Chapter 71
THE HALL MAZE
I stay pressed to the shadows until the last set of boots fades down the hall.
I turn, orienting myself, trying to picture Colt’s map.
One hand skims the wall as I start down the darkened maintenance corridor.
It’s freezing, not to mention dusty enough to cause a coughing fit I can’t afford.
My hand brushes the bundle I’d stashed here yesterday while Colt was answering a security call—a cardigan tucked behind the bins, already stiff with dust. I pull it free, tugging my arms through and patting the panel where I stashed the black-bound book.
I slip Colt’s ID from my heel, holding steady even as my vision crinkles at the edges.
At the end of the east service corridor, I hang a quick right, shoulder slamming the corner.
I wince, hand clamping over my mouth to stifle the sound.
Breathe. Hold it in a little longer.
The camera flickers to life, red light alive with warning. I wait for it to complete a full sweep of the expanse before slipping to the left.
I can do this. One more hallway. One unguarded exit. Thirty paces, one swipe, and I’m gone.
Another set of footsteps echoes somewhere behind me.
Too far to tell whose. I duck into a storage room, crouching between two rolling bins, counting my heartbeats until the sound fades.
My knees shake so hard I can practically feel the soreness I’ll experience in the morning.
My dress snags on something sharp when I try to stand, but I don’t make a sound.
Panic catches up to me. Everything’s happening so fast. But I’m okay. I have to be. I focus on how far I’ve come to get here. The work, the strides, the wins.
Catastrophic mistakes avoided: too many. Way too many.
When the space goes still again, I push forward. Faster now. My chest feels like it’s splitting open, but I don’t stop until I can see the door. Except I don’t see it.
My heart stalls. My feet root to the floor, bound by invisible vines of confusion. Did I make a wrong turn? That’s impossible. I ran through this route in my head a dozen times, then a dozen more for good measure. So why—
A shadow detaches from the wall.
Vincent.
How?
His face is unreadable, but there’s a knowing in his eyes that tells me I wasn’t being nearly as sneaky as I thought. He moves toward me without hurry. The lack of surprise on his features makes my stomach drop. His warm hand settles lightly on my elbow, steering me down the hallway.
“This way,” he murmurs.
Relief cuts through my panic before I can stop it. He’s helping me. Not just ignoring the rules or covering for me—actually helping. We veer left, down a corridor I hadn’t planned for.
“What—”
“You’re off course. Vance is stationed down the way.” He doesn’t ask where I was headed. Doesn’t ask why, either. His hand stays at my elbow, like this isn’t the first time he’s had to turn me around.
My mental map of the back halls grows more crossed by the second.
The east service door is ahead, the faint line of light around its frame almost glowing. My fingers twitch, already reaching. His gaze flicks past my shoulder—so quick I almost miss it—then returns to me with a weight I can’t read.
I’m no more than three steps from the door when his hold changes into something firm.
Unshakable.
What—
“Not today,” he says, shifting his grip up my arm.
I twist, wrenching against him. “Move.”
His other hand comes up, palm pressed against my shoulder, pulling me back.
“I mean it,” I snap, shoving at his chest. My heel catches the tile, so rough I almost trip. “Let me go, Vincent!”
“Not—” he starts, but I lunge again, forcing him back a step. His hand snags on my cardigan, tearing the book loose from the makeshift pocket I’d stashed it in. It hits the ground hard enough to echo. Vincent flinches, hard.
“Where did you get that?” he demands, eyes impossibly wide. The command in his tone freezes me on the spot. He never raises his voice. He takes a step forward, eyes locked on the black spine, color draining from his face. “That’s not possible.”
I don’t answer. My lungs seize; air lagging behind raw panic.
He reaches for my shoulder, panting. “Answer me!”
I dodge, grabbing the book first and clutching it to my chest. “It’s mine!”
He hesitates, just long enough. I drive an elbow into his ribs and turn.
My hand slams against the cold metal of the badge reader, not quite connecting with the keycard pressed in my palm.
Sparks lick across my fingertips before I can choke them down.
The fluorescent lights above us sputter and burst, glass scattering across the floor.
“Breathe!” His command is quick, almost instinctive. “Please.” He grips my shoulder again, steadying, but the flicker in his eyes tells me he’s calculating. I draw a breath to fight back, but he’s faster.
“Enough,” he snaps, grabbing for the card. I duck. He counters, dragging me up by my arm. Power surges to the spot in an instant. He hisses as the wave crashes against his gloved fingers. A scream tears free from my lungs as he pulls me into his chest.
“Stop!” I try to wrench back, but his grip shifts, fingers firm at the base of my neck. Tears pelt my cheeks. I shove hard, nails catching on his jacket, dragging along the seam of his sleeve. “Vincent, please!”
“Enough, Estelle.”
A pinch—no.
The steel bite of a needle under my skin, sunken deep before I can jerk away. White-hot fire races down my spine until every muscle locks.
“It’s fine. You’re fine.” His words are half command, half containment as the sedative floods my veins.
My heel grinds into his polished shoe. Vincent grunts. The syringe falls from his hand and shatters, splattering amber remnants across our shoes. I thrash, but he tightens his grip, pinning me in place.
The air drops cold enough to mist the breath between us.
His arm trembles with controlled fear disguised as precision, like letting go would mean losing more than the fight. Ice tamps down the heat, swallowing it whole. Swallowing me whole. My knees fold. His arms hook under mine before I hit the ground.
“I’m sorry. I know I broke my promise,” he says, low and close enough that the words are almost in my skin. I hate that it sounds like he means it.
I try to spit something back, but my tongue sits heavy.
“You’ll have a better chance,” he murmurs. “When you understand what you’re running from.”
Turns out I should’ve been running from him.
I claw at his jacket, but my fingers won’t close.
He hoists me up and drags me down the hall, ignoring my incoherent protests.
My head rests against him without permission as my awareness teeters.
The elevator doors open with a groan that resonates longer than it should.
He props my deadened form against the wall inside, steadying me until he’s sure I won’t fall.
The moment his hand leaves me, I push forward in a slow, graceless lurch. My legs tangle under me. My palm smears against the cool steel of the frame, leaving a faint print that fades as the gap narrows.
“Vin—” The word dies before it’s fully formed. My vision blurs around the edges. Static clings to me. The air grows taut again, only this time—
Nothing flares.
He’s already turning, disappearing back into the shadows. He stops to pick up the book that must have escaped my grip, slipping it into his jacket without so much as looking at me.
Just beyond him, Ryder is still leaning against the far wall, eyes closed, head tipped back. Holding too still to be natural. By his side, his fist is clenched tight, the only indication that he saw anything at all.
The doors close. The static smothers everything else.