The first round strikes one man’s shoulder, spinning him away. The second hits the weapon carried by the guard behind him.
Shark stops the third.
The side corridor falls quiet.
I look at Evie.
She reloads.
“I told you I could handle myself.”
“I know.”
“You finally stopped arguing.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
Warmth flickers in her eyes.
Then a bullet strikes the column beside my neck.
Concrete cuts through my collar.
Evie grabs me.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s usually true.”
She presses a piece of gauze against the cut.
“Now?”
“Hold still.”
Gunfire continues around us.
She ignores it.
I don’t know whether to be impressed or furious.
Probably both.
Fathom’s voice rises from the terminal.
“I’m inside.”
The countdown reads one minute, forty-four seconds.
“Can you stop it?” Rook asks.
“Trying.”
Lines of code race across the tablet.