The gun in Noah’s hand went off before Noah even said a word.

One hard crack in the dark corridor, muzzle flash bouncing across the concrete walls like lightning. The round hit Zubair center of mass, hard enough to throw the weight of him back a half step.

But it didn’t matter.

He straightened before the echo faded. The gaping hole in his chest closed in seconds, the skin pulling tight as if the bullet had never been there. No pain. No injury. The blood on his shirt the only indication that he had even been shot in the first place.

Zubair looked down once, then up at Noah.

He didn’t say a word.

The man in front of him had wide eyes, too wide, the gun trembling in his grip like he expected physics and death to stay on his side.

Zubair started forward.

Noah fired again.

The round hit higher this time, straight through the ribs, tearing through bone and muscle. The impact twisted his shoulder back, a normal man would have folded under it. A normal man would have died.

But the hole closed before Noah could rack the next round.

And still, Zubair kept coming.

Slow.

Measured.

Something inside him stretched for the first time since the labs locked him down.

The creature in his blood, the one that had waited too long to be let off the leash, rolled through him like thunder moving under the earth.

Noah backed up three quick steps, his shoes scuffing on the tile.

"Stop," he snapped, clearly expecting to be obeyed.

But Zubair didn’t stop.

The third round went into his throat. The exit wound tore the back of his neck wide open, blood spraying the wall behind him.

And still, he kept walking.

The muscles closed in seconds, the skin sealed over before Noah could fire again.

The magazine clicked empty.

Noah swore and went for another.

Zubair lunged.

The gun clattered across the floor, kicked under the table by accident or instinct—it didn’t matter. Zubair slammed Noah back against the wall hard enough to rattle the metal frame behind it.

The man fought like a cornered animal. Knives from his vest lashed out in short brutal swings. Zubair caught his wrist before the first cut landed. Bones snapped under his grip.

Noah screamed once, short and sharp.

Zubair ripped the blade out of his hand and threw it away without looking.

The man grabbed another. Slashed. The blade cut across Zubair’s side. Skin split, muscle opened, blood came hot. The edges pulled back together before the knife left the wound.

The first thread of panic showed on Noah’s face then.

"You think—" he started.

Zubair slammed him sideways into the wall hard enough to choke the words off.

The creature inside liked the sound his body made on impact.

Liked the fear.

Liked that this was the one who put drugs in Sera’s breakfast, who sold them out, who handed her over to the knives and the restraints.

It wasn’t about revenge.

It wasn’t about betrayal.

It was about Sera.

About the way she sat silent through the experiments, the way she looked smaller after they pulled the straps off, the way she smelled like blood and electricity after they locked her in the cell with him.

The cell they expected him to rape her.

Noah had touched what was his.

Zubair dragged him down the corridor and threw him into the next room.

Noah hit the table, rolled over it, came up with a chair in his hands. Swung it wide. Caught Zubair across the shoulder. Wood splintered. The hit barely rocked him.

Zubair grabbed the chair, yanked it out of his grip, and broke it over his back in one motion.

The man stumbled, hit the floor on one knee. Came up with another knife.

Fast this time. Slashed low. The blade cut Zubair’s thigh, hot sting, bone-deep. He barely felt it. The skin sealed before Noah had time to pull back.

The next punch took him in the jaw.

Teeth snapped together. His head hit the edge of the table.

Zubair caught his arm before the second punch landed.

And broke it.

The elbow was forced back the wrong way. The bone popped through skin.

Noah screamed again. Louder.

Zubair didn’t care.

The creature inside wanted him slower, wanted him breathing longer so it could end him piece by piece.

He let go of the arm and drove a fist into his ribs instead. Something broke under the hit. Noah bent in half and dropped the knife.

Zubair kicked it across the floor and grabbed him by the back of the vest.

Dragged him.

The man fought like hell. Nails caught Zubair’s face. One dug a line down his cheek. The cut healed before Noah got his second strike in.

Zubair slammed him into the wall again.

Watched him bounce off.

Grabbed him before he fell and threw him across the room into the doorframe. Wood cracked.

The man stumbled out into the corridor, gasping, bleeding from the arm, the ribs, the mouth.

Zubair followed.

The lights flickered overhead. Sparks jumped from one broken panel. The floor was slick under their boots, water from a burst pipe running red where it crossed old stains.

Noah ran for the main hall.

Zubair didn’t hurry.

He followed him past the bodies of guards Sera had left earlier, past the scorch marks where Alexei’s ice grenades had gone off hours ago.

The man shoved open the door at the end of the hall and disappeared through it.

Zubair heard his boots on the stairs.

Metal on metal, fast, stumbling, desperate.

He followed.

One floor down, Noah grabbed a dropped rifle off a dead soldier and fired up the stairwell. Rounds sparked off the rails, bit into the walls. Zubair walked through them. A few hit, but none of them mattered.

The rifle clicked empty before Zubair reached the landing.

Noah dropped it, grabbed a fire axe off the wall, and ran again.

Two more flights down, through another hallway, through a lab with overturned tables and broken glass crunching under their feet.

Noah’s breath came ragged now, loud in the empty spaces.

Zubair stayed behind him, steady as the dark coming down.

He didn’t rush the last door.

He wanted the man to think there was a chance.

Noah shoved it open and sprinted into the next corridor, shoes slipping on the wet floor. He looked back once.

Zubair watched him look.

Watched the fear hit harder than any of the punches had.

The man ran harder.

Zubair followed him into the dark.