The man stands between me and Lark.
Blocking.
Talking.
Still thinking he’s in control.
Then I move.
No warning.
No hesitation.
The shot cracks through the room—
Not his head.
His shoulder.
He spins, screaming, crashing into the table and ripping the monitor down with him.
Glass shatters.
Metal screams.
Lark is already moving.
Of course she is.
She kicks the chair back hard, pivots, slams the cuffs against the edge of the table—
Once.
Twice.
The weakened link snaps.
She’s free before his body even hits the floor.
“Behind the glass,” she says.
Calm.
Precise.
Like we’ve done this before.
I pivot and fire.
The observation window explodes inward, spiderweb cracks collapsing into a storm of shards. A body drops on the other side.
The facility wakes up.
Voices.
Boots.
Shouting.
