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He took out the device, glanced at it briefly, and then his shoulder slammed into my side as he threw me onto my feet.
I let out a huff of air, only to be jerked behind him as we ran. There was apopoutside, and the frantic pressure in my chest told me it was the sound of gunfire. It was followed quickly by a bang of metal, a shout, and an unfamiliar screeching. We were halfway across the open floor when thebambambamof footsteps on a metal roof started, and they were closing in in a hurry. Logan yanked me sideways, throwing us both inside one of the gray metal cabinets lining the wall. He pulled the door shut, nothing but a thin strip of light through the cracks to reveal there was only an old uniform hanging inside.
That was when I remembered the building’s doors were welded shut.
“We’re trapped,” I whispered.
He nodded, light catching the blond of his hair in staccato bursts.
I was panting, my chest heaving with panic. I wasn’t supposed to do that. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to calm. I needed to think.
Logan was pressed tight against me; he must have noticed my ragged breathing, my lip tucked under a tooth. He reached up and dragged a thumb over my cheek, wiping away the tears I’d shed for my mother. His hand slid into my hair, cradled my neck.
“Brianna,” he said in an impossibly low voice.
“Yes?” I breathed as his gaze trailed over my lips, came back slow and deliberate to linger on my eyes.
“Is it now?”
A confused, “What?” slipped out, too loud.
The corner of his mouth turned up, the smallest amount, and I knew immediately what he was asking.
“No!” I hissed, the sound of boots on the metal grate platform causing me to grip him even tighter as I protested.
“Good,” he whispered. He glanced briefly at the crack in the door, smiling at my indignant expression. His hand came free to push a lock of hair behind my ear. “Because that means we’re in less trouble than I thought.”
His words were punctuated with a series of metallic bangs, followed by shouting to, “Get on the floor.” And finally a loud, “Rhona, clear.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, ignoring the noise outside to focus on his words.
He shrugged. “If it hasn’t happened yet, then we’re probably not going to die today.”
“Fox, clear,” a voice overhead called.
“Daniels, clear,” a third echoed, this one closer.
“You can’t …” I hissed, “… that’s not how it works, Logan.”
He stared at me in earnest. “Oh trust me, Brianna, I’m not letting it end until that vision plays out.”
I opened my mouth to form some kind of stunned protest, but before I got the words out, Logan took a step back and the cabinet doors swung open to his team.
A man yelled, “Black, clear. Locket, clear.”
The one in the center—tall and thin—tilted his head toward me in greeting. “Miss Drake.”
“I’m the locket?” I asked after a full ten seconds of silence.
His cheeks colored and the dark-haired man beside him lip’s twitched. He nodded and cleared his throat. “Not my call, ma’am.”
The dark-haired man elbowed him. “He wanted to call you the duck.”
The tall man’s mouth tightened. “Well it was better than the serpent.”
My eyes went to the third man. “Then whose idea was it?”
I followed his gaze to Logan, whose lips drew down as he shook his head in denial. “Really, Brianna. We should go.”
