Above us, deep within the mountain, I hear something I haven’t heard in a long, long time.
Gunfire.
Precise. Controlled. Deadly.
My breath stops in my chest.
Ronan.
It has to be.
No one else moves like that. Shoots like that.
No one else would tear down a mountain to find me.
One guard yanks me out as the doors force-open manually. They drag me down a narrow corridor lit by pulsing red emergency lights.
Another explosion — this one so close the ceiling dust rains down over my hair and shoulders.
The guard behind me shouts, “Move her faster!”
I stumble but don’t fall. I won’t fall. If Ronan is here — if he’s really here — then every step I take is one closer to him.
A distant voice echoes down the hallway. Male. Furious. Familiar.
“Clear! Move to the next door!”
My knees nearly buckle.
I know that voice.
I know it in my bones.
Ronan.
“Pierce is on Level Two,” a guard shouts. “He’s heading this way!”
The guard gripping my arm stiffens. “Then we move to Nine now!”
He shoves me forward — right as another explosion tears through the level beneath us. The floor shakes violently. The guards lose their grip for a split second.
Just a second.
But that’s all I need.
I twist, slam my shoulder into the nearest guard, and run.
Pain screams through my ribs. My cuffed wrists slow me. But adrenaline hammers through me, fierce and wild.
Behind me, someone shouts. Boots thunder.
I round a corner — and skid to a stop.
Two soldiers block the hallway with rifles raised.
One grabs me by the collar, jerking me back so hard a gasp rips from my throat. The other presses cold steel to my temple.
“Enough,” he growls. “Any further and we’ll kill you before Pierce gets close.”
