Compromised

The air was stale.

Heavy.

Too many bodies crammed into too small a space, the oxygen thinning with every step.

Dan’s shirt clung to his back, damp from heat and nerves. Overhead, lights flickered like dying stars, buzzing in a rhythm that set his teeth on edge.

He crouched low at the edge of the corridor, peering into the open expanse ahead. Movement everywhere—blurred shadows, shifting figures, the constant roar of a thousand voices.

“Two targets left, crossing into the open,” Tyler muttered. His voice was steady, calm, though sweat dripped from his jaw.

Dan followed his gaze. Shapes slipped between towering structures ahead. Glossy walls, gleaming under the lights.

Too smooth, too high to scale.

No way around—only through.

Justin pressed against the column beside them, a folded map trembling in his fist. The paper was creased, worn, edges darkened with fingerprints. It was more talisman than navigation, a reminder of where they’d been, never certain of where they’d go.

“If we’re pushed into the atrium, we’re boxed in,” Justin said.

Dan’s jaw tightened. He knew it was true. The atrium was open ground. No cover. No escape.

He drew in a slow breath. “We move. Keep tight. No mistakes.”

The three men slipped from cover and merged into the flow. The sound hit them first. Shrieks, laughter, the relentless pounding of bass rolling like artillery fire. The air smelled of grease and sugar, fried oil mixing with artificial vanilla. It clung to their throats, choking, sickly-sweet.

Dan pushed through, scanning faces, searching for signs of pursuit. Tyler kept left, slipping between barricades stacked high, his head on a swivel. Justin stayed low, hugging shadows thrown by banners swaying from the rafters. Dan took the center, eyes locked on the corridor ahead.

A child screamed. For an instant, Dan’s chest seized—but the cry fractured into laughter. Harmless.

He didn’t relax. Couldn’t.

They broke from the press and collapsed into cover near a shallow basin. Water bubbled softly, disguising their ragged breaths.

“Status?” Dan hissed.

Tyler leaned in, face pale. “Saw her near the soft sector. She’s moving fast.”

Justin shook his head. “She’s doubling back. If she finds the junction, we’re cut off.”

Dan pressed his palms into his eyes. They were running out of time. Out of space.

“We split,” he said. “Tyler, swing north through the upper concourse. Justin, take high ground. I’ll anchor here. If she closes, we regroup at the koi.”

Tyler swallowed hard. “And if she asks questions?”

Dan’s voice hardened. “Then we’re already compromised.”

— • —

They moved like wraiths.

Tyler darted past towering stacks of glassware, slipping into a maze of hanging vines and artificial blooms. Justin crept up the stairs, each step a groan of metal under his weight, until he vanished into the rafters. Dan stayed low, weaving through kiosks, eyes on every corner.

The noise grew louder. Unnatural. Too much music, too much laughter, the kind that came sharp, fast, desperate. A place that wanted to drown you.

He reached the koi basin—neutral ground. Water lapped against stone, calm in a world gone mad. Dan sat, posture loose but ready, hands clenched tight against his knees.

He didn’t wait long.

Tyler stumbled in first, face wet, chest heaving. “She’s in the Persian sector. Maybe by the high-pile unit.”

Justin dropped down from above, landing in a crouch. His eyes were wild. “She asked a clerk something. I think she’s narrowing.”

Dan’s stomach turned. Minutes left.

“We need a distraction,” he said.

Tyler shook his head. “Food sector’s too open. Too many civvies.”

Justin jabbed a finger east. “Supply corridor runs behind aquatics. We can cut through.”

Dan considered.

Dangerous.

Tight.

If they were spotted, there’d be no way out. But it was the only chance.

“Move,” he said.

— • —

The corridor was dim.

Silent.

Concrete walls sweating with condensation. The stink of bleach and wet cardboard filled their noses.

Dan checked his watch. “Two minutes until she clears lighting.”

Tyler sagged against the wall, shaking his head. “I can’t do it, man. I can’t go back in there.”

Justin dropped onto a crate, his hands trembling. “Last week Suzie asked me about shams. I don’t even know what a sham is.”

Dan looked at them. His team. His brothers. Worn down. Breaking.

“We finish this,” he said. His voice was low, sharp. “We hold the line. No matter what.”

Footsteps echoed.

All three froze.

The door creaked open. Light spilled into the corridor, too bright, cutting them down to size.

She stood there.

Dan’s wife. Calm. Composed. Flats on her feet, a cardigan drawn over her shoulders. In her hands—a swatch book, fanned open like a deck of cards.

“I knew you were hiding,” she said. Her voice was even, but her eyes held the faintest trace of amusement. “I just wanted to see how far you’d go.”

Nobody moved.

Tyler rose slowly, gaze fixed on the book. His voice cracked. “Is that… linen blend?”

She nodded.

Justin didn’t look up. “Can you not tell Suzie we’re here?”

She stepped forward, placed the book of samples on a nearby crate, and turned to leave. “The sale ends in twenty minutes, Dan,” she said as the door shut gently behind her.

Silence.

Dan didn’t move.

He reached out, touched the fabric. Ran his thumb across the weave.

Tyler said, quietly, “I like the pasta colored one.”