Page 122 of Nemesis

Another man down.

Three.

Only three of us remain. Dad. Me. One other.

My gun stalls, and I hear Dad coughing from the smoke. His shots are slowing. How many could have made it up to the third floor since the alarm was triggered?

This isn’t an attack.

This is an execution.

I drop to my knees. With desperation, I crawl to the nearest body, still warm and wet on the stone landing. I don’t look at his face when I take the gun from his hand, tugging it free from lifeless fingers. He has another in his back holster, and I grab that one too, wedging it into the belt of my pants.

Before I can climb to my feet, two more masked men appear at the base of the steps. I point. Duck. Fire again.

Two of my bullets go wide, and the shooters dive back around the corner for cover.

My back presses against the wall, waiting for them to return. I know they’re there, but everything has gone quiet.

Far too quiet.

The only sound is those thick, tired breaths from before.

Dad cleared the other side, I realize, not daring to turn away from the looming threat. It’s just him and me. Our third is gone, spread across the floor in a direction I refuse to look in.

When the sound of gunfire rises from the floor below, I have to choke down my sob. Hopeless. Dad may have cleared the third floor, but more are on their way. We can’t take them all ourselves. We’re done for…

“Octavia!”

I choke at the familiar voice.

“Octavia! Where are you?”

“Here,” I cry, rising to my feet. “We’re up here!”

I lean back against the stone, tasting blood in each breath, the same way I would after finishing an exhausting show in a faraway life. My mouth splits into a victorious smile.

After another round of shots, Alex appears on the staircase like a desert mirage. He’s not alone. Soldiers ascend the steps with him. Our soldiers. Alive. Armed. This time I do release my sob.

“Dad, it’s Alex,” I say, turning toward his post at the hall entrance. “We’re good, we⁠—”

Those labored breaths fill my ears once more.

Thicker.

Raspier.

When I look down, I finally understand why they sounded so close. Because, collapsed against the wall, still angled in front of me, is my father.

No.

Red.

Everything is red.

My palms stick and slide through the folds of an expensive button-down shirt, desperate to find the source of the leak.

I think someone calls out my name. I don’t turn.