That was all it took.
I reached the door just as boots started pounding from the other side.
My hand shot out, grabbing the internal latch.
I slammed it down.
Hard.
The mechanism clicked into place with a solid, final sound.
The door shuddered as something heavy hit it from the outside.
Voices. Shouting.
But the door held.
It was built like a vault—thick steel, internal deadbolt only operable from inside.
No one was getting in.
Not unless I let them.
I turned slowly.
Breathing hard.
My back pressed briefly against the door before I pushed away from it.
“It’s just you and me now, Vasquez.”
My voice had hardened.
No more shaking. No more cracking.
Only cold, flat steel remained.
“I’m not sure you can beat me one-on-one,” I said, staring him down. “But feel free to try. I won’t stop you.”
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then, deliberately—slowly—
I crossed the room.
Every step hurt.
My knees screamed. My ribs protested.
But I didn’t show it.
Didn’t let it slow me down.
I reached the couch and lowered myself onto the edge of it, controlled, steady, my eyes never leaving his.
Watching. Waiting.
Ready.
