Marcus was standing, but his left leg was still chained to the heavy iron boiler pipe.

My fingers found the small brass key I had taken from the guard in the hallway upstairs.

“You’re a long way from home, Caleb,” I said, my voice steady.

“This is my home, Adrian,” Caleb’s voice crackled back.

“Or at least, it was until tonight.”

“Now it belongs to the syndicate.”

I slipped the brass key into the padlock on Marcus’s ankle chain.

I turned it slowly, trying to make no sound.

Elena watched me, but she did not shoot.

She was too proud of the trap she had built.

“The syndicate doesn’t authorize coups without a vote,” I said.

The padlock clicked open under my fingers.

Marcus felt the tension release and slowly slid his foot free from the iron ring.

He was fully free now, his heavy frame shifting behind me to find better cover.

Elena laughed, a sharp sound that echoed off the damp concrete walls.

“You really are out of touch, Adrian,” she said.

“The regional syndicate approved this transition three hours ago.”