She crawled as fast as the cramped space allowed. Her breathing sounded too loud in the narrow duct. They’d hear her. They’d catch her.
I’m going to die in this metal coffin and no one will find me?—
Stop. Focus, Jen.
She shuffled on, inches at a time, until light filtered up ahead.
The vent above the armory.
She inched closer, dropping to her elbows. Under her, the vent featured emergency access points. Quarter-turn fasteners. Standard near high-security areas.
Her fingers found the fastener slots through the grating. Quarter turn. Click. Quarter turn. Click.
All four corners released.
Almost there.
Voices.
Shit.She froze and peeked through the gaps.
Two guards took up positions outside the armory door. Black tactical gear. Short-barreled automatic weapons held ready.
They beat me here.
She sucked at a cut on the heel of her hand, trying to think. The armory had biometric locks. She had access—all senior engineering staff did, in case of emergency. But she couldn’t exactly walk up and ask nicely.
A single set of footsteps. Steady. Unhurried.
Below, the guards turned.
Jen laid her cheek on the grid to get a better view.
A man rounded the corner wearing a bright orange flight suit—Coast Guard rescue crew, unmistakable even in the silently strobing red emergency lights. But nothing about him said rescue.
He was big, broad shoulders filling the corridor. A black harness crisscrossed his chest, hung with gear she couldn’t identify. No helmet. Dark hair. A face carved from stone.
He moved with the fluid, lethal grace of a man who knew exactly how dangerous he was.
The guards lifted their guns.
The man moved.
Fast. Brutally efficient.
The first guard never fired. The man closed the distance in two strides, slapped the barrel aside and drove a savage fist into the guard’s throat. He caught the weapon before it clattered to the deck. The guard crumpled, choking.
The second guard tried to bring his weapon around. Way too slow. The man was already inside his reach. Leg sweep. The guard went down hard. His head bounced off the deck plating with a hollow crack that made Jen wince.
Five seconds. No shots fired. No noise.
His breathing hadn’t even changed.
The man checked the pulse on both guards before he stripped zip ties from a pocket and secured their wrists behind their backs. Professional. Not his first time. Not even close.
He checked the corridor, then dragged both guards by their vests out of her line of sight.
She held her breath. She’d seen combat training videos. This wasn’t that. This was real. And he’d done ita lot.
