Derek nodded, already reaching for Callum’s other arm. “We know the drill. Go.”
He turned to Theo and Bear, about to tell them to go with Callum and Derek.
Theo stepped forward. “Don’t even say it. I’m coming with you. They’ll make it.”
“Me too.” Bear was already moving, his wounded arm hanging useless but his eyes sharp.
They left Derek and Callum behind. Lincoln forced himself not to look back, not to run the calculations on their survival odds, not to think about what it would mean if they didn’t make it out. There was only forward. Only Morgan.
The three of them pushed deeper into the building.
Lincoln tracked signs of recent passage—scuffed dust, fresh boot prints in the debris, a door left ajar that should have been sealed. His body led while his mind struggled to accept its diminished role, still reaching for data that wasn’t there, still trying to model and predict and calculate when all he had were eyes and ears and instinct.
Instinct is just pattern recognition the conscious mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
He’d told Mercury that, eighteen months ago. Meant it as dismissal. Now he was betting Morgan’s life on it.
The corridor narrowed ahead—old machinery creating a bottleneck, shadows pooling where the emergency lights didn’t reach. Lincoln’s instincts screamed before his conscious mind caught up.
Ambush point.
He threw himself sideways as the first shot cracked past his head.
Three of Randall’s men were positioned in the choke point—professional spacing, overlapping fields of fire, exactly where Lincoln would have placed them if he’d been defending this approach. The firefight erupted in the confined space, muzzle flashes strobing through the smoke, the sound deafening off the concrete walls.
Bear and Theo engaged, using the machinery for cover, returning fire in controlled bursts. One of Randall’s menwent down. Then another. But the third had good position, and every second they spent here was a second Morgan didn’t have.
“Go!” Bear shouted between shots. “Straight through, then left—I saw the schematics too. We’ve got this one!”
Lincoln didn’t argue. Hemoved.
Low and fast through the choke point while Bear and Theo kept the remaining shooter pinned. A bullet sparked off metal inches from his head. Then he was through, into the corridor beyond, alone.
Behind him, the gunfire continued for three more seconds. Four. Then silence.
He didn’t know what that meant. Couldn’t go back to find out. Had to trust that Bear and Theo were the ones still standing, that the silence meant victory and not loss.
Had to trust.
The industrial section opened before him. High ceilings lost in smoke and shadow. Metal shelving against the walls. Battery-powered lights casting harsh pools of illumination through the haze. And there, in the center of the space?—
Lincoln’s heart stopped.
Randall had Morgan by her hair, dragging her across the room. She was fighting—twisting, pulling against his grip—but she was exhausted, outmatched, her struggles weakening with every step toward that metal fucking box.
Two guards flanked them. Weapons ready. Attention on their prize.
No one had seen Lincoln yet. He didn’t announce himself. Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’tthink. Just allowed himself to go on instinct.
Three rounds into the nearest guard’s back. The man dropped before anyone registered Lincoln was there.
The second guard spun, weapon coming up. Lincoln was already moving, already firing—two shots center mass that punched the man backward into a shelf of old equipment.
But Randall was fast. Professional despite the chaos. He yanked Morgan in front of him before Lincoln could line up the shot, one arm locked around her throat, using her body as a shield.
Standoff.
