Page 159 of Dark Night of the Soul

It didn’t.

Fluorescent lighting bounced off white-walls and bleached tile beneath our boots. The service elevator waited at the end of the hall. He punched the down button, and we stood there, the silence stretching too long.

I kept my breathing steady, but my heart was pounding. This facility sprawled larger than the others we’d hit and it felt like it. Too many variables.

The elevator ding was loud in the silence. The doors slid open. Slower than I expected.

We stepped inside. He hit sub-level two, and the doors slid closed.

My hand settled on the hilt of my knife as the elevator descended. The ride was short. Silent. My palm was slick with sweat against the knife hilt.

When the doors opened, I expected two guards.

There were none.

We exchanged a glance.

He drew his gun and stepped out first. I followed, blade in hand, staying one step behind him.

The hallway beyond was empty. Lights on. Cameras offline. No red indicator lights.

Someone wanted us here.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall.

Two guards rounded the corner from a side corridor. Late, distracted, already relaxed in a way that made my spine go rigid.

One of them lifted his head.

And recognition slammed into me so hard it stole my breath.

It was him.

The guard from the hospital. The one who’d hit me three times and ruined my face. Hard enough that my vision went white, hard enough that my cheek had split and fractured the bone.

My fingers curled around the hilt of my knife.

The old pain flared—sharp, phantom-hot along my cheekbone—as if my body remembered before my mind could stop it.

I didn’t surge into the programming.

I chose.

Kincade felt it. I knew he did. Not the readiness—the why.

His gaze flicked to my face for half a second. To my cheek. To the place that never stopped aching.

Something in him locked down.

The guard’s gaze flicked to him, assessing. Then back to me. Confusion creased his brow.

“You—” he started.

Kincade didn’t hesitate as he went for the other guard. A suppressed flash. The soft impact of a body being caught and lowered.

The second one—the hospital guard—squared off with me, reaching for his gun.

I was on him before he finished the motion.