I felt around for the seam of the door, which was barely there. This was too high-tech, too smooth. Nothing my father, with his brute Mafia tactics, would orchestrate.
I pressed my other hand against my chest and tried to steady my breathing. I was Isabella Salvini. My brothers had made sure Mira and I were trained for situations like this.
I just needed to not panic and rely on my brain and logic.
Every small detail might help me understand where I was and who had taken us.
But using my brain was surprisingly hard. The seamless white walls, the vibrations, or maybe it was the remnants of whatever was in that tranquilizer dart, seemed to blur the edges of my thoughts, making it hard to focus on anything except the pressure on my chest and the growing sense of isolation.
The temperature-controlled air raised goose bumps on my arms. My designer clothes felt out of place in this sterile environment, like wearing couture to a hospital.
And what happened to my shoes?
I closed my eyes to steady my racing thoughts. It was of zero importance what I was wearing or what I wasn’t. I opened my eyes again and stared at my bare feet. Apart from my breathing, the utter silence was oppressive, absolute, and suffocating. No outside noise penetrated the walls—no hint of the construction site beyond—just the sound of my own rapid breathing.
I sat down on the chair for a while, stared at my watch, which had stopped working.
EMP. That’s what Hawk had said right before the attack. Of course, it stopped working along with all the other shit.
I stared at the walls, counted my breaths, and even did some yoga to pass the time and prime my body.
And again and again, I traced my fingers over the seamless surface of the walls, searching for some kind of weakness in the structure.
I was standing on the chair, sweeping the ceiling, when a soft hiss broke the silence.
I jumped down as the previously invisible seam split open again. The door slid aside with mechanical precision, and I sprinted out of the strange pod as fast as I could. Whoever was coming for me needed to catch me first.
I passed the exit and caught a glimpse of the person staring at me passing by at full speed.
As soon as my brain kicked in, I skidded to a stop, slithering in my bare feet over the concrete floor—which hurt like hell.
But the pain was immediately replaced by relief flooding through me as I recognized Birdie’s face. She came back for me.
I opened my mouth but immediately shut it when she basically jumped me, clamped her hand over my mouth, and dragged me back to the white structure.
She seemed calm, not even fazed by my micro-sprint, as she kept her back to the wall, her posture alert but controlled.
“Are you okay?” she whispered while she surveyed our surroundings with practiced efficiency. Then her eyesdarted back to me, and she pulled her hand from my mouth when I nodded.
“Yes,” I whispered while I desperately tried to slow my breath and my racing heart. “What about the others?”
“Jemma’s already heading out. Follow the corridor through there.” Birdie pointed to an entrance. “Go left, then right twice, then left again. You’ll find metal stairs leading outside. About fifty yards to the right of those stairs, there’s a hole in the fence. Slip through there, and don’t stop running until you hit the tree line.”
My mind raced. “What about Mira? And Milli?”
“On it.” Birdie’s tone left no room for argument. “You need to move now while you still have the chance.”
I hesitated, torn between escaping and the urge to help search for Mira. But Birdie’s stern look reminded me of all the tactical training my brothers had drilled into me—when you get an opening, you take it.
“To the left, right twice, left, metal stairs, hole in fence fifty yards right,” I repeated back to her. At her nod, I took a deep breath and prepared to run.
“Go,” Birdie urged. “The rest of us will be right behind you.”
Her voice in God’s ears.
I didn’t need to be told twice. I moved toward the door, my bare feet hurting from my sliding stop. As I stepped through the door, I paused. There was one long corridor, which made me weirdly uncomfortable.
“Che cazzo…” I muttered, turning back to look at Birdie. Only she wasn’t there anymore. I stared at where I’d beenheld. It wasn’t a room—it was some kind of massive, egg-shaped pod, like something out of a sci-fi movie. Even from the outside, it seemed to pulse with an otherworldly glow.
