As she reloaded her left gun, Frys popped out from around the corner of the darkened root-archway, an arm’s length away from the Tomb Raider. One hand held a small pistol, the other the crystal on its ivory handle.
He fixed his gaze on Lara. “Drop the guns, Croft!” he ordered, staring at her through the lens.
Lara complied. She wanted a better look at the monocle anyway; she’d been curious about it since first learning of its existence. She stared into it, saw a fuzzy version of Frys’s right eye.
Behind her, more shots and screaming. It seemed unimportant now.
Frys stood, legs planted a little wider than his shoulders, one hand clutching the small pistol and the other holding the monocle between himself and Lara.
“Now pay attention, Croft,” Frys said. He seemed tired, a hundred years old. “You’ve committed a terrible crime. We all must answer for our actions, sooner or later.”
Lara agreed with that. Frys wasn’t such a bad person at heart. He’d gone bad, that was all. A pair of fleeing cultists with a sacrifice following pushed past her, but she hardly noticed them, so intense was her concentration.
[...]
The Tomb Raider held out her hand. “Alex, give it over.” She didn’t take her eyes from his face, slowly turning lighter in the little piece of crystal.
“What?”
“Hand me that, please. It’s too dangerous a toy for the likes of you, I’m afraid.” She opened and closed her palm.
Behind her, she heard Heather scream, “Borg, look out!” More gunfire echoed in the dome. Lara didn’t dare take her eyes off the Prime.
“Come on, I don’t have all day. Hand it over,” she demanded.
Frys’s arm shook. He lowered the crystal from his eye as if fighting the impulse of his own muscles, placed it in Lara’s outstretched hand. Then Lara put the crystal to her own eye. The wavy shadow that was Alex Frys pulsed. As her eye focused on him, the color drained away, and he became as white as a sheet of paper waiting to be written on.
“Alex, if anyone should talk to the Deep Ones, it’s you,” she said. “Humanity no longer needs to be numbered, weighed, and judged like cattle at auction. You’ll go down and explain, won’t you?”
“I’ll go down and explain,” Frys said, walking toward the moon pool stairs. Lara saw Heather empty one of Ajay’s guns into one of the “Transformed” as Borg knocked another back with a powerful kick. Ajay lay unconscious between them.
Alex Frys stepped over the dead body of the cultist Lara had shot in the chest without even a glance downward. Lara picked up her guns as he walked away.
At the edge of the moon pool, a screaming elderly cultist hung on to one of the fixed platinum panels with his fingernails. He reached out a hand toward the Prime, but Frys ignored him. The cultist disappeared with a wail. Frys stepped down into the moon pool and submerged.
“I hope they’re merciful,” Lara said, and slipped the crystal into her lucky pack.

The Lost Cult, Chapter 24