Chapter 9: The Betrayal of a Lifetime

Scene 1: The Ambush

The underground base had always felt suffocating—tight corridors, flickering lights, recycled air thick with the weight of people who had nowhere else to go. But that night, there was something different in the air. A tension that clung to every word spoken, to every movement made. It was the night before the strike. The moment before the rebellion made its mark.

I couldn’t sleep. The thoughts churned too violently, my mind replaying every detail of the plan. The coordinates, the escape routes, the weak points in The Order’s security grid. It had to work. It would work.

Then, the alarms screamed.

A tremor rippled through the floor as the first explosion rocked the tunnels. Dust rained down from above, the overhead lights flickering under the impact. I was on my feet before my mind could catch up, grabbing my weapon, heart pounding in my ears.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

The heavy blast doors at the far end of the base shook again—this time with the distinct, rhythmic force of breaching charges.

Screams. Shouts. The sound of people scrambling, scattering. A voice over the comms, urgent and sharp.

"They’re here! The Order—"

The signal cut out.

I sprinted toward the war room, weaving through the chaos as rebels grabbed weapons, flipped over tables for cover, prepared to fight. But even as I pushed forward, I could already see it—we weren’t ready for this.

The attack was too precise. Too fast.

They had known.

Solomon was already in the center of the war room, barking orders over the rising noise. His face was a mask of grim understanding. He knew.

“The north sector is compromised,” a rebel shouted over the gunfire. “They cut off the escape tunnels before we even knew they were coming!”

“How the hell did they get in so fast?” another voice yelled.

That’s when I saw her.

Eva stood at the far end of the room, motionless.

She wasn’t reaching for a weapon.

She wasn’t moving toward cover.

She wasn’t afraid.

My blood ran cold.

“Eva!” I shouted, my voice sharp with urgency. “What are you doing? We have to—”

She didn’t turn.

Instead, a figure stepped past her—a high-ranking officer in The Order’s insignia, moving through the chaos untouched.

Eva finally turned then, her expression unreadable.

“I didn’t lie to you, Lucian,” she said softly.

The words were a gunshot to the chest.

I barely felt the enforcers seize me, slamming me to the ground. My breath left me in a sharp gasp as the weight of their boots pinned me down. My vision swam.

No.

No, no, no.

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My mind fought to reject it, but the truth had already rooted itself in my bones.

She had led them here.

She had given them everything.

I thrashed against the enforcers’ grip, but it was useless. The war room was falling apart around me. Smoke filled the air. Explosions rattled the very walls of the underground base.

The Hidden were losing.

I was forced to my feet, my breath ragged. Across the room, Solomon had been dragged to his knees, blood streaking from a cut above his brow. His hands were bound, but his expression was steady—unshaken.

Even now, he didn’t look afraid.

I turned back to Eva, searching her face for something—regret, hesitation, anything.

She met my gaze and didn’t look away.

And that was worse.

Because she had already made peace with what she’d done.

She had betrayed us all.

“Why?” My voice was hoarse, raw.

Eva exhaled, but she didn’t answer.

Instead, she simply stepped aside as the enforcers hauled me toward the shattered entrance of the war room.

Past the bodies of those I had trained with.

Past the ruins of the rebellion that hadn’t even begun.

And then, I saw him.

A figure stood at the center of the battlefield, framed by the distant glow of burning wreckage.

The enforcers stopped.

My body tensed.

My father was waiting for me.

Markus Graves watched me with his usual unreadable expression, hands clasped behind his back. Calm. Detached.

This wasn’t a victory for him.

This was correction.

He took a slow step forward, his gaze sweeping over me—torn, bloodied, restrained.

And then he sighed.

“And here I thought you were done making foolish choices.”

The words settled in my chest like a final, crushing weight.

The Hidden was gone.

The rebellion was over before it had even begun.

And I had nothing left.

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Scene 2: The Death of Solomon Graves

The world had already collapsed. The ruins of The Hidden’s base smoldered in the distance, the once-living tunnels now nothing more than charred debris and bloodstained wreckage.

I was on my knees, hands bound, the taste of dust and iron thick in my mouth. The air stung my lungs, heavy with the acrid scent of burning metal and the ghosts of those who hadn’t made it out.

And in front of me, Solomon knelt as well, his face battered, his lip split, but his posture unbroken. He was the only thing left. The last ember of what had once been a rebellion.

The enforcers lined up in a perfect row behind him—faceless, mechanical in their precision. They didn’t hesitate. They never did.

The Council Overseer, Voss, stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression devoid of any interest. Just another execution. Another loose end tied up.

“Solomon Graves,” he intoned, his voice sharp, sterile. “You are guilty of high treason against The Order.”

Solomon lifted his head, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips despite the blood that trailed down from his temple.

“Took you long enough.”

Voss barely reacted. He gestured toward the enforcers. The final command.

I thrashed against my restraints, but the soldier gripping my arms wrenched me back, my breath leaving me in a sharp, broken exhale.

“No—”

Solomon turned his head slightly, enough to meet my gaze. His expression didn’t waver.

He wasn’t afraid.

He had known this was coming long before I had.

And he had accepted it.

“You think this is the end?” he asked, his voice low, calm.

Voss raised his hand, signaling the executioner to ready his weapon.

I strained against the grip on my arms, my throat raw. “Stop—”

Solomon exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “No… They don’t let anything end.” His gaze locked onto mine, sharp, knowing. “They just rewrite the story.”

The words burrowed into me, but I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

The enforcer cocked his weapon.

Solomon smiled.

And then—

A single shot.

A single, deafening crack of sound that cut through the ruined world like a final, merciless decree.

Solomon’s body jerked under the impact.

For a fraction of a second, his eyes remained locked onto mine.

And then, he fell.

Face-first into the dirt.

Still.

A void opened inside me, vast and endless, something that went deeper than grief—deeper than pain.

A silence that screamed.

I barely registered my own breathing. The tremble in my chest. The way my fingers curled so tightly into fists that my nails bit into my palms.

This was it.

This was what The Order did.

It didn’t just kill.

It erased.

I barely noticed Voss turning toward my father. “The rebellion is finished. The boy is yours.”

The words didn’t reach me.

All I could see was the blood seeping into the dirt.

All I could hear was Solomon’s final warning, playing over and over again in my mind.

"They don’t let anything end… They just rewrite the story."

My pulse pounded in my ears, rage and grief twisting together into something sharp, something cold.

I lifted my head, my voice nothing more than a hoarse, shaking whisper.

“I will kill you all.”

Markus exhaled, almost as if disappointed. “You’ll learn.”

He nodded toward the enforcers.

They dragged me to my feet.

But as they pulled me away, something inside me shifted.

The weight of grief solidified into something else.

Not acceptance.

Not surrender.

Purpose.

And for the first time, I knew.

I wouldn’t just fight The Order.

I would burn it to the ground.

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