Page 162 of Dark Night of the Soul

“On your left,” Ludwig said.

He fired without hesitation, covering our retreat, then hooked an arm under Kincade’s other side like he’d done this a hundred times.

I adjusted my grip, pain flaring in my shoulder, and forced my legs to keep up. My vision grayed at the edges, but I locked my jaw and pushed through it.

Every instinct screamed at me to stop and check him.

I didn’t.

I glanced back once.

More guards swarmed down the hall, stepping around Decker who lay grimacing on the floor, hands clutching ruined knees. Blood pooling around him in a dark halo.

Alive.

I hated that he was still breathing.

I hated more that we didn’t have time to finish it. We never triggered the charges.

“Primary exit is gone,” Ulrich said. “You’ve got ninety seconds before containment.”

“Change of plans,” Ludwig said. “This way.”

Ludwig cut left through a narrow service corridor, shoving open an unmarked fire door at the end. Cold air slammed into us as we hit an exterior stairwell. Bare concrete, metal rail slick with moisture, the city roaring somewhere below. We took the steps two at a time, half-running, half-falling, boots skidding as Ludwig led us down toward street level. No cover. No time. Just the night and whatever waited at the bottom.

By the time we burst out into the night air, Kincade was sagging hard between us.

His steps dragged.

His breathing wasn’t right.

“Get him in,” Ulrich snapped, throwing open the van doors.

Kincade collapsed against the floor of the van, blood pooling beneath him. So much blood. It was everywhere. Slick and hot under my hands, soaking his shirt.

I dropped to my knees beside him, hands shaking, trying to hold pressure where I could.

The second the doors slammed shut we were speeding into the night.

And I didn’t know if we were fast enough.

I pressed my hands against his abdomen, watched the blood spread and spread.

“Don’t you die on me, dammit,” I said. “If you do, I’ll kill you.”

“Anna—” Ludwig started.

“Don’t,” I snapped.

He shoved me aside—not gently. “Move. Let me see.”

Gone was the charming man, replaced by someone else. Cold. Efficient.

He rolled Kincade onto his side and lifted his shirt, fingers already probing, assessing.

“The bullet went through,” he said. “Front to back. Looks like it missed organs.”

There was nothing in this godforsaken van to stop the bleeding.