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Jenny hung back, dug into her pocket and tossed me a key. She winked, proving my unlikely hunch right. She wasn’t here with Syros, although she’d told him she was. She was here for me. I had no idea how or why she’d switched sides, but now wasn’t the time to get into it.

I slotted the little key into the cuffs and flicked them open, tossing them onto the metal table.

Syros turned again, saw I was free, and glanced at Jenny. “You dare betray me?”

“Bro, you’re low-key an asshole.”

He lunged toward her, but I lunged for Syros, tackling him around the waist. My momentum knocked him off his feet, and I got a few strides under me before my brother slammed his fist between my shoulders. Pain flashed up my spine. I lost my footing. We both tumbled, hit the wall beneath the mirror, and sprawled to the floor.

The phone still rang, right behind the glass. I staggered to my feet, leaning back against the window.

Syros bounced to his feet, and turned on me with a roar. He clenched his right hand into a fist and swung. I ducked. Glass shattered, exploding into millions of tiny tempered pieces—designed to shatter.

He’d opened up a hole into another room, like a viewing gallery. I vaulted the sill, spotted the phone on the far wall, and dashed for it.

Syros slammed into my back, and smacked me face first against the wall right next to the phone. I reached for it. Syros grabbed my arm by the wrist, and yanked me around.

“You remember when we fought like this?” He sneered in my face. “You always lost.”

“I remember . . . I let you win.” I smacked my head forward, smashing my skull into his nose, crunching it. He howled, and staggered away.

Twisting, I grabbed the phone’s receiver and held it to my ear. “Tom?!”

“Welcome to the best bar in San Francisco . . .” Tom’s static voice came back, and a shock of power jolted down the handset, making it leap from my hand. It clattered against the wall, then swung back and forth, spewing static-filled smoke.

Syros watched, hands cupped over his bloody nose, realization dawning.

The distinct outline of our bartender began to take shape in the smoke.

Syros bolted for the door, tore it open, and dashed out.

Guards should have been out there, but whatever commotion had triggered the alarms had distracted them too.

I poked my head outside the door.

No guards, just sirens.

I had to go after Syros. If he got away, we’d be back to square one again. It had to end now.

“Finally found some balls?” Tom Collins asked, standing next to me. His outline spat static, but he looked solid and real in a silk burgundy waistcoat and pressed black pants. With his hair slicked back, there was that slightly unsettling murderous gleam in his eyes. Even more murderous than normal.

“Thanks for coming.” I beamed.

“Someone had to save your ineffective, pathetic asses.”

“Did Leomaris threaten to arrest you for the drugs if you didn’t help?”

Tom snorted a non-answer. “Go get your brother. I’ve got work to do here.”

That sounded concerning. But I definitely needed the distraction.

“Hey, thanks for this, Tom. I mean it.”

He smiled. “Now go break shit. I’m about to.” His outline turned ghostly, then fizzled into a thread that funneled back into the phone. Somewhere nearby, another phone rang. He’d keep some of the guards busy.

I figured my brother had bolted toward the glowing green exit arrow, so I dashed in the same direction, hoping to catch up. Dim emergency lighting lit the sterile, white-walled corridors lined with locked metal doors and no windows. This place was a maze. If I didn’t catch up with Syros soon, I might never find him.

Turning a corner, I ran right toward a guard armed with a sparking cattle prod.