“They’re in the house,” I correct him. “Ground floor.”
“Fuck. My boards are dead. I’m blind down here.”
“The jammer is close,” I say. “Probably portable. Deployed in the foyer.”
“The perimeter guards are pinned at the gates, so I’m moving Team 6 to intercept,” Varro says. “We’ll pinch them at the main staircase.”
“Negative,” I say instantly. “If they cut the power, they have night vision. If you engage in the open, they’ll slaughter you.”
Iris flinches behind me.
“Fall back to the study,” I order. “Create a fatal funnel. Make them come to you.”
“Copy. And you?”
“I’m in the basement corridor. Heading for the service stairs.”
“Get her out of there.” Varro’s voice is clipped. “They’re sweeping the grid.”
The line cuts.
I stand for a second in the dark, calculating.
The service stairs lead up to the kitchen pantry. From there, I can access the East Wing or the main corridor.
But if they’re running fusion—night vision with thermal overlay—they own the dark. I’m fighting blind against men who can read heat.
I reach down and touch the knife sheath strapped to Iris’s ankle.
“The knife,” I whisper. “Draw it.”
The rasp of steel slides free.
“Good girl. If we get separated, run for the boiler room. Lock the door, and don’t open it for anyone but me or Varro.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she whispers.
“If I go down,” I say, turning my head to speak directly into her ear, “you run. Don’t look back. Don’t try to help me. You survive. That’s the order.”
She doesn’t answer. Her grip on my shirt tightens.
I start moving again.
We reach the base of the service stairs. I pause, listening.
Above us, the house is alive. The distinct thump-thump of suppressed gunfire sounds, muffled, like books falling off a shelf.
It’s started.
I start up the stairs, keeping my weight on the edges of the treads to minimize the creak. Iris mimics me, her boots silent.
We reach the landing. The door to the pantry is closed.
I put my hand on the knob and turn it slowly.
It’s unlocked.
I crack it open an inch.
