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The first round strikes one man’s shoulder, spinning him away. The second hits the weapon carried by the guard behind him.

Shark stops the third.

The side corridor falls quiet.

I look at Evie.

She reloads.

“I told you I could handle myself.”

“I know.”

“You finally stopped arguing.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Warmth flickers in her eyes.

Then a bullet strikes the column beside my neck.

Concrete cuts through my collar.

Evie grabs me.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s usually true.”

She presses a piece of gauze against the cut.

“Now?”

“Hold still.”

Gunfire continues around us.

She ignores it.

I don’t know whether to be impressed or furious.

Probably both.

Fathom’s voice rises from the terminal.

“I’m inside.”

The countdown reads one minute, forty-four seconds.

“Can you stop it?” Rook asks.

“Trying.”

Lines of code race across the tablet.