Page 136 of Twist of Fate

The attacker hit the grated floor hard enough to rattle the nearest rack. Connal hauled him up by the collar and threw him into Zer’s path.

Zer sighed as he buried a knife in the man’s chest. “You bring me the nicest gifts.”

“Focus,” Connal ordered.

“I am exceptionally focused.”

Magic flared behind them.

“Down!” Luke shouted.

They dropped together as spellfire struck the rack above their heads. The metal brace fell from Luke’s injured hand and disappeared beneath the lowest server shelf. Heat rolled over them as ruptured panels filled the air with the stink of melted plastic.

Connal came up first. His blade cut across the shooter’s thigh before the attacker could fire again.

Luke moved with him.

The unfinished bond gave him no thoughts or emotions, but he didn’t need either. Connal shifted his weight, and Luke knew which direction he intended to move. Luke ducked, and Connal’s sword passed above him. Connal turned, and Luke protected the space he left behind.

They had never trained together.

They fought as though they had.

Movement reflected in the black surface of a server panel. Luke turned as an attacker came at Connal’s exposed side.

“Left.”

Connal moved without looking back. Luke caught a length of cable dangling from the damaged tray and snapped it across the attacker’s shin. The man stumbled into Connal’s path. Connal ended the threat with one precise strike.

Another attacker seized Luke from behind. An arm locked around his throat and dragged him backward against a hard chest. Luke drove his elbow into the man’s ribs, but the grip only tightened. Pressure built in his head as he fought for leverage.

Connal turned. The expression on his face gave the attacker one instant to understand his mistake before Connal caught him by the back of the neck and tore him away from Luke. There was no elegance in what followed. The man struck the floor and did not rise.

Connal faced Luke. “Breathing?”

Luke coughed. “Nagging already?”

“Breathing.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Connal stepped back into the fight as though the word had cost him more than killing the man at Luke’s feet.

Tyson shouted a warning. One of the attackers had slipped past Keir and reached the console. Instead of trying to restart the system, he pressed a narrow black device against the screen.

Lines of green light moved across the display.

Luke started toward him, but two more men blocked the aisle.

The device emitted a sharp tone.

“Local archive destroyed,” the attacker reported. “Routing disabled.”

A voice answered through his radio. “Confirmed.”

Luke stopped. The strike team hadn’t come to take control of Hale’s system.