Nick had been planning for days, maybe weeks. Every corner of that suffocating room had been memorized, each creak of the floorboards cataloged, every guard’s pattern studied until it was no longer guesswork, but precision. He knew he was being watched. Carter had ensured that. There was no privacy, no silence, no space for even a fleeting thought without the constant buzz of surveillance.

The device on his ankle wasn’t just a tracker. It was a collar, a message, a symbol of control so precise and perverse that it made Nick want to rip it off with his bare hands. But he didn’t. Not yet. Because somewhere in that madness, Nick had found a way to disarm it. A loophole Carter didn’t foresee. Proof that even chaos has blind spots.

But escape wasn’t just for himself. He wouldn’t leave without Sharon. That had been his line from the start, no matter the cost. Sharon, who had tried to comfort him, protect him, believe in him, until even she began to look at him differently, not with fear, but with the quiet weariness of someone unsure of what the man before her had truly done. She had seen the pain in his eyes, the crack in his voice when he denied killing Damian, but her hesitation lingered like a shadow.

Carter noticed too, and that made Sharon a target.

The worst part of it all wasn’t the confinement, the tracker, or even the whispers that he might be guilty. It was the realization that Sharon had been drawn into this web because of her loyalty to him. And now she was paying for it with her freedom. Carter was no ordinary captor. He was unpredictable, eccentric to the point of mania. He smiled at odd moments, stared too long, whispered things to himself when he thought no one was listening.

Nick had dealt with dangerous men before. But Carter was something different, an enigma wrapped in theatrics and riddles, as if his reality shifted depending on his mood. He didn’t yell, didn’t rage. He calculated.

He set his traps with care, with intention, and Nick had become the centerpiece of his game. Guards were posted at all hours. No hallway was ever truly empty. Yet Nick knew he had to try. Even if the cost was everything.

Because what waited beyond that threshold wasn’t just freedom. It was truth. But truth felt far away now.

Nikki had turned her back. Victor, once the unstoppable patriarch who could bulldoze any wall for his children, had retreated. They thought Nick had done it, that he killed Damian. They believed what was convenient because the alternative was too messy, too ugly. Nick had screamed for them, pleaded, begged through the cameras. No one came.

The silence from the outside world grew heavier with each passing day until it became suffocating.

The message was clear. No one was coming to save him. So, he would save himself.

And then the plan moved forward. He waited for the shift change, the moment when Carter’s newest recruit, still green and overeager, would make the mistake of trusting the hallway monitors instead of his own instincts.

Nick disabled the signal relay from the tracker just long enough to slip through the maintenance door he had studied from afar. He didn’t run immediately.

He moved slow, careful, crouching beneath the blind spots he had timed with obsessive precision. The guard didn’t notice until the door to the upper corridor had already closed behind him.

Alarms didn’t ring immediately. Maybe Carter was testing him. Maybe he was waiting to see how far Nick would get before he pulled the leash.

But Nick had already passed the second checkpoint when the sound erupted. Sharp, brutal, echoing through the corridor like a war drum.

Still, Nick ran down the half-lit hallway, past storage crates and abandoned maintenance closets, until the shadow fell across him. It wasn’t just any guard. It was Carter himself.

Nick spun, already breathless, fists clenched, not out of fear, but desperation.

Carter didn’t raise a weapon. He didn’t call for help. He stepped forward, smiling.

“Going somewhere?” he said, voice dripping with mockery that made Nick’s blood boil. And in that moment, something inside Nick snapped. He wasn’t running anymore. He wasn’t hiding. He had to make Carter listen, make him understand, because no one else would.

“I didn’t kill Damian!” Nick shouted, chest heaving. “I need to find the person who did. I need to prove that I was set up.” But you, he pointed, nearly trembling with rage. “You keep me here like some rabid animal while the real killer walks free. Is that what you want? A scapegoat to feed your twisted sense of justice?”

Carter tilted his head, expression unreadable, then lunged. It wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t part of some game. It was violent, real, raw. The two collided in a flurry of fists, breath, and blood.

Nick hit first, rage propelling his knuckles into Carter’s jaw. But Carter didn’t back away. He laughed. The kind of laugh that chills the spine, empty of humor, full of something ancient and broken. They struggled, bodies slamming against the wall, neither gaining the upper hand. Carter was stronger than he looked, fueled by something Nick didn’t understand, a darkness, a conviction. But Nick had something stronger: the will to survive.

During the fight, Nick spotted the access badge clipped to Carter’s belt. It was bent slightly, possibly used to override internal security doors. He locked onto it. A chance.

But Carter wasn’t going down easily. He slammed Nick into the wall, knocking the air from his lungs. “You think truth matters?” Carter hissed. “You think evidence will change anything? People believe what they’re told. They already think you did it. Why not let you wear the guilt?”

Nick gasped, hard hammering, the words embedding themselves into his mind like poison. Was that the plan all along? Carter knew something. He wasn’t just a warden. He was part of the lie.

And then Carter made his mistake. In the heat of the moment, he reached for something behind his back. Maybe a weapon, maybe a panic button, but it gave Nick the opening he needed. He drove his elbow into Carter’s ribs hard, then snatched the badge as Carter staggered.

There was no time to think. He bolted, breath ragged, blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. The halls blurred around him. He didn’t know how long he had, how soon the rest of the security force would catch up, but he knew where he was going: toward the server room. If Carter had access to surveillance data, to manipulation tools, then that’s where the truth would be buried. Maybe even video evidence showing the real killer. Maybe something about the poisoned bourbon, the dagger, or the real motive behind Damian’s death.

Nick reached the reinforced door, swiped the badge, heart nearly stopping when the light flashed green. Inside, blinking servers hummed with quiet menace. He had no tech skills, no Spinelli to hack the system for him. But he wasn’t looking to hack. He was looking to destroy.

He grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall and swung it with everything he had. Sparks flew. Screens went black. Somewhere behind him, voices screamed. Carter was coming. But it didn’t matter now. Even if they dragged him back, even if they beat him bloody, the system was down. Whatever Carter had been hiding, it was exposed.

Maybe Sharon would find it. Maybe Chance, maybe even Victor, if he still cared. But the chain had broken. Nick had made sure of that. He turned, preparing for the final round.

Carter’s shadow filled the doorway again, but this time, Nick didn’t feel fear. He felt clarity.

He had crossed the line between victim and survivor, and there was no going back. Not until the world knew the truth. Not until they knew he wasn’t the killer. He was the bait.

The impact of Carter’s fist was sharp and sudden, a flash of pain ripping across Nick’s jaw as he staggered back, tasting blood instantly. The copper sting flooded his mouth. But it only fueled the fire already burning through his chest.

Carter lunged again, this time pushing Nick down, slamming him hard into the cold, metallic floor of the server room. The weight of Carter’s body pinned him, the madness in his eyes flashing like sparks in the dark.

But Nick wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. He summoned everything in him: rage, survival, injustice, and with a guttural growl, he twisted his hips and used the force of his larger frame to throw Carter off. The smaller man crashed into a server rack, wires snapping, sparks spitting into the air.

Nick scrambled to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Carter stood panting, his shirt torn, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead. And then, without a word, they both charged.

It was chaos.

Fists flew in the dim light. Each blow driven not just by strength, but by desperation.

Carter swung wildly, but Nick ducked, landing a punishing shot to Carter’s ribs.

Carter stumbled, but retaliated with a vicious elbow that caught Nick’s temple.

The world spun for a second. The walls tilted, but Nick stayed on his feet. He knew that if he fell again, Carter might not let him get up. Carter was fighting for control, for power, for secrets. Nick was fighting for his life, for the truth, for the freedom no one else would grant him.

The two men were animals now, stripped of words, reduced to grunts and pain. And then came the moment that changed everything.

Nick ducked low, grabbed Carter by the waist, and drove him backward into the wall with bone-shaking force. Carter’s head struck the concrete edge with a sickening thud. The sound silenced everything. Carter slumped. His body gave way like a marionette with its strings cut. He crumpled onto the floor in a heap, motionless.

The blood began to spread. First a thin line from the corner of his mouth, then more, pulling slowly beneath his head, dark and ominous against the sterile white floor.

Nick froze. His breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He took one shaky step forward, then another, kneeling beside the still form.

“Carter,” he whispered hoarsely, reaching out with trembling fingers. He touched the man’s shoulder, gently shook it. “No response.” “Nothing.”

His chest wasn’t rising. His lips parted slightly, showing no signs of breath.

Nick’s heart began to pound so loudly it drowned out all other sound. He leaned in closer, watching for a sign, any sign.

That Carter was alive. And then it hit him. There was a pulse. Faint, slow, but there. He stumbled backward, sitting against the opposite wall, hands shaking uncontrollably.

Blood. Silence. Guilt.

The room spun as the realization took hold. He hadn’t meant to do this. He hadn’t wanted to hurt him like this. It was self-defense. It had to be. But would anyone believe that?

The man already accused of killing Damian. Now this.

Nick buried his face in his hands, the weight of it all crashing down on him like an avalanche.

He looked at the servers smashed, destroyed.

The security footage might be gone. The evidence, the truth, erased in the chaos. Carter was the only person who knew what really happened, who might have held the key to unlocking this entire twisted conspiracy.

And now he lay broken on the ground, barely clinging to life.

The choice stood before Nick like a gaping chasm.

Call 911. Get help.

Carter might survive and with him the chance to clear his name. But doing so would mean staying, being found at the scene of another brutal assault. There would be questions, accusations, headlines screaming that Nick Newman had snapped. Killer strikes again.

Or he could run. Disappear into the dark. Get out. Start over.

But what if Carter died?

Then Nick wouldn’t just be a suspect. He’d be guilty of something far worse.

His hands moved toward his phone. For one brief second, he stared at the screen, the emergency dial glowing in his hand.

It would take just one touch. One call. But his thumb hovered, uncertain.

Carter stirred faintly, a small movement of his fingers twitching against the tile.

Nick stood, chest heaving. His body ached from the fight, his mind torn in a hundred directions.

Every instinct screamed at him to run.

But a small voice buried under fear, pride, and rage whispered, “This is your moment. This is the moment that defines who you are. Not what others think. Not what the news will say, but what you choose when no one is watching.”

But that voice was drowned in panic. The hallway outside echoed with approaching footsteps.

Carter’s backup. Or maybe just another camera locking onto his location.

Nick bolted out of the room, down the corridor, through an exit stairwell he had mapped days ago. His footsteps echoed like gunshots, his lungs burning, guilt and adrenaline pushing him forward like fire.

He didn’t stop until he reached the outside compound, hidden behind service crates.

Rain had begun to fall, cold and relentless, washing the blood off his knuckles and into the pavement.

In the shadows, he paused and looked back at the building. Somewhere inside, Carter still lay unconscious.

Alive, maybe. Maybe not.

Nick didn’t know anymore.

He didn’t know who he was in that moment. A hero, a survivor, a coward. The truth blurred as headlights approached from the side road.

Nick ducked low and disappeared into the night.

Back inside, an alert went out. Security breach. Officer down. Medics were dispatched.

Sirens began to wail.

Whether Carter would live, whether Nick would be found, whether the truth would ever surface, those questions now hung in the balance.

But one thing was certain. Nothing about this was over.

The battle had only just begun.