Iris is exactly where I expected her to be. She’s sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, facing the shattered screen. She’s wearing my black shirt, stiff from being washed in the sink and air-dried.
She looks small. Broken.
She lifts her head as I enter. Her eyes are red, swollen, dull. She isn’t surprised to see me. She looks resigned.
“What now?” she whispers. “Did you come to finish it?”
“Get up,” I bark.
I don’t have time for empathy. I’ve got four armored vehicles sitting fifty yards from her window.
She doesn’t move. “Go away.”
“I said, get up.”
I cross the room in a heartbeat. I reach down and grab her upper arm, hauling her to her feet. She is light, but she is dead weight.
“Let go of me!” she shrieks, the lethargy vanishing into sudden, sharp panic. She tries to twist away, her fingernails clawing at my hand. “Where are you taking me?”
“We’re moving,” I say, dragging her toward the door. “The ground floor is compromised.”
“Compromised?” She digs her heels into the carpet. “By who? The police? Are they here?”
She looks at the door, a desperate, sudden hope lighting up her face. It’s painful to watch.
“I knew it!” she gasps.
“They’re here to kill me, and they don’t care if you get caught in the crossfire.”
“You’re lying!” she screams. “He sent them! He sent them to get me back!”
I spin her around, slamming her back against the wall of the corridor. I point to the window at the end of the hall, where the dark shape of the forest looms.
“Look out there,” I snarl. “Do you see flashing lights? Do you hear sirens? Do you hear a bullhorn asking for my surrender?”
She blinks, looking into the darkness. “No...”
“Police announce themselves, Iris. Rescuers want you to know they’re coming.”
I lean in close.
“The men at my gate are sitting in the dark with their lights off. They’re driving armored trucks with the plates removed. They aren’t here to rescue a hostage.”
Her face pales, the blood draining away to leave her skin translucent.
“Then who are they?”
“The Syndicate,” I say. “They’re cleaners. And they’re here to burn this house to the ground with me inside it.”
“No,” she whispers, shaking her head. “My father wouldn’t... he told them to be careful...”
“He might have told them to get you back,” I say. “But he also hired wolves to do it.”
I grab her hand again, my grip tightening.
“Wolves don’t check for collateral damage. They don’t care who’s standing next to the target when they open fire. If you’re in this room when they breach, you are dead.”
“But I?—”
