I stopped dead, turning too fast.
“This soon?” I barked. “She’s spent five hours inside that freezing cold! Could you last five minutes in there, Ciro? Now stop bothering me and shut your mouth.”
Ciro didn’t back down.
“You’re making a mistake,” he repeated, as if he wished he had some power to stop me from going to get her.
I ignored him entirely and tore down the corridor.
Walls blurred past me, my heart pounding, my mind only on reaching her.
Stone walls flashed past in smeared shadows.
The air grew colder with every step—subtle at first, then sharp enough to sting my lungs, the metallic bite of frost already creeping up from the lower levels.
My boots slammed against the stone.
Harder. Faster.
Each impact echoed like a warning I couldn’t afford to hear.
Elena, please.
The thought wasn’t a command anymore.
It was a plea.
Stay alive. Just stay alive.
I reached the insulated door and skidded to a stop, breath ragged, chest rising and falling too fast.
I slammed my hand against the heavy, insulated metal door, the impact jolting up my arm.
Locked.
Of course it was locked.
My jaw tightened as the realization hit—standard protocol. The cold rooms were controlled access. Only Ciro and Renzo carried the override keys.
I turned sharply.
And there he was.
Ciro.
Still approaching.
Not rushing. Not panicking.
Just walking.
Like nothing in the world was about to collapse.
My pulse spiked.
“Open this fucking door,” I snapped. “Now.”
He stopped a few paces away, watching me carefully.
