Pain exploded through Noah’s chest, stealing his breath.He gasped, his grip loosening for just a second, but he was able to grab Ryan’s hand that held the gun.He couldn’t shake it loose—the man’s fingers were locked tight—but he could keep it pointed away from him and Meg.Could control the direction even if he couldn’t control the weapon.
That’s when he saw the knife.
Ryan pulled it from somewhere—a sheath at his belt—and the blade caught the light from their headlamps as it swung toward Noah’s throat.Fixed blade.Six inches of steel that looked impossibly sharp.
“Noah!”Meg’s scream cut through everything—high and terrified.
Noah jerked back, the knife missing his neck by millimeters.Close enough that he felt the whisper of air as it passed.
Barely.
And the movement set him off balance enough that he couldn’t counter when Ryan thrust toward his side.Couldn’t twist away.Couldn’t do anything but take it.
He felt the blade cut into his side below his ribs and bite deep.
The pain was so intense that his hand on Ryan’s wrist lessened just enough for Ryan to break free.They both grappled for the gun again, their hands slipping on each other’s sweat and blood.Noah’s blood—hot and slick.
They were too close.Noah couldn’t get leverage, couldn’t break free.His side burned.His leg was useless and threatened to buckle with every shift of weight.And Ryan was fighting like a man with nothing left to lose.
Because that’s exactly what he was.
“She took everything from us.”Ryan’s eyes were wild now, with tears streaming down his face and mixing with snot and spit.The ugly face of grief stripped of all dignity.
Noah’s hand closed over Ryan’s on the gun.He tried to twist it away, to point it anywhere but at Meg, at himself.Tried to use his weight advantage, his training.
The gun went off again.
For a moment, Noah didn’t understand what had happened.The sound was muffled this time.A wet thump instead of a sharp crack.
Ryan’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening in a silent gasp.Shock.Confusion.Then he stumbled backward, his hands loosening on the gun.Finally letting go.
Noah caught it as Ryan fell, his back hitting the cave wall before sliding down.He left a red smear on the limestone.
Blood spread across Ryan’s shirt, dark and fast.
Noah dropped to his knees beside the man, his hands already pressing against the wound.Medical training overrode everything else.Pressure.Elevation.Stop the bleeding.
But he could feel it—the pulse of arterial blood, the way it just kept coming.Hot and thick.Too much.Too fast.
Ryan’s hand came up, weak, and pushed Noah’s hands away.The touch was gentle and almost tender.“Doesn’t matter.”His voice was faint and wheezing.“We’re all dead anyway.”
Noah leaned closer and tried to hear.His own blood was soaking through his shirt and running hot down his side.He could feel it pooling at his hip.“What did you do?”
“Rigged it.”Ryan’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile—triumphant and satisfied.“Whole place.Explosives.Goes in—” He coughed, blood flecking his lips.“Less than an hour.”
Noah’s stomach dropped, cold spreading through his chest.“Where?Where did you put them?”
“Everywhere.”Ryan’s eyes were starting to glaze.“Entrance.Main chamber.Here.You’ll never—” Another cough, weaker this time.His chest barely rose.“Never find them all.Lydia deserves justice.Lydia deserves?—”
Noah grabbed the man’s shirt and shook him gently.“How do we stop it?There has to be a way to stop it.”
But Ryan’s eyes were already going distant and unfocused.His chest rose once, twice—shallow, rattling breaths—then stilled.
Noah’s hands fell away, his mind racing.
Explosives.
The whole cave system rigged to blow.
