“We’re clear. No sign of Phoenix personnel. Building’s empty except for weekend maintenance.”
“So we can just—walk out?”
“With modifications.”
Of course. Nothing about this situation could be simple.
He leads me back through the tunnel, and I try not to think about how much easier the crawling is now that I know where we’re going. In the basement mechanical room, the fluorescent lights seem blindingly bright after hours in the dim tunnel.
“Bathroom first,” he says, nodding toward a door marked Facilities. “Freshen up. Look like a normal person instead of someone who spent the night hiding from killers.”
The bathroom is basic—utilitarian fixtures and harsh lighting that reveals exactly how terrible I look. My hair is a disaster, my makeup long gone, and my clothes are wrinkled and dusty. Butwarm water feels like luxury after the cold tunnel, and I manage to restore some semblance of normalcy to my appearance.
When I emerge, Cooper hands me a Georgetown University sweatshirt, a baseball cap, and sunglasses.
“Where did you get these?”
“Student walking across campus. Offered her two hundred cash for her Georgetown gear.”
“You robbed a college student?”
“I bought merchandise from a willing seller. She seemed thrilled with the transaction.”
The sweatshirt is oversized and comfortable, the cap fits well enough, and the sunglasses hide most of my face. I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror—I look like any other Georgetown student heading to weekend class.
“Better?”
“You’ll blend in. Ready?”
No. I’m not ready for any of this. But Cooper’s calm competence is reassuring, and staying in the basement isn’t an option.
“Lead the way.”
The route out of Healy Hall takes us through corridors I rarely use, past classrooms and offices I’ve never visited. Cooper moves with absolute certainty, checking corners and listening at doorways before proceeding. His hand rests casually on his weapon, hidden beneath his jacket but instantly accessible.
Morning sunlight streaming through tall windows feels surreal after our underground night. Campus looks normal—Saturday morning quiet without the usual 6 or 7 a.m. flurry of students rushing to class or grabbing coffee. A few early risers head toward the library or science buildings, probably graduate students with lab work or researchers like me who prefer weekend solitude for deep thinking. If I didn’t know better, I’d think yesterday’s terror was just anightmare.
“Rental car’s three blocks east,” Cooper says as we exit the building.”
I fall into step with him. He moves through campus like he belongs here—just another visitor or contractor with business at the university. His awareness never flags, though. Those green eyes of his constantly scan his surroundings, cataloging threats and escape routes.
I try to match his casual alertness, but my academic brain keeps wandering to analysis instead of survival. The linguistic patterns in overheard conversations, the architectural details of buildings we pass, the social dynamics of student groups—everything captures my attention.
Focus, Eliza. People want to kill you. Pay attention to staying alive instead of studying social interactions.
The rental car sits exactly where Cooper said it would, a nondescript sedan with a parking ticket tucked under the windshield wiper. Of course they got a ticket. Even hiding from assassins, bureaucracy finds a way to intrude.
Cooper reaches the car first and performs what I assume is a security check—looking underneath, examining the doors and windows, probably searching for explosives or tracking devices. The routine is both reassuring and terrifying.
I’m standing a few feet away when Cooper suddenly turns and scans the area behind me. His entire demeanor changes, relaxed awareness shifting into lethal focus.
Then his hand shoots out and grabs mine.
“What—”
“Play along if you want to live.”
Before I can process his words, he’s pulling me against his side, his arm wrapping around my waist with possessive authority. The contact sends electricity through my system, but there’s no time to analyze the sensation because he’s spinning me to face him, his other hand sliding up to cup the back of my head.
