Dmitri’s gaze swept over me, taking in my bare feet, the stolen rifle, and settling on my pretty face. “You look terrible,” he observed.
“You should see the other guy,” I replied.
“Oh,” Roman said, “we did. His face is all over that wall back there.”
A third figure appeared from behind them, hair wild, eyes narrowed. I winked in her direction.
Kara Lennox.
Her eyes flicked over me. “You’re alive.”
“You’re welcome,” I crowed.
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t thank you.”
Behind her, Lev Markov lingered in the shadows like a ghost with a grudge, quiet and lethal, eyes sweeping the corridor for threats even while everyone else focused on me.
The four of them together looked like a walking disaster, armed, pissed off, and improbably intact.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You all broke out at the same time?”
Roman grinned. “What can I say? Great minds think alike.”
“And idiots survive on luck,” Lev added calmly.
“We heard the blast,” Kara said, chin tipping toward the wrecked cell. “They really tried to blow you up?”
“They did,” I said.
“And you just walked out before they did it?”
“Yeah.”
“Showoff,” she muttered.
Dmitri stepped closer. “We don’t have time for a big happy reunion right now. Up or down?” he asked.
“Up,” I said. “North access is compromised. If we want out, we need to head toward the chaos, not away from it.”
Kara huffed. “Your family’s tendencies are deeply concerning.”
“You chose to work with us,” I reminded her.
She groaned. “You made me.”
Lev gestured with his pistol. “We move. Now.”
We started down the hall as a group, boots thudding against concrete and my bare feet making almost no sound at all. Roman fell into step beside me.
“So,” he said conversationally, “how’ve you been?”
“Trapped in a glorified shoebox while people threw explosives at me,” I replied offhandedly. “You?”
“Strapped to a chair, interrogated, drugged, and mildly electrocuted.”
“Nice,” I said. “I’m jealous.”
He snorted.
