It screams, spider webbing a fraction. The other two at the table lurch for weapons.
Ash is quick, a command already in my ear. “Ember,down.”
I drop instantly. The first shot cracks the air, and I know it isn’t ours.
The sound punches through the conference room, high and violent, ricocheting off glass and polished surfaces. Someone yells. Someone else swears. Heat sears past my shoulder with a hiss that feels too close.
I’m on the floor, heart hammering so hard it hurts, one knee down, hand on my gun the way Ash drilled me, eyes up and already searching for my target. Rook hasn’t moved like a normal person moves. He’s moved like water. One second he’s four feet from Damien, and then somehow they’re chest to chest, Damien’s back slammed against a wall, Rook’s forearm across his throat. Calm gone. Politeness gone. King, fully unsheathed.
“Call them off,” Rook says quietly. Not raised, or shouted. Deadly.
Damien’s lips pull back over his teeth. “You have no idea what you’re stepping into.”
“Wrong,” Rook says. “I know exactly what I’m stepping into. I just don’t scare easy.”
Another shot. Closer this time. That one is Wraith. Controlled. Center mass. The man he pinned goes limp, sliding into the floor.
Something like panic flares in the eyes of the last one.
Good.
I rise halfway. My stance is ugly, off-balance, adrenaline-hot, but Ash’s training holds true. Gun up, muzzle clean, and wrist steady. The last man at the table clocks me. He makes a snap decision — thewrongone.
He swings his aim toward me, and I don’t think. Ifire.
The kick jolts up my arm. My ears ring. The shot lands — not lethal, but enough. He drops hard, weapon skittering across the table.
I’m shaking. Not from fear, but adrenaline.
“Ember,” Ash’s voice snaps in my ear. “Status.”
“I’m fine,” I say. My voice sounds steady. That’s a miracle.
There’s shouting now in the hallway. Footsteps scurrying down the hall. Someone yelling to lock the floor down. Syndicate muscle responding. Clearly… We’re out of time.
Rook leans in, voice low and lethal. “Last chance, Damien.”
Damien laughs. Actually laughs. “You think this city is yours,” he breathes. “You arrogant little criminals. You really believe this city still belongs to you?”
Rook’s expression doesn’t change. “It doesnow.”
He slams Damien’s head into the wall — once, a controlled attack that isn’t enough to knock him out. Just enough to send a message. Then his eyes cut to Wraith. “We’re done. Get her out. Now.”
Wraith doesn’t argue. He’s already moving toward me, hand catching my arm, hauling me up with an ease that shouldn’t feel gentle but does. “On me,” he growls.
I stumble once, get my feet back under me, run with him. The hallway is absolutechaos.
Saint’s voice crackles in my ear now, low and sharp. “You’ve got Syndicate heavies coming up the stairwell. East side. I’ve got the fire door propped on the west. Move.”
We move, Wraith keeping his body between me and the corridor, forcing people to bounce off him when they try to push through. Ash peels out of a side alcove like he’s been part of the wall the whole time, sliding in behind us, covering our backs with clinical calm.
We hit the service corridor, and fluorescents buzz overhead. The smell of dust, stale air and cleaning chemicals assaulting our senses.
“Left,” Saint says.
We go left.
Doors slam open somewhere behind us, followed by more shouting. Boots hitting tile in rhythm. They’re not shooting, not yet. Too public. Too noisy. Too many witnesses on other floors if the sound carries.
