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Too late.
“Move,” I tell her.
We move.
She’s right beside me.
Not behind.
Not slowing.
Matching pace.
The hallway is narrow.
Tight.
Perfect.
First guard rounds the corner—
He never gets his weapon up.
Second takes a round through the knee and slams into the wall.
Third hesitates.
That’s the mistake.
He dies surprised.
“Left,” Lark says.
I don’t question it.
I trust her.
We turn—
And gunfire tears through the space we just left.
Too slow.
They’re already behind us.
“Ronan,” I say. “We’re mobile.”
“I see you,” he replies. “And they see you. Whole place just lit up.”
“Find me an exit.”
“Working. Three turns ahead—loading bay.”
“They’ll funnel us.”
“I know.”
We run.
