride home?”

Tyson sighed. “Yeah, Bennett. You have a ride home.”

CHAPTER 77

BEN

The air in Anchorage was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of pine and salt as Ben stepped off the small private plane and onto the icy tarmac. He inhaled deeply, letting the cold burn his lungs — welcoming the sensation of being home. It wasn’t quite the home he pictured returning to. There were no crowds waiting, no press conferences, no celebrations. Just the quiet hum of the plane behind him, the low conversations of the crew, and the distant, ever-present rumble of the ocean.

Julie stood beside him, her hand slipping into his. He squeezed it gently. Neither of them spoke.

Reggie and Freddie followed close behind, still stiff from the long flight but grateful to be on solid ground. Tom was absent — he’d been taken to the base hospital for further treatment as soon as they landed. The bullet wound had taken its toll, and while he’d made it through the ordeal with the kind of stubborn resolve that only Tom could manage, he needed real medical attention.

Ben hadn’t fought it. He knew Tom was in good hands.

The drive out of the city was quiet, the rhythmic hum of the tires against the pavement filling the space between them. Julie rested her head against the window, eyes half-lidded, exhaustion finally pulling at her features. Reggie rode in the front, occasionally glancing back at Ben but saying nothing.

When they reached the house, it was just as they left it. That felt impossible. The entire world had changed beneath them, shifting like the tides, and yet their home still stood, unchanged, waiting.

Julie exhaled deeply as she stepped inside, her shoulders finally dropping. Ben followed, pausing at the threshold. The warmth of the house wrapped around him, chasing away the lingering chill from the outside. It smelled like home. Like safety. Like everything they had almost lost.

He turned, watching as Freddie stretched with a groan before dropping onto the couch. Reggie beelined for the kitchen, muttering something about coffee. They’d stay the night, debrief in the CSO headquarters tomorrow, and then everyone would be on their way.

Reggie back to Anchorage, where Ben was sure he’d once again start hanging out with Ben’s brother, Zack. Ben would start to feel restless, even jealous of their bachelor lifestyles, even though both men were in committed relationships, and spent most of their time working.

He’d even overhead Reggie say Sarah Lindgren, his long-time girlfriend, would be staying in Anchorage with him for a few days before flying down to Puerto Rico for a conference.

It was normal.

And yet, it wasn’t.

Because all Ben could think about was Ilya, her hands slipping from the override, the flood swallowing her whole.

Strakov, floating silently in the frigid waters, waiting for death. He wasn’t exactly upset the man was gone, but it still felt… cruel.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

There was no point in letting the guilt settle in. It had no home here.

Instead, he forced himself to move, to walk down the hallway and into his daughter’s room.

Hope was asleep, curled up in her blankets, her tiny chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. The sight of her nearly undid him. Julie’s parents were in one of the guest rooms that had been built into the CSO headquarters section connected to the cabin, having returned with Hope the night before.

Julie stepped beside him, her fingers lacing with his once more.

“She missed you,” she whispered.

Ben swallowed hard. “I know. I missed the hell out of her, too.”

Julie’s voice was gentle but firm. “And she still has you.”

Ben tore his gaze from his daughter, looking into his wife’s eyes.

For the first time since Polaris, since the flooding, since the last gunshot in the sub bay — he let himself believe it.

For now, they were safe.

For now.

But how much longer could they afford to do this? They were a family now, and neither he nor Julie could imagine doing life without the other. And what of Hope? How could he selfishly continue on in this way, throwing himself toward certain death, over and over again, and expect her to understand?

The thought of losing her was one thing, but the thought of leaving her — willingly putting himself in danger — was a new low he’d never experienced.

He let out a deep sigh, the smell of Reggie’s coffee wafting. It wasn’t much, but it gave Ben a bit of a pick-me-up, and he kissed Julie’s head and told her he’d go join his best friend for a bit.

She hugged him, then moved to the bed.

Ben returned to the cabin’s living area and then small kitchen, sitting in one of the chairs around his dining table. Before he could argue, Reggie plopped down a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

Ben wrapped his hands around the coffee mug, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. The heat was welcome, cutting through the lingering chill in his bones, but he still felt… off. His body was home, but his mind wasn’t. It was still out there, beneath the waves, stuck in the corridors of Polaris Station, chasing ghosts and unfinished business.

Reggie sat across from him, sipping his own coffee, watching him carefully. They didn’t need to say much. After everything, the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable — it was just there, like the space between waves, inevitable and natural.

Finally, Reggie set his cup down. “You look like shit.”

Ben huffed a quiet laugh. “Feel like it, too.”

“Figured.” Reggie leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms. “We been home what? A day? Three?”

“Six hours,” Ben muttered, taking a sip.

Reggie raised an eyebrow. “You counting?”

Ben shrugged. “Not exactly. Just haven’t slept much since last week, and I’m feeling it.”

Reggie nodded, unsurprised. He let the conversation settle for a moment before speaking again. “So what’s the plan?”

Ben furrowed his brow. “For what?”

“For you, man. You gonna lay low for a bit? Take a real break? Maybe actually be a dad for more than five minutes before someone drags you into another mess?”

Ben exhaled through his nose, staring into his coffee.

That was the plan. It had been the plan. Before the sub. Before Polaris. Before Strakov, Ilya, and —

He shook the thought away.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “That’s the plan.”

Reggie gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah? You sound real convinced.”

Ben shot him a tired smirk. “I mean it. I’m staying home. Gonna spend time with Hope, let Julie stop worrying for once. Fix up the damn garage.”

Reggie snorted. “You don’t have a garage.”

“I’ll build one.”

“Domestic life suits you.”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but I owe them some normal.”

Reggie studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Good. You need it. They need it.” He took another sip, then leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting to something lighter. “Speaking of taking breaks…”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like that look.”

Reggie grinned. “Sarah’s got a conference in Puerto Rico next week.”

Ben blinked. “And?”

“And I’m going to Puerto Rico next week.”

Ben stared at him. “You hate conferences.”

“True,” Reggie said easily. “But I love beaches, warm weather, and bars with drinks that come in coconuts. Plus, Sarah’s only tied up for a couple days — then it’s all sun and relaxation. And, you know, I figured maybe you wanna come along.”

Ben frowned, caught off guard. “Puerto Rico?”

“Yeah. No Russians, no stolen submarines, no deep-sea nightmares — just a week of not dying. Thought you might like the sound of that.”

Ben let out a quiet chuckle. “I don’t know, man.”

Reggie scoffed. “You don’t know? Bro, when’s the last time you took an actual vacation?”

Ben opened his mouth. Paused. Closed it.

Reggie grinned. “Exactly.”

Ben sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t just up and leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just got home, for starters.”

Reggie waved a hand. “Julie’s parents are here, and they’ve already told you they’re happy to stay longer. Plus, you just said you were gonna take a break. This is a break. One week, no distractions, just being dudes, drinking beers, and pretending we have normal lives for five minutes.”

Ben hesitated. He wanted to say no. He wanted to stay home, wanted to be with his wife, his daughter, wanted to let his body and mind recover in the comfort of familiar surroundings.

But…

But he also knew himself.

And he knew that the longer he stayed here, the longer he sat still, the more time his mind would have to replay the last few weeks, over and over. He’d go over every detail, every choice, every moment, picking them apart until the guilt suffocated him.

Maybe Reggie was right. Maybe a break somewhere far away was exactly what he needed.

Still… “What’s Julie gonna say?” Ben asked, half-rhetorical.

Reggie smirked. “She’s gonna tell you to go.”

Ben gave him a look. “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely,” Reggie said. “She’s gonna take one look at you, decide she’s tired of your brooding ass moping around the house, and tell you to go get some sun before you drive her crazy.”

Ben sighed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I am,” Reggie agreed. “But you do need this. One week. That’s all I’m saying.”

Ben stared down into his coffee, weighing the idea.

Puerto Rico. Warm air, warm sand, drinks that didn’t taste like seawater. One week away from… everything.

Maybe.

Maybe he could do that.

Reggie clapped his hands together. “So, I’ll take that as a yes.”

Ben exhaled. “You’re really not gonna drop this, are you?”

“Nope.”

Ben shook his head, but a reluctant smirk tugged at his lips. “Fine.”

Reggie grinned. “That’s my guy.”

Ben took another slow sip of coffee.

A week.

Maybe it really was exactly what he needed.

CHAPTER 78

BEN

The soft glow of the phone screen faded as Ben set it back on the nightstand, but the words lingered, burned into his thoughts like an afterimage.

A moment earlier, a text message had appeared onscreen. From Mr. E.

Find Director K.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring into the darkness. The air in the cabin was cool, the quiet weight of night pressing in around him. Outside, the wind whistled through the trees, rustling against the windows. Somewhere beneath it all, he could hear the distant crash of waves against the rocky shoreline.

Julie shifted slightly beside him, her breath hitching for a moment before settling back into the slow, even rhythm of sleep. He glanced over at her, the faint light from the moon tracing the contours of her face. For a moment, he allowed himself to just look, to take in the peace on her features, the way her hand rested loosely on the blanket.

She deserved this rest. So did he.

But it was already slipping away.

Ben exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.

He didn’t recognize the number. He never did. Mr. E operated in shadows, passing information through layers of encryption, always ensuring there was just enough plausible deniability. Ben had stopped questioning how messages reached him — or how Mr. E always seemed to know when to send them.

But this one felt different.

Find Director K.

Not a warning. Not a status update. A directive.

Ben clenched his jaw.

He should ignore it. He should.

But he wouldn’t.

Because he already knew — whatever came next, Polaris was only the beginning.

The clock read 4:07 AM when Ben finally slipped out of bed.

Carefully, he eased the blanket back, moving slowly enough to avoid waking Julie. He stepped lightly across the wooden floor, his breath shallow, muscles tight as he navigated the space with practiced familiarity.

The house creaked faintly in the cold, the way old cabins did when the temperature shifted outside. As Ben passed Hope’s room, he hesitated, glancing in through the half-open door.

His daughter was curled up in her blankets, lost in some childhood dream, one arm flopped over the stuffed rabbit she never traveled without. The sight hit him in a way he wasn’t expecting.

He lingered for a second longer before turning away.

Downstairs, the house was even quieter. He moved into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot Julie had set to brew on a timer. The scent filled the air, rich and grounding, but it did little to shake the feeling pressing against his chest.

Find Director K.

Ben stared at the words again, the screen illuminating his face.

He had no idea where to start.

Director K wasn’t just some bureaucrat tucked away in a government office. The title had surfaced in their investigation of Polaris, mentioned in hushed conversations, implied in classified documents. The Faction had layers, and K was buried deep.

But Mr. E wanted him found.

Which meant he could be found.

Ben leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip of coffee.

He needed to talk to Reggie.

By 5:00 AM, Ben had showered, dressed, and made another cup of coffee. The sun hadn’t crested the horizon yet, but the sky had begun its slow shift from deep navy to the lighter grays of morning.

Reggie arrived from one of the guest rooms twenty minutes later.

The knock on his kitchen counter was soft but deliberate. Ben turned to find his friend standing there, a thermos in one hand and a suspicious expression on his face.

“You texted me at four-thirty in the damn morning,” Reggie grumbled, stepping inside. “I assume someone’s dead or you just decided sleep was optional.”

Ben shut the door behind him. “No one’s dead. Yet.”

Reggie shot him a look before setting his thermos down and shrugging out of his jacket. “Then this better be good.”

Ben didn’t waste time. He handed Reggie his phone.

Reggie read the message, his eyebrows lifting slightly.

Then he let out a long sigh. “Man, I knew we weren’t done with this shit.”

Ben crossed his arms. “It’s not like we asked for homework.”

Reggie tossed the phone back onto the counter and folded his arms. “So what’s the play? You calling Mr. E for clarification, or are we just supposed to shake down the nearest Russian spy and hope they spill their guts?”

Ben smirked faintly. “Tempting, but no.” He leaned back against the counter. “I don’t think this is something I can just ask about. If Mr. E wanted to give me details, he would have.”

Reggie huffed. “Fantastic. Love a mission with zero intel.”

Ben took another sip of coffee. “I think this is about Polaris.”

Reggie frowned. “Polaris is gone. The station’s at the bottom of the ocean. That Russian warship’s probably halfway to Moscow, spinning some bullshit story about how we sabotaged Strakov’s completely legal research facility.”

Ben shook his head. “Polaris wasn’t just about the station. It was part of something bigger. The tech, the research — none of it started with Strakov. The Faction’s been working on something for years. Polaris was just a piece of the puzzle. Mr. E obviously wants something this ‘Director K’ person knows.”

Reggie exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think Director K is holding the rest of the puzzle?”

“Maybe,” Ben admitted. “Or maybe they are the puzzle.”

Reggie rolled his eyes. “Great. Love that for us.”

Ben set his coffee down. “You in?”

Reggie gave him an incredulous look. “Did you really just ask me that?”

Ben smirked.

Reggie sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m in. But I swear, this better not involve another submarine.”

Ben chuckled. “No promises.”

By 6:30 AM, the first hints of sunlight peeked over the treetops, washing the cabin in a soft golden glow.

Reggie leaned back in his chair, stretching. “So, where do we start?”

Ben tapped a finger against the countertop. “We go back to what we know. Ilya mentioned Director K once. She didn’t give a whole lot of details, but she seemed to think he was a ‘he,’ and he was someone who might have been pulling Strakov’s strings, for better or worse.”

Reggie frowned. “Which means he’s either really important… or really dangerous.”

“Probably both,” Ben said.

Reggie exhaled. “All right. So, we dig. We find breadcrumbs. And we see where they lead.”

Ben nodded.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Reggie smirked. “I do still have that Puerto Rico trip planned, though.”

Ben huffed a laugh. “Seriously?”

Reggie shrugged. “I mean, you did say you needed a break.”

Ben shook his head. “Find a Russian spymaster, or drink mojitos on the beach?”

Reggie grinned. “Why not both?”

Ben chuckled. But in the back of his mind, the words still lingered.

Find Director K.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

AFTERWORD

If you liked this book (or even if you hated it…) write a review or rate it. You might not think it makes a difference, but it does.

Besides actual currency (money), the currency of today’s writing world is reviews. Reviews, good or bad, tell other people that an author is worth reading.

As an “indie” author, I need all the help I can get. I’m hoping that since you made it this far into my book, you have some sort of opinion on it.

Would you mind sharing that opinion? It only takes a second.

Nick Thacker

BOOKS BY NICK THACKER

Six Assassins Thrillers

Primary Target (Book 1)

Subtle Target (Book 2)

Unstable Target (Book 3)

Captive Target (Book 4)

Vendetta Target (Book 5)

Final Target (Book 6)

* * *

Mason Dixon Thrillers

Mark for Blood (Book 1)

Death Mark (Book 2)

Mark My Words (Book 3)

* * *

Harvey Bennett Mysteries

The Enigma Strain (Book 1)

The Amazon Code (Book 2)

The Ice Chasm (Book 3)

The Jefferson Legacy (Book 4)

The Paradise Key (Book 5)

The Atlantis Artifact (Book 6)

The Book of Bones (Book 7)

The Cain Conspiracy (Book 8)

The Mendel Paradox (Book 9)

The Minoan Manifest (Book 10)

The Napoleon Job (Book 11)

The Embers of Siwa (Book 12)

The Epsilon Event (Book 13)

The Cerberus Protocol (Book 14)

The Russian Betrayal (Book 15)

The Eye of Odin (Book 16)

The Polaris Cycle (Book 17)

Harvey Bennett Mysteries - Books 1-3

Harvey Bennett Mysteries - Books 4-6

Harvey Bennett Mysteries - Books 7-9

* * *

Harvey Bennett Prequels

The Icarus Effect (written with MP MacDougall)

The Severed Pines (written with Jim Heskett)

The Lethal Bones (written with Jim Heskett)

* * *

Gareth Red Thrillers

Seeing Red

Chasing Red (written with Kevin Ikenberry)

* * *

The Lucid

The Lucid: Episode One (written with Kevin Tumlinson)

The Lucid: Episode Two (written with Kevin Tumlinson)

The Lucid: Episode Three (written with Kevin Tumlinson

* * *

Standalone Thrillers

The Atlantis Stone

The Depths

Relics: A Post-Apocalyptic Technothriller

Killer Thrillers (3-Book Box Set)

* * *

Short Stories

I, Sergeant

Instinct

The Gray Picture of Dorian

Uncanny Divide (written with Kevin Tumlinson and Will Flora)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nick Thacker is a thriller author from Texas who lives in Hawaii and Colorado. In his free time, he enjoys reading in a hammock on the beach, skiing, drinking whiskey, and hanging out with his beautiful wife, two dogs, and two daughters.

For more information and a list of Nick’s other work, visit Nick online:

www.nickthacker.com

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The Polaris Cycle: Harvey Bennett Thrillers, #17

Copyright © 2025 by Nick Thacker

Published by Conundrum Publishing

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance of fictional characters to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All right reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise — without prior permission of the publisher and author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.