The shot cracked deafening in the metal tube. The bullet sparked off the rung six inches from his head, the impact vibrating through his hands.
Wyatt twisted. One-handed grip on the ladder. Brought his pistol around and fired back down the shaft.
Three rounds. Fast. Calculated angles to minimize ricochet but maximize suppression. The enclosed space amplified the sound into something physical—pressure against his eardrums.
The flashlight beam jerked away.
Three more feet.
His hand slipped, but he caught himself, leg screaming, shoulders burning. The world narrowed to the rungs in frontof him—adrenaline crash looming, body begging for rest he couldn’t give.
Jen’s face appeared—backlit, rain-slicked, her eyes locked on his.
She wasn’t leaving without him.
“Come on.” She reached down.
Another shot from below displaced the air next to his ribs.
Wyatt lunged. His hand found the edge of the opening. Jen grabbed his wrist—her grip surprisingly strong, engineer’s hands—and pulled. He hauled himself up with his other arm, leg barely cooperating, boots scraping for purchase.
Then he was through.
He collapsed onto cold metal, rain hitting his face, wind cutting through the damp coveralls. Jen slammed the grille shut behind him. Caro was already moving—she grabbed something from Jen’s tool belt, a steel rod, and jammed it through the bolt holes.
Wyatt rolled onto his side, brought his pistol up, and fired one more shot into the grille’s locking mechanism. The metal warped. Jammed. Not permanently—they’d get through eventually—but it bought time.
Then he just lay there. Breathing. Blood crashing in his ears. Leg on fire.
Caro bumped down on her backside, her face blanched. “Bloody hell and a half,” she whispered. She wiped her face with shaking hands. “I want a new job. Preferably one without death tubes.”
Jen stood over him, rain on her face, power driver still in her hand. Breathing hard. Shaking. But upright.
She’d gone first into the dark. Cleared every grille. Got Caro through. Then reached back for him.
He was trained for this. She wasn’t. And she kept showing up anyway.
That scared him more than the bullets had.
Because it meant she wouldn’t stop, even when this was over.
18
The adrenaline didn’t drainall at once. It left in jagged waves, making Jen’s hands shake even after they were clear of the vent.
But for now, the shooting had stopped.
Sleet stung her face, sharp and needling, driven sideways by a wind that sliced straight through her coveralls and into her bones.
Caro was slumped against the railing, arms wrapped tight around her knees. Her face had gone an ashen gray, her whole body trembling as the fear finally caught up to her now that she wasn’t moving.
Wyatt rolled onto his side with a low groan and pushed upright, one hand braced on the steel. Pain flickered across his face, then vanished behind that infuriating calm. “We need to take cover.”
She was already looking, scanning the skeletal lines of Seven’s deck through the sleet. Storage tanks loomed. Then, to their right, davits—heavy arms extending past the platform’s edge. Lifeboats hung from them like a bright orange promise.
“The lifeboats. We could hide there.”
Wyatt followed her line of sight and gave a quick nod. “Good call.”
