But underneath the fury, something else had settled into place. Algerone had asked if I was all right. Not about the security breach, not about the board, not about the implications for the company. About me.
They thought they could use us against each other.
They'd failed. Whatever else happened, they'd failed at the one thing that mattered.
We were still us. Broken and complicated and carrying wounds that might never fully heal, but us.
The elevator opened onto the parking garage. Dawn was still two hours away, but the sky had begun to lighten at the edges, the first hint of the day to come.
Shaw wanted war. He'd get one.
But he'd made a critical error. He'd underestimated what it meant to stand beside Algerone Caisse-Etremont. Not just serve him. Stand with him.
And that would be his undoing.
The containment lab's reinforceddoor was the last thing between us and Hardin.
Blood spattered my tactical gear. Shaw had fortified the Vancouver facility beyond our intel: automated defense systems, combat drones, private military contractors whose government training showed in their formations. Four of those contractors lay dead in the corridors behind us. Shaw was desperate to protect his stolen prize.
My leg throbbed, surgical pins grinding against bone as I positioned myself behind Reid. The silver-tipped cane had proven useful tonight beyond mobility support. Its reinforced core had crushed a guard's trachea during the second-floor ambush when ammunition ran low. The wet gurgle of his last breath still echoed in my ears.
"Final security protocols bypassed." Reid's Québécois accent thickened under stress, the same way Maxime's did during a crisis. His fingers tapped a final command on the security panel. "Entering on your command."
I nodded. "Proceed."
The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. Dr. Hardin stood at her workstation, back turned, oblivious to the bloodshed throughout the facility. Computer monitors displayed acoustic waveforms and stress analyses, data harvested from our stolen prototype. Her fingers moved across a touchscreen, still trying to bypass Xavier's security protocols while death approached on silent feet.
She turned at our entry. Annoyance became raw shock as she registered my presence. The clipboard in her hands clattered to the floor. A tremor started in her fingers and raced up her arms.
"Hello, Doctor." I kept my voice soft. "I believe you have something that belongs to me."
She lunged for the red button on the console. Reid's men caught her mid-stride and pinned her arms behind her back. Her lab coat tore at the shoulder as she fought their grip.
"Shaw will come for me," she spat, thrashing. "He needs me."
Her gaze darted to the security monitors. Empty hallways. No backup. No extraction team. Her struggles slowed, then stopped as the color drained from her face.
"He left two hours ago," I said. "Took his security team. Left you with a skeleton crew and no extraction plan."
Her lips parted. Closed. Parted again. A small sound escaped, something between a whimper and a laugh. She sagged against her captors' grip.
"Secure her for questioning," I ordered, scanning the lab for the prototype. Nothing. No sign of the Banshee.
Reid nodded to his men. They dragged her to a metal chair. She found her fight again as they forced her down, kicking wildly and catching one of Reid's men under the chin. His head snapped back. Blood sprayed from his bitten tongue.
"You fucking bitch," he snarled. His fist connected with her jaw before Reid could intervene.
"Enough." Reid's voice cut through the chaos. "Secure her properly."
They bound her wrists and ankles, quick and efficient from years of practice.
"Initial security sweep indicates the prototype isn't on site," Reid reported. "Primary data storage has been wiped. Professional job."
I studied her. Blood trickled from her split lip, staining white teeth pink. Her eyes darted between us, calculating odds, running scenarios. Still a scientist even in captivity.
"Then we'll need to extract that information directly from the source," I said.
Reid nodded once. He removed his tactical gloves and set them aside, then rolled up his sleeves. The work ahead would be messy. He opened his kit and checked the contents, in the same way a mechanic might inventory tools before a repair.
