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I bite his arm.

Hard.

He yells and jerks away.

I slam my forehead into his face.

Pain explodes through my skull.

Greg stumbles backward.

I dive for the gun.

He grabs my ankle.

I kick.

My heel connects with his cheek.

His grip loosens.

My fingers close around the weapon.

Greg reaches beneath his jacket.

I roll.

A gunshot explodes.

Not mine.

Greg jerks.

His weapon falls from his hand.

For one horrible second, I think I shot him without realizing it.

Then I hear a voice.

“Hayley!”

Everything inside me stops.

No.

I know that voice.

I knew it through a telephone after eighteen years.

I know it now.

I turn.

A man stands in the tunnel entrance.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.