Chapter 150
Magnus Hale.
I blink; the flash disappears as quickly as it came.
I tilt my head and study his face, curious.
There is still much to understand.
* 18%
Adrian stands there, panting, his chest rising and falling, trying to catch his breath. I take two steps back, a smile playing on my lips.
“Hm… Good morning to me.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable.
I adjust the collar of my uniform, as if nothing had happened.
“Now the day begins. I have a lot to do, and you’re going to stay close.” My authoritative voice doesn’t waver. “Wherever I am, you’ll be too.”
He looks up for a second, confirming that I’m serious.
“You’ll get used to it, Adrian.” I say, the soft cruelty in my tone. “There’s no ‘I don’t want to‘ here. I already warned you. There’s only what I
say.”
I turn, walk to the bars, unlock the cell, and open the way. I don’t need to look back to know that the new guy is following me.
His short steps sound hurried, trying to keep up.
As I enter the cafeteria, heads turn; silence falls. The bitter smell of stale coffee hangs in the air, but I head straight for my usual spot.
I pull out the chair and sit down. Adrian sits next to me, stiff as a board.
A slow smile spreads across my face. I slide my palm down his neck and squeeze firmly, feeling his pulse beating under his warm skin.
“Good boy.”
He tries to pull away, but the grip holds him in place. I only let go when a kitchen inmate appears with two trays. He drops them on the table and disappears quickly, as if the air around him were biting.
I push a tray toward the newcomer.
“Eat everything,” I order. “We’re going to be busy today.”
He nods slightly and starts to swallow what he can. I chew slowly, attentive to the movement in the cafeteria. If the helicopter had landed at dawn, someone would have already brought the paperwork to sign.
Since no one showed up, the wind must have changed and the runway went silent.
More work ahead.
I feel the day weighing on my shoulders.
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22:14 Sat, Feb 7
Chapter 150
XS18%日
When I finish half my plate, a guard’s radio crackles near the door. The guy leans against the doorframe, listens, pulls the microphone, exchanges a few words, and points to the cafeteria. He walks to the table with measured steps.
“Executor…” He lowers his voice. “Propeller in five minutes, east side. Short window.”
I place my fork on the tray and stand up in one smooth motion. The chair scrapes the floor; the warning is understood by all.
I turn to the room and let my voice cut through the cold, dry air.
“Everyone stand up. Courtyard now. Loading on the east side. Anyone who messes with what they shouldn’t will die before their first breath.”
The cafeteria rises in a nervous wave of chairs and boots. No one questions.
I don’t repeat orders.
I grab Adrian’s forearm and lift him up with me, indifferent to the unfinished food. He stumbles a little, but follows. I pull him into the hallway; the mass of prisoners spills behind, guided by the instinct for survival.
We descend the service exit staircase. The mountain wind cuts like a blade. Outside, the pale light outlines the edges of the fortress. The east face opens onto a wide terrace, exposed to the white abyss.
The coarse salt already scattered stains the floor in opaque tones. Transport men run with empty carts, ready for the first touch of the propeller.
The sound arrives before the shadow: low, vibrating in the chest, growing until it becomes a typhoon. The helicopter emerges from the bend in the cliff, nose down, fighting against the current.
The pilot looks for the mark on the ground, a worn circle that has already taken men flying without wings. He adjusts, lands hard. The wind whips clothes and faces. I shout orders without needing a megaphone:
“Double line! Cart one with me, two in the warehouse, three in the kitchen! No high stacks, no heroes! Short movements, short breaths!”
Osman runs up to me with his clipboard shaking.
“Ten–minute window, Executor. Maybe less.”
“It’ll be enough.” 1 point. “Rocco, open the warehouse route! Howard, kitchen! If anything falls, go back and pick it up. Nothing stays on the
floor!”
The helicopter door opens. Boxes descend in a human chain, hand to hand. The rhythm is industrial music: thump, drag, turn, return. I stand at the front of the line, blindly checking seals, feeling the weight of each crate. The sky threatens to collapse.
Adrian stays glued to my side, pulled by my sleeve when he threatens to get lost in the whirlwind. He watches everything with wide eyes, breathing through his mouth, trying to understand the choreography of survival. The wind steals the heat from his body; I see his fingers stiffen. I don’t let him go.
Soap, paper, towels, sheets folded like bricks. Then the essentials: neutral, small packages, codes that only I can decipher.
No smell.
Correct seals.
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22:14 Sat, Feb 7
Chapter 150
“Depot two,” I indicate with my chin. “Double seal. List only with me.”
*18%3
The foreman runs. The pilot signals for a short time. The rotor howls. Two more boxes arrive; one slips on the ledge, almost falling. An agile prisoner saves it with a reflex.
“No drama!” I shout. “Feet firm, eyes on the weight!”
The wind picks up, bringing cold dust. The helicopter groans like tired metal. The pilot points to the sky: last load.
“Close it!” I order. “Line one, empty! Line two, empty! Taxi with full cart! Seal the warehouse now!”
I push Adrian behind me to block the wind. A smaller box hits my chest; I grab it and pass it on without looking at anyone. The ground shakes as the helicopter takes off and disappears over the cliff. The silence brings back the cold.
I stand still for a moment, listening to the noisy emptiness of the mountain. Then I turn to the team.
“Store with me. Kitchen, check the volumes. If anyone disappears with powder, pills, or bottles, I’ll open it in the middle of the courtyard. Don’t
test me.”
Heads bow. The message is clear.
I take Adrian down the covered corridor to storage room two. The gate creaks, we make our way through. Inside, iron and wooden shelves, all marked with codes that only I understand.
The air is dry and silent. Osman waits with seals and a clipboard.
“Summary inventory.” I hold out my hand. “First the sensitive items.”
He hands me the list. I check it with my finger: folded powder, pills in the exact volume, heavy painkillers, amber bottles, extra cigarettes, duplicate hygiene items, cold weather clothes on account.
Nothing else.
Nothing less.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
