Wyatt caught her. His hands closed around her waist, supporting her as if she weighed nothing at all. He set her downgently, and for a heartbeat they were too close, breath mixing with breath.
She stepped back, turning to the control panel before she could get stuck in the moment.
Wyatt covered her, his body angled between her and the canteen door. Her fingers flew. She knew this interface better than she knew her own phone. Fire suppression. Lighting. Lock overrides. The fire suppression used halon gas, designed to suffocate any fire. It would also disorient and briefly reduce visibility to nothing.
She accessed the door controls. Unlocked all exits from the canteen with a tap.
Emergency lighting. Off.
Fire suppression. On.
Execute.
The alarm shrieked.
Lights snapped to red.
Halon gas thundered from the canteen ceiling like a white tidal wave. Screams and shouts answered.
The canteen door blew open.
White halon fog blasted into the corridor.
Guards staggered out, coughing and swearing.
Jen barely registered moving shapes before Wyatt slipped past her into the mist.
Unhurried.
Controlled.
Like he already knew exactly where every man in that fog was standing.
A guard stumbled out of the fog, weapon loose in his grip.
Wyatt appeared. Struck. A sharp blow to the side of the neck. The man folded where he stood.
Another shape barreled out of the chilled cloud. Wyatt intercepted him without breaking stride, a hand fisting in theman’s vest, dragging him forward into the point of his elbow. The crack echoed sharply even under the alarm’s shriek, and the second guard dropped, boneless.
A third man burst from the fog with his gun already rising. Muzzle flash seared the mist. Jen ducked as the shot lit the corridor in a violent burst of orange.
Wyatt pivoted, one hand grabbing the barrel and twisting the rifle aside, using the man’s own momentum to wrench the arm backward until something tore. His scream was startled—cut off when Wyatt drove the shooter face-first into the steel plating.
Three men down.
It had taken less than five seconds.
Her brain tried to keep up with what she’d just seen and failed completely.
Fuck.
Jen wheezed a breath.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize him.
The man walking toward her wasn’t the one who’d steadied her shaking hands on a ladder, who’d coaxed her through that terrifying climb. This was a man shaped for violence who’d never quite shed the form.
Then he blinked. And the hard edges receded, folding back beneath the calm she knew.
