“Yes.”
Her breathing grows uneven. “Why?”
Ivan pauses momentarily. “Timing.”
The single word answers everything. “I contacted you when you became useful,” he adds.
Lila stares at him with open hatred. “You’re sick.”
“No,” Ivan responds. “I’m practical.”
They lift Lila carefully and guide us toward the corridor. The sounds of the warehouse fade behind us as we move down the hallway, replaced by the dull echo of our footsteps and the distant metallic grind of trains somewhere beyond the walls. When we step inside the room the walls close in around us.
One of the guards lingers just long enough to toss a small bundle onto the cot before stepping back into the hall. The door shuts behind him a moment later, leaving the room quiet again. When I unfold the bundle, I find fresh cloths and a roll of bandages inside, a practical reminder that they still want Lila alive.
I guide Lila onto the narrow cot and move the bundle aside so I can see the wound properly. The blood has soaked through the fabric along her side, but when I pull the material back, I can see the damage clearly. The bullet didn’t lodge. It tore across the muscle instead of burying itself, leaving a deep groove that bleeds freely but cleanly. It’s serious but survivable.
“Hold still,” I murmur, reaching for the bandages the guard left behind.
She grips the edge of the mattress while I clean the worst of the blood and press fresh gauze against the wound. The fabric feels rough beneath my fingers as I secure it in place, tightening the wrap just enough to slow the bleeding without making it harder for her to breathe.
Lila exhales slowly once the pressure eases.
“That didn’t go the way we planned,” she mutters.
“No, it didn’t.”
Lila leans back against the thin mattress, her eyes closing briefly before opening again. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
I don’t answer immediately. The apology doesn’t erase what happened, and it doesn’t erase everything that came before, either.
“You’re still here,” I say finally. “And you did take a bullet meant for me.”
Lila breathes out through her nose. “You would have done the same.”
Silence envelops the room again. Eventually, Lila’s breathing evens out.
I move toward the door and lean lightly against the wall beside it, letting my eyes wander slowly across the room. That’s when I notice something I missed earlier—the vent near the ceiling.
It’s small, barely wider than my shoulders, but the metal grate covering it sits crooked against the wall. One corner of the plate hangs slightly loose, the screw missing or stripped.
I stare at it for a long moment, tracing the angle of the metal and the dark space beyond it, already measuring distances in myhead and wondering how much noise the plate would make if it were pried loose.
Outside the door, boots pass along the corridor.
Ivan believes the escape attempt ended in that loading bay. He believes the room is secure.
The realization takes shape quietly in my mind. The vent could be another way out. Another chance, if we need one. But a quieter part of me hopes it won’t come to that.
Kiren will find this place. The only question is whether he gets here before Ivan decides we’re no longer worth keeping alive.
10
KIREN
Mikel brings the SUV to a stop a quarter mile from Warehouse 17, where the access road bends behind a row of rusted containers and gives us a partial view of the loading docks through chain-link fencing and dead winter brush. The windshield holds a faint film of condensation at the corners, and the defroster pushes a dry current of warm air across the glass that smells faintly of dust. Beyond it, sodium lights hang over the yard in tired pools of amber that leave more darkness than visibility.
Mikel kills the headlights but leaves the engine running. Neither of us speaks. I study the warehouse from where we sit. Corrugated steel. Two loading bays. One side entrance with a security light above it that burns too bright against the dark. The main roll-up door is closed. There are no visible guards near the front.
