“What hit?”
“Three charges, spaced to collapse the structure. Somebody mapped this building. There could be more that haven’t detonated.”
“Emergency personnel and a K-9 explosive-detection unit are on their way,” said Kingston.
“You need a medic to check your arm and wound,” I told Beacon.
“Not until we find the rest of the survivors.”
“Your left arm isbroken, and you’ve been bleeding for ten minutes. You stay in here and the ceiling comes down, we’ll be pulling out your corpse.”
Rather than respond, she turned toward a pile of debris near the east end, where a hand was visible under the debris. She made it four steps before her right knee buckled, and she dropped onto a chunk of fallen stone.
I closed the distance and got my shoulder under hers. She stiffened but didn’t pull away—the leg wasn’t holding, and we both knew it.
“Kingston’s got this. Dagger’s got this. Crews are on the way,” I pressed.
“Those are my people in there.”
“You can’t help them if you can’t stand up.”
Amaryllis called for assistance with a beam on the far side of the hall. Kingston and Dagger converged on her position. The building groaned again, deeper this time, and a section of plaster the size of a door dropped from the ceiling, twenty feet from where we stood. There was no time left for arguing; I needed to get her out so I could help with the search.
The passage was partially blocked with debris, but there was enough space so I could squeeze us both through. Once outside, I eased her down onto the grass.
Blood had soaked the left side of her shirt from the collar to the shoulder, and her left arm lay in herlap—she hadn’t tried to lift it since I’d pulled the beam off her. Under the dust and blood, her face was gray, and her gaze hadn’t veered from the building.
When her eyes closed and didn’t reopen, I put my hand on the side of her neck. Her pulse was fast but steady.
“Medic! Over here!” I shouted as teams exited the vehicles.
Before I finished my sentence, she came to and sat up. “I’m okay. They need to help the others.”
A vehicle came fast up the valley road, tires grinding gravel, and braked twenty yards from where I was kneeling. Four doors opened at once. Mercury got out first. Lyra Hyde-Carrington was one of the founders of Minerva Protocol. Her husband, Henry, was half a step behind her, along with two other operatives.
Mercury stopped when she saw what was left of the building. The east side had pancaked, and the west was sagging. Dust and smoke rose from gaps in the stone where four-hundred-year-old walls had split apart. This had been her organization’s headquarters. Her family’s legacy. The center of everything Minerva Protocol hadbuilt over decades, and it looked like a demolition site. Henry put his hand on her back. He didn’t speak.
She covered her mouth with her hand as she crossed to the grass where Beacon lay. She dropped beside her and pulled her into her arms. Beacon grabbed her back with her one good hand and held on.
“Katarina.”
“Lyra. Oh God.”
While her voice cracked, there were no tears from her even as Mercury wiped hers away with her sleeve.
“Forge is dead.” Beacon’s voice cracked a second time. “So are Verdant and Cipher.”
Mercury closed her eyes. She held Beacon tighter for a second and then eased her back down to the grass and brushed the hair from her forehead to see the gash.
She turned to me. “What’s happening inside?”
“Kingston, Dagger, and Amaryllis are searching for survivors. There are two more deceased that we know of. They haven’t been identified yet.”
When Mercury stood, I knew what she intended to do, and I couldn’t let her.
“Stay with Beacon,” I said as a medic approached.
“I should be in there.”
