My brain is taking in everything even as my body reacts. I throw myself to the ground, behind one of the overlarge potted succulents. I have to stay out of sight.
A whisper of movement comes from the pool.
Oh no. No, no, no.
Thegirl.
My mind whirls—perhaps I can get to the pool and drag her from the water. But I hate water and I’m a terrible swimmer. Or maybe—
But before my brain can come up with a truly terrible plan, Eames crashes to the floor beside me. He has his sister in his arms and his tanned face has gone mushroom pale.
He must have yanked his sister from the pool the moment the killer went for her gun. That’s faster than most people would react. Good for him.
We share a glance, Eames and me. We’re perhaps three feet from one another, using the succulents as cover. There’s nowhere else to hide.
I press my forehead to the ceramic planter. It’s a childish impulse—if I can’t see the danger, the danger can’t see me.
“Edgar,” I whisper, hoping the microphone in my visor will catch the near-silent words. “Show me the lobby.”
Edgar’s voice sounds low in my ear. “Connecting to your visor now.”
At once, Edgar’s feed boots up and I see from his point of view. The lobby falls away, and suddenly I’m forty feet above myself.
My stomach swoops. Even if my brain is aware that I’m firmly on the ground, my body reacts as though I’ve been plucked into the air by a giant.
The blond woman—my adrenaline-drunk brain immediately dubs her Goldie Glocks—has her gun pointed at the ground, finger off the trigger. Not her first time using a firearm, then. She watches the security guard for any sign of movement. Then she walks toward the front doors.
This is it. The only moment I may have to escape.
I flick my hand, disconnecting my visor from Edgar’s view.
My gaze goes toward the stairs. There’s a pool between me and the best escape route. I should run. Prefect would tell me to run, to leave the others behind. After all the money they spent on me, ISD would be very irritated to find out I was killed in a random shooting.
But I can’t leave them. I just can’t.
“Hey,” I whisper, barely moving my lips. “We need to move now. Follow me. Don’t look back, okay? No matter what happens, keep low and keep quiet.”
Eames gives me a jerky nod.
I twitch my fingers to connect to Edgar. “Find me a way out of here. Now.”
“And here I was going to take my time,” says Edgar in my ear.
My back molars grind together, but before I can come up with a suitably scalding retort, he adds, “The potted plant to your left. Run to it now.”
I scamper toward the succulent. Eames half crawls, half shuffles behind me. He hasn’t released the girl; she’s pressed against him as tightly as a barnacle on a whale.
“Wait,” says Edgar, and I freeze. Somewhere behind me, I can hear voices. My heartbeat is a painful throb behind my ribs. “She’s letting other people inside. Several others. One is looking your way.”
I remain utterly still. Eames follows my lead, his eyes darting between me and the doors.
“Now,” says Edgar. “They’re distracted by the dead guard. Get to the stairs.”
I keep expecting to hear the bark of a gun. To feel a jolt of impact followed by pain and panic and the waiting cold.
I know what it feels like to die.
I don’t want to feel it again.
