NO WAY OUT BUT THROUGH

The Final Stand

The van skidded to a stop two blocks from Maple Street.

Slade was out before the wheels stopped turning. His boots hit the pavement, and he was running before Kane could kill the engine. The house loomed ahead, dark and silent, its windows like empty eyes.

"Slade, wait!" Kane's voice was distant, lost to the wind.

He didn't wait.

The front door was unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside. The living room was dark, lit only by the glow of a single lamp. The furniture was covered in white sheets. The grandfather clock had stopped.

And in the center of the room, tied to a chair, was his father.

Zane Crowe looked worse than Slade remembered. His face was gaunt, his skin gray. A fresh bruise bloomed on his cheek. The oxygen tubes were gone, replaced by a rough cloth gag. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

Slade rushed forward, his knife already in his hand. He cut the bonds. The gag came free.

"Dad. Dad, wake up."

Zane's eyes fluttered open. They were unfocused at first, then sharp. "Slade. You shouldn't be here."

"I'm not leaving you."

"You have to. The Bishop—"

"I know. He's here." Slade helped his father to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"I can try."

A voice echoed from the darkness. "I wouldn't bother."

The Bishop stepped out from the shadows. He was tall, lean, his face hidden behind the porcelain mask. But this time, there was no painted smile. The mask was blank, featureless, like the face of death itself.

Behind him, two guards emerged, weapons raised.

Slade stepped in front of his father. "You're the real Bishop."

"I am."

"I've been waiting to meet you."

The Bishop tilted his head. "Have you? I've been watching you for a long time, Slade. Longer than you know. I was there when your father faked his death. I was there when you joined Glass Table. I was there when Mira died."

Slade's hands clenched into fists. "You killed her."

"I ordered it. Your father carried it out. We were partners, once. Before he turned against the Society." The Bishop's voice was calm, almost bored. "I've been waiting for the day when I could finish what we started."

"You're not going to finish anything."

The Bishop laughed. "You're outnumbered. Outgunned. And you have a dying man to protect. What are you going to do?"

Slade's hand moved to his pocket. The flashbang was still there. One chance.

He pulled it and threw.

The explosion of light was blinding. Slade grabbed his father and dove behind a couch as gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through the fabric, shredding the cushions.

Kane's voice came through the earpiece. "We're in position. Give us the word."

"Now!"

The front door exploded inward. Kane burst through, rifle blazing. Sloane followed close behind, her pistols spitting fire. The guards went down, caught in the crossfire.

The Bishop retreated, his pistol firing blindly into the chaos.

Slade moved. He left his father behind the couch and sprinted toward the Bishop, his knife drawn. The Bishop fired, the bullet grazing Slade's shoulder. He didn't stop.

He tackled the Bishop, driving him into the wall. The mask cracked. The Bishop's pistol clattered to the floor.

Slade pinned him against the wall, his knife at the Bishop's throat.

"Where is the Master?"

The Bishop laughed, a wet, gurgling sound. "You'll never find him. He's everywhere and nowhere. He's the air you breathe, the shadow in your peripheral vision. He's—"

"I don't care about riddles. Tell me where he is."

The Bishop's eyes flicked to something behind Slade. A figure in the doorway. Tall. Silver hair. A silver half-mask.

The Master.

"Let him go," the Master said. His voice was calm, measured. "This doesn't have to end in blood."

Slade didn't move. "You're the one who started this. You're the one who killed Mira. You're the one who put my father in that chair."

"I did what I had to do. Just like you're doing now." The Master stepped closer, his hands raised. "I know you want revenge. I know you want to kill me. But if you do, the Society will collapse. And without the Society, the world will descend into chaos. Is that what you want?"

"I want justice."

"Justice is a fairy tale. I'm offering you a choice: join me. Help me rebuild the Society. Make it something better. Something your father would have been proud of."

Slade looked at his father, who was watching from behind the couch. Zane's eyes were tired, but they held a single, clear message: *Don't trust him.*

Slade turned back to the Master. "My father would never be proud of you."

He threw the knife.

It struck the Master's shoulder, sinking deep. The Master staggered, a cry of pain escaping his lips. He pulled the knife out, blood seeping through his fingers.

"You'll pay for that," he said. "You'll all pay."

He vanished into the darkness.

Slade moved to follow, but Kane grabbed his arm. "Let him go. We have the Bishop. We have your father. That's enough for now."

Slade looked at the Bishop, who was crumpled against the wall. Blood dripped from his mask.

"We'll make him talk," Slade said. "We'll find out everything."

---

They secured the Bishop in the van. Slade helped his father into the back, supporting him as he walked.

Zane was weak, barely conscious. His breathing was labored, his skin cold to the touch.

"He needs a hospital," Ember said, leaning over him.

"No hospitals," Zane whispered. "The Society has eyes everywhere. Take me to Dante's. I'll be... I'll be safe there."

Slade nodded. "You heard him. Dante's garage."

Kane drove.

The ride was silent, heavy with the weight of everything that had just happened. Slade sat beside his father, holding his hand.

"You shouldn't have come for me," Zane said. "I'm not worth it."

"You're my father. You're always worth it."

Zane's eyes glistened. "I'm sorry, son. For everything. For lying to you. For keeping you in the dark. For... for Mira."

Slade's jaw tightened. "We'll talk about that later. Right now, you need to rest."

"I don't have much time. The cancer..." Zane coughed, a wet, rattling sound. "I've got weeks, maybe days. But before I go, I need to tell you something. Something important."

"What?"

"The Master. He's not just a member of the Society. He's the founder. The one who built it from the ground up. He's been alive for over a hundred years."

Slade's eyes widened. "That's impossible."

"Is it? You've seen the technology. The money. The power. He's not a normal man. He's something else. Something ancient. And he's not going to stop until he's destroyed everyone who stands against him."

"Then we stop him."

"Not alone. You need allies. People who can match his power." Zane squeezed his hand. "The files I gave you. The names. Use them. Turn his own people against him."

Slade nodded. "I will."

Zane smiled. It was a weak, tired smile. "I'm proud of you, Slade. I always have been."

"I know."

They arrived at Dante's garage. The lights were on, the monitors glowing. Dante was waiting at the door, his face pale.

"We need medical supplies," Slade said. "And a secure room."

Dante nodded. "Follow me."

---

They laid Zane on a cot in the back room. Ember tended to his wounds, cleaning the cuts and bandaging the bruises. His breathing steadied, but his color remained poor.

"The Bishop is secured in the storage unit," Sloane said, entering the room. "He's not talking, but he will. Give me an hour with him."

"Be careful. He's dangerous."

"I know." Sloane smiled. "That's what makes it fun."

She left.

Slade sat beside his father, watching him sleep. The events of the night replayed in his mind. The Bishop. The Master. The knife. The escape.

Lyric appeared in the doorway. "Slade. I found something. The Master's real name. Or at least, one of his aliases. He's been using it for decades. It's in old Society records."

"What is it?"

"Marcus Aurelius. Sounds fake, right? But I cross-referenced it with historical documents. There's a Marcus Aurelius who lived in Europe in the late 1800s. Same signature. Same handwriting. He's been alive for over a century."

Slade's blood went cold. "He's immortal."

"Or close to it. The Society has access to experimental medical technology. Gene therapy. Nanobots. They've been keeping him alive for years."

"Then we need to find a way to kill him. Permanently."

"There's a file in your father's documents. It's encrypted. I can't crack it. But it might have the answer."

Slade pulled out the folder and handed it to her. "Do whatever it takes."

Lyric took it and left.

Slade turned back to his father. Zane's eyes were open, watching him.

"She's good," Zane said. "The hacker. I knew she'd be useful."

"She's more than useful. She's family."

Zane nodded slowly. "Family is everything, Slade. Never forget that."

"I won't."

His phone buzzed. A new message.

**Unknown:** You've done well, Slade. But the game isn't over. The final circle begins now. Your target: the Master. You have seven days to kill him. If you succeed, your father lives. If you fail, everyone you love dies.

**Unknown:** No way out but through.

Slade pocketed the phone.

The final circle.

The end of the maze.

And Slade had seven days to find the Master and end him.

No pressure.