One of the screens showed Denton speaking into a radio, his expression grim. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but his body language told me enough—he was reporting failure. They hadn't found me yet, and judging by the way he slammed his fist against the wall, O'Rourke wasn't happy.
Good. Let him be unhappy. Let him wonder where I was.
Because I wasn't running anymore.
Every instinct I'd developed over years on the run told me to stay put, to wait until they gave up and left. But something deeper, something I couldn't explain, told me that if Nicolai was taken away, he would die.
And something about that possibility made my chest constrict with a pain I'd never experienced before.
"They think they're the hunters," I murmured, fingers flying across the keyboard as I familiarized myself with the security systems. "Let's see how they feel about being the hunted."
I mapped out their positions throughout the building, counting at least eight men still searching. Denton was directing operations from the main floor, sending teams room by room. They hadn't found the panic room entrance yet, but it was only a matter of time before they started looking for hidden passages.
My resolve hardened as I watched them ransack Nicolai's personal quarters, tossing his belongings aside with casual disregard. This place had been a sanctuary for me, the first time in years I'd felt something close to safe. And these men were violating it, just as they'd violated the man who'd offered me protection.
"I'm not letting them take you," I whispered, as if Nicolai could somehow hear me. The promise felt heavy on my lips, important in ways I couldn't fully articulate. Everything in me rebelled against the idea of him being at O'Rourke's mercy.
I looked again at the weapons locker, then back at the monitors. I wasn't a fighter—not like Nicolai or his men. But I had other skills. Skills O'Rourke wanted badly enough to stage this entire operation.
Maybe it was time to show them exactly why he wanted those skills so desperately.
I cracked my knuckles and turned back to the terminal, a plan forming in my mind. I would have laughed at the irony if the situation weren't so dire—the very ability that had forced me into hiding was now the only weapon I had to save the man who'd protected me.
I frantically cycled through the camera feeds, searching for anyone still fighting back. My heart sank with each screen—unconscious bodies of Nicolai's men sprawled across floors, others bound and bloodied.
Then I saw him—Yuri—cornered in the kitchen by three of O'Rourke's thugs. Blood streamed from a gash across his forehead, staining his usually impeccable suit. He stood with his back against the industrial refrigerator, a carving knife clutched in his hand, his eyes darting between his attackers as they closed in.
"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered, enlarging the kitchen feed.
Yuri might have been Nicolai's right hand, but he was still outnumbered and injured. One of the fake officers jabbed at him with a stun baton—the same type of weapon they'd used on Nicolai. Yuri barely dodged it, his movements slower than they should have been.
I'd never particularly liked Yuri. He'd made it clear from day one that he considered me a security risk, a vulnerability in Nicolai's otherwise impenetrable defenses. But watching him fight to protect his boss's territory, refusing to surrender even when the odds were stacked against him, I couldn't help but admire his loyalty.
And right now, he was the only one left who might be able to help Nicolai.
I turned back to the terminal, fingers flying over the keyboard as I explored the extent of the security system. Password-protected directories unfolded before me as I pushed my abilities into the computer, feeling for the electrical pathways, the digital architecture.
It was like having an extra sense—one that let me see beyond passwords and firewalls to the beating heart of the system itself.
"Come on, come on," I whispered, searching for something, anything I could use.
The system was sophisticated—military grade in some aspects. Nicolai hadn't been exaggerating when he said he wasprepared for everything. Building schematics, personnel files, security protocols, backup plans for every conceivable scenario. A lifetime of paranoia documented in meticulous detail.
But I couldn't find the controls for the actual building systems. Not through the conventional interface.
On the monitor, Yuri took a slash across his arm, the knife falling from his grip. He ducked behind one of the massive kitchen islands, buying himself seconds at most.
I slammed my palm against the side of the terminal in frustration. "Where are they? Where are the damn controls?"
And then I realized—I was thinking too much like a hacker and not enough like someone with my specific abilities. I didn't need to find the right menu or command. I could reach into the system directly.
I closed my eyes and spread my fingers across the terminal, extending my consciousness into the building's electronic infrastructure. It was like diving into a rushing river—currents of data and electricity flowing all around me. Overwhelming at first, threatening to sweep me away.
I'd never attempted to control a system this complex before. My usual tricks were small—disabling a security camera, overriding an electronic lock, manipulating an ATM. This was different. This was an entire building with dozens of interconnected systems.
For a terrifying moment, I lost myself in the flood of information. Alarm systems, climate controls, electrical grid connections, backup generators, security doors, fire suppression systems—all of it washing over me in a dizzying wave.
I gasped, pulling back slightly, focusing on just one system at a time. The sprinklers first. I visualized them as a network of pipes and sensors running throughout the building, concentrated my abilities there.
