The difference is, back then we were fighting each other. Now we're fighting together.
"Stairwell ahead," Asher calls. "Leads to ground floor."
"Go."
He hits the door at a run. I'm right behind him, spinning to cover our six as we enter the stairwell. The door swings shut, cutting off the sounds of gunfire for a precious few seconds.
"West team, we're in the east stairwell. Moving to ground floor."
"Copy. We're cut off from Charlie. Redirecting to secondary rally point."
"Negative." Jagger's voice cuts through. "Secondary is compromised. They've got vehicles blocking the road. You need to find another way out."
"Working on it." Marlee grunts, more gunfire crackling through her comm. "Thiago, on your left!"
The stairwell erupts.
The door below us slams open and guards pour through, rifles up, flashlights cutting through the darkness. Asher and I are caught mid-descent, exposed on the stairs, no cover in sight. Just two men against six, with nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.
Time slows.
My training takes over, the Foundry programming that I hate but can't deny. Everything becomes crystal clear, hyperreal. The lead guard's rifle swinging toward Asher. His finger tightening on the trigger. The angle of trajectory that will put a bulletthrough Asher's chest, through his heart, through everything that matters.
I move.
My body slams into Asher, driving him sideways, and the bullet that was meant for his chest catches me in the side instead, missing the vest plates and driving into my skin. The impact is like being hit with a sledgehammer, a white-hot explosion of pain that drives the air from my lungs. We tumble down the stairs together, arms and legs tangled, the world spinning end over end.
We hit the landing hard. My head cracks against the concrete. Stars explode across my vision. But Asher is already rolling, coming up on one knee, rifle in hand. He fires, and the guards at the bottom of the stairs drop in a spray of blood. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
Then silence.
Just the ringing in my ears and the wet rasp of my breathing and the warmth spreading across my ribs, soaking into my shirt, pooling on the concrete beneath me.
"Jinx!" Asher is beside me, hands pressing against my side, his face pale in the dim light, eyes wide with terror. "Stay with me. Stay with me, you stubborn bastard."
"I'm fine." The words come out wet.
That's probably bad.
"You're shot."
"Noticed that." I try to laugh and end up coughing instead. Blood flecks my lips.
Definitely bad.
"This isn't funny."
"I'm hilarious." I grab his vest, use it to pull myself up. The pain is almost enough to keep me down. But I shove it down the same way I've shoved down everything else. Pain is familiar. Pain I can handle. "We need to move. More coming."
He hesitates. The urge to stay wars across his face, the need to patch me up, to do anything other than drag a bleeding man through a building full of people trying to kill us. His hands shake where they press against my wound. Asher Madden, who has never been scared of anything, is terrified.
Of losing me.
"Move," I repeat, softer this time. "That's an order."
"You don't give me orders."
"Then consider it a request from a guy who just took a bullet for you." I push past him, one hand pressed to my side, the othergripping my weapon. Blood seeps between my fingers, hot and slick. "Now let's get the fuck out of here."
