Page 69 of Dose

Metal slams hard enough to shake dust from the junction ceiling. Her thermal signature disappears behind the insulated security shutter.

I am at the door before Nikolai finishes speaking.

“Theon, intercept west corridor. Raphael, hold the east side. No one forces that shutter until Theon reports.”

“Moving.”

The cloned credential opens the first fire door. I take the stairs two at a time, rifle tight against my right shoulder. My left protests at the speed. I ignore it.

The second door releases. I turn into the verification corridor and find an overturned stainless-steel cart, a pistol trapped beneath one wheel, and a man in gray security gear crumpled beside the wall. Blood runs from his temple into his hair. A one-kilogram calibration weight lies beside him, one polished edge dark with it.

Isla stands three meters away with both hands lifted. There is blood on her left glove.

“Not mine,” she says immediately.

I can see no tear in her vest and no wound above it. My body declines to accept the evidence.

I clear the corridor, kick the pistol out of reach, and roll the guard onto his stomach. He is breathing. Barely conscious. I bind his wrists and check his waistband before I let myself turn to her.

“Injury?”

“None.” Her breath is fast but her eyes track normally. “He came through the cold-storage door after the first team cleared it. He dropped the shutter and drew. I released the cart into his knees. His pistol discharged into the ceiling. When he fell, I threw the weight.” She glances at her glove. “I checked that he was breathing.”

“You threw a kilogram of stainless steel at his head.”

“Momentum is transferable.”

I catch the back of her neck with my right hand and check her mask, her throat, the front of her vest. The face covering is still sealed. No blood except the smear on her glove. No tear in the fabric. No change in the way she holds herself.

I want to kiss her. I want to put her over my shoulder, walk out of Phoenix, and kill anyone who tries to stop me.

Instead, I key the radio.

“Contact restrained. One hostile, alive. Weapon secured. Isla uninjured. The west shutter separated her from Raphael.”

The breath Nikolai releases is almost inaudible. “Can you reopen it?”

I pull the guard’s badge, use it at the wall panel, and wait through three seconds that feel personal. The shutter rises.

Raphael is on the other side with his weapon drawn and murder in his eyes. He lowers it when he sees Isla.

“Medical check,” I tell him.

“I am not hurt,” she says.

“Then the check will be quick.”

Raphael takes her bloodied glove off, examines her hand and pupils, then runs both palms down her arms. “No injury.”

“Isla,” Nikolai says over comms. “You can withdraw. No penalty.”

She looks at Raphael, then at me. “Can the medication transfer continue safely?”

Raphael nods once. “Yes.”

“Then I continue.”

Every part of me rejects the answer.