The other cocks his head, already sizing him up. “What are you, new? You think we don’t check credentials?”
The first agent jabs a finger toward the badge. “This look real to you? Doesn’t look real to me.”
“You’ve got about five seconds to explain who the fuck you are before we put you face down,” the second adds, his hand hovering near his holster.
The intruder doesn't answer.
Instead, he shifts the scrubs in his grip, unfolding them just enough. A large hunting knife slides free from the fabric. The blade flashes under the fluorescent lights.
He steps in before either man fully understands what is happening.
The knife tears across the first agent’s throat in one brutal sweep. The blade opens him from one side of the neck to the other. Skin splits wide, and the cut peels open as blood surges out in a thick, violent rush. The man’s voice collapses into a wet choking sound as he grabs at his throat. Blood pours between his fingers, spilling down his chest and splattering the floor as his knees give out.
The second agent finally moves, his hand dropping toward his weapon.
He doesn't get it out.
The intruder drives the knife straight into the man’s eye.
The blade punches through the socket with a sickening crack of bone. The agent’s body convulses as the knife sinks deep into his skull. Blood and fluid stream down his face as his legs buckle beneath him.
The intruder wrenches the blade free. Both bodies hit the floor. He steps over them without even looking down. To him, killing is not an event.
It is a task.
He pushes into the room without hesitation and closes the door behind him.
The third guard inside the room stands up immediately, his chair scraping hard against the floor. “Hey, who the fuck are you supposed to—”
The intruder’s hand slides behind his back again and pulls a pistol fitted with a suppressor.
He raises it and fires.
The muted shot pops through the room, the bullet punching straight through the guard’s skull before he can finish the sentence. The impact snaps his head backward and blows blood and bone against the wall behind him.
The guard collapses back into the chair and slides sideways, his body folding awkwardly as blood runs down his collar and drips onto the floor.
Now the room is silent except for the rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor.
Seth lies on the hospital bed, pale beneath the harsh lights. Wires drape over his body. Bandages wrap his chest. A handcuff bites into his wrist, chaining him to the bedrail.
His eyes open slowly, tracking the intruder with a mixture of pain, recognition, and relief that he doesn't waste energy trying to hide.
The man lowers his mask, revealing sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw dusted with dark stubble, and eyes that are colder up close. His hair is swept back in a loose tie, a few strands falling around his temples. The clean cut disguise hasn’t dulled the lethal energy he carries like a second skin.
“Wow. You look like shit,” the intruder says dryly.
Seth’s lips twitch despite everything, the faintest ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Missed you too.”
The intruder crosses the room with the calm of someone walking through a grocery aisle instead of a hospital room with three fresh bodies. He bends over the dead guard, pulls the keys from the man’s belt, and unlocks the cuff around Seth’s wrist. The latch snaps open with a quiet metallic click.
He straightens, flicks the blood from the knife onto the floor, then gathers the extra scrubs in his hand and tosses the folded bundle onto the bed.
“Get changed.”
Seth stares at the clothes for a second, then forces himself to swing his legs over the side of the bed.
Pain rips through his side immediately. His body folds forward, breath leaving him in a rough grunt as the bandages across his shoulder and ribs pull tight.
