We didn’t need stealth anymore. We needed speed.
I led the way. My body knew the turns before my eyes saw them. Down three flights. Left through the heavy fire doors. The muscle memory was nauseating, a ghost guiding my limbs through the architecture of my own torture.
“Contact rear!”
The heavy thud of boots hammered on the stairs above us. A lot of them.
We burst through the emergency exit and into the freezing Geneva night.
Wet, heavy sleet slashed sideways, stinging my face.
“Go right! Main strip. We need witnesses.”
We sprinted.
My lungs burned. Every impact sent a shockwave of pain through my ribs and shoulder, but I pushed it down, locking it away in the compartment labeled Ignore Until Safe.
Behind us, the heavy steel door banged open. Shouts erupted. A crack of a suppressed round snapped past my ear, chipping the brickwork ahead.
“They’re bold. Shooting in the street?”
“They own the police. Keep moving.”
We rounded the corner onto a wider avenue. Streetlights reflected off slick, black puddles. It was early, approaching 4:00 AM, but Geneva wasn’t a ghost town. A delivery truck rumbled past. A taxi idled near a closed café.
The footsteps behind us faltered. Dresner’s men were conditioned killers, but they weren’t stupid. A firefight in a service corridor was easy cleanup; a firefight on a public boulevard...
“They’re holding back.”
“They’ll track us. We need wheels. Fast.”
“On it.” Havoc peeled off toward a dark sedan parked under a flickering streetlamp.
I turned back to the street, scanning the perimeter. My breath plumed in white clouds before my face. I was shivering, the adrenaline crash hitting me hard.
I forced my legs to lock, forced my spine straight. I became a statue in the sleet, watching the approach vectors while Havoc worked a slim jim through the sedan’s window.
“Hurry.”
“I’m going as fast as my frozen fingers allow. Unless you want to shoot the lock and explain that to the local gendarmerie.”
The lock popped. The engine turned over seconds later.
“Get in.”
I collapsed into the leather interior. It smelled of stale cigarettes and pine air freshener.
Hellhound took the wheel. He threw the car into gear, the tires screaming against the wet asphalt. We fishtailed, corrected, and shot forward.
Out into the streets.
The city blurred past, gray buildings, yellow lights, black sky. In the distance, the wail of sirens began to rise, a mournful chorus closing in on the facility we had just violated.
I twisted in my seat, staring out the back window. The glass and steel monolith of CuraNova receded into the dark, swallowed by the sleet.
We had done it. We had the drive.
But looking at that building, feeling the phantom itch of the restraints on my wrists, I didn’t feel like a victor. I felt like an escaped animal that had bitten its master.
