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The shot went wide, punching holes in the ceiling, but Rook was already moving in on the threat, driving his fist into the guard’s solar plexus, and letting his shadows catch the man as he folded over himself.
Silence fell. Three guards, all unconscious. The whole thing took thirty seconds, maybe less.
“Clear.” Thorn descended from the catwalk, his shadows carrying the first two guards to deposit them with the third. “Silas, we need police here in twenty minutes with a cover story.”
“Already working on it.”
Ethan stood very still for three full seconds, his brain attempting to process what he’d just witnessed. Thorn had moved like smoke made lethal. Cillian had changed shape. Rook had disarmed a man with sentient darkness. Now would be an understandable time to have a freak out, especially when he still had someone else’s blood smears on his hands.
“Fiona,” he said out loud, the single word pulling his mind back to the job at hand. Rescue now. Existential crisis later. His hands were shaking slightly as he reached for the first container lock. He noticed it, cataloged the shakes as “normal physiological response to combat proximity,” and ignored it.
Rook fell into step beside him. “Let me check them first.”
“No time.” Ethan reached the first container and examined the lock. It was a heavy-duty padlock on a reinforced door. He looked at Rook. “Can you open this without ripping the entire door off? They must be so scared.”
Rook’s shadows wrapped around the lock. Metal groaned as the mechanisms snapped and the lock fell away, allowing Ethan to pull the door open.
A young woman was huddled in the corner, her dark hair matted, and mascara streaked down her face. She was in her early twenties, at best guess, still dressed in a server’s uniform of black pants and what was once a white shirt. She wasn’t Fiona.
“It’s okay.” Ethan kept his voice calm. “We’re getting you out. Are you injured?”
She shook her head, her eyes huge in the dim light.
“Can you walk?”
That got a quick nod.
“All right then. There are three men unconscious on the floor. Don’t look at them. Just make your way to the door in your own time.”
He moved to the second container while Rook helped the first woman out. Another theater worker, this one was male and a bit older. He was in a similar condition - frightened, dehydrated, but mobile.
It was in the third container that Ethan’s heart gave an extra thump as he saw Fiona sitting against the wall, her knees drawn up, and her arms wrapped around her shins. Her staff uniform was wrinkled and stained, her sandy blonde hair pulled back in a lopsided ponytail. When she saw Ethan, her expression crumpled.
“Ethan?”
“I’m here.” He crouched just inside the doorway. “Are you hurt?”
“No. No, they just…” Her voice broke. “They locked us in and said we were being transported, and…”
“You’re safe now.” Ethan extended his hand. “Can you stand?”
She grabbed his hand, her grip desperate, and he pulled her to her feet. She swayed, and he steadied her.
“Who else is here?” She looked past him to where Thorn was opening the fourth container. “How did you find us?”
“It’s a long story, but the short version is I had help.” Ethan guided her toward the warehouse entrance, where the first woman waited with Rook. “Five people total?”
“Yes. Me, Jenna, Rueben, and two others from the Riverside Theater.”
The fourth and fifth containers yielded the remaining victims - both young, both terrified, but both still alive. Thorn and Cillian herded them toward the entrance while Rook stayed with Ethan, his shadows constantly reaching toward him, checking, reassuring.
“Silas.” Thorn’s voice carried command. “Status on police?”
“An anonymous tip was called in four minutes ago. They’ll arrive in approximately fifteen minutes. I’ve planted evidence suggesting a rival trafficking operation’s raid, which will explain the unconscious guards and broken door.”
“What about the bodies?” Cillian examined one of the unconscious guards.
“There are no bodies.” Thorn’s voice was flat. “We didn’t kill anyone tonight.”
