Font Size:
Chaos.
One of Ronan’s techs is down—chest barely moving.
Another slumped against the wall, blood running down his temple.
The air smells like metal and ozone.
Struggle.
Fast. Clean. Professional.
My gaze snaps to the table.
The flash drive—
Still there.
They didn’t come for the data.
My stomach drops.
They came for her.
“Lark!”
Nothing.
I move.
Too fast.
Bedroom—clear.
Bathroom—clear.
Closet—empty.
No.
No.
No.
Balcony.
The door is open.
Cold air rushes in.
I step out and see it immediately—
The line.
Cut clean.
They came from above.
Extraction team.
