Page 28 of Cold Ignition

Not street muscle. Not reckless. These men knew what they were doing. Alexios’s mouth curved faintly.

Good. So did he.

The first man appeared at the end of the corridor, rifle up, scanning.

Alexios didn’t hesitate. He moved. Fast—violent in execution but controlled in every inch of it.

He closed the distance before the man could fully register him, redirecting the rifle with one hand as he drove forward. The shot went wide, chewing into the wall behind him. Alexios slammed into him, using momentum and leverage to pin him against the fractured concrete.

The knife slid in cleanly. Between ribs, then up. Precise.

The man gasped once—then nothing.

Alexios held him there for a second longer, ensuring silence, before lowering the body carefully to the ground.

No wasted motion.

No wasted energy.

Behind him, Rangi shifted to cover the open angle without needing to be told.

That was the thing about them. No hesitation. No doubt. Only trust.

“Two more,” Rangi murmured.

Alexios nodded once.

He heard them. They had very distinct and different rhythms. One heavier, slower. The other lighter, quicker. He stepped back into shadow, letting the darkness swallow him as the second man advanced.

This one was better trained.

Weapon tight. Eyes moving. Searching.

Alexios waited.

Let him pass.

Then struck. Low and fast.

He swept the man’s legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. The rifle skidded away across the concrete. Alexios followed through instantly, forearm locking across his throat, cutting off any chance of sound.

The man struggled.

Brief. Desperate. Then still.

Alexios rose in one smooth motion. The third man had seen enough. Gunfire tore down the corridor.

“Move,” Rangi snapped.

They moved. Together.

Not away from each other—but through the building, cutting angles, shifting direction before the enemy could box them in. Rangi took point now, guiding them deeper into the structure where the damage was worse, the layout less predictable.

Shots chased them. Concrete splintered. Dust exploded into the air, thick and choking. Alexios felt the burn of a round grazing his arm—heat, impact—but he didn’t slow.

“Left,” Rangi called.

They burst into a wide, open space—a collapsed ballroom, judging by the scale. The ceiling arched high above them, fractured beams hanging down like broken ribs. Light filtered through in jagged shafts, cutting across the room in uneven strips.