Voss and his men were trying to box them in via the stairwells. Herding them.
Just then, Noah melted from the dark with Mac at his back. Frost and Seth close behind, watching the back hallway. Shadows broke around them, reforming as they moved.
They ducked into an open doorway of a suite.
Smoke filled the hallway. Red emergency lights flickered. The light strobed across faces, turning everything jagged and unreal.
“What’s the plan?” Mac asked.
“We’re going straight down the stairs and taking out whoever gets in our way,” Law growled, easing open the stairwell door. Sage slipped in behind the man’s larger frame. Law blocked most of the space—solid, immovable.
The light inside the stairwell blinked like a strobe—the backup generators were working. Each pulse cut the space into fragments.
“Pegasus should have contacted Genesis and local PD by now and are surrounding the area,” Mac said.
“Seriously?” Sage frowned. “But the comms are dead.”
The four of them slipped into the small stairwell entry. Frost and Seth hung back and were soon gone. Their presence vanished into the dark like they’d never been there.
“Yeah, but Giovani Rossi is Noah’s dad.” Mac reached out and lifted Noah’s wrist. A small, thin leather band circled his wrist, covering what looked like a row of scars. More importantly, the tiny gem attached to the strap was glowing. A faint pulse of light, steady despite everything else.
“What kind of high-tech tracker is this?” Sage took Noah’s wrist. The band was warm under his fingers.
“I dunno. Jordan and Seth designed them for the team to wear.” Noah shot Mac a dark look. “Mac would have one too if he wasn’t so stubborn.”
“Hey,” Mac argued. “My wrists are too big for bracelets.”
Noah squinted. “It’s not a bracelet.”
“And I’m glad for it,” Mac murmured, bringing Noah’s wrist to his lips. The moment was quick, almost out of place there.
Law started down the stairs, and Sage followed. Boots hitting metal, echoing tight in the enclosed space.
He didn’t like it. Too narrow. Law and Mac—big targets. No room to move. No way to break the line of sight.
“Can you take that out?” Sage pointed to the strobe.
Noah turned and the soft whomp of his silencer, shot out the strobe—plunging them into darkness—immediate and absolute.
A shoe scuffed on the stairs below. More behind it. Mercenaries—too heavy, too loud.
Voss’s own men worried him the most.
Assassins.
Like him.
The darkness settled in after the shot—thick, absolute—but it didn’t slow them.
Law kept moving, steady, deliberate, taking the steps like he could see them.
Sage stayed tight at his back, one hand brushing the rail, tracking distance by feel and sound. The metal was cold under his palm, damp with condensation. Boots hit metal below—more of them now, spacing even, not rushing.
They weren’t chasing.
They were positioning.
A heavy clang echoed from somewhere above—distant, but close enough to carry down the stairs.
