My heart lurched hard.
Patrick stared at the glass, voice thin and shaky. "Th—the viper's awake… the blue butterfly…"
The doctor let go of my chin, eyes bright with shock. "How did he get his hands free?"
At that exact second, Ashur smashed his fist into the glass again.
The doctor whipped toward me, raising the gun. "Don't move!"
He snapped his head at Patrick. "Flood the cell with gas. Knock him out!"
The room exploded into motion—Red Ward techs sprinting to the cube's control panel. I used the noise as cover. In one clean jerk, I popped my thumb back into place.
Patrick, colorless and wide-eyed, barked at the guards, "Move, idiots—hit the emergency override!"
The siren wailed. The lights inside the cube went blood-red. Ashur's silhouette—broad shoulders, towering frame—looked like a monster waking, planted before the glass, more terrifying than ever.
I knew the plan: kill the power, and the glass cell would auto-unlock.
Breath sawing, fists tight, I mapped the room. First move had to be mine.
A glance at Patrick.
At the two red-clad guards.
I shut my eyes for one beat. The alarm dimmed in my head. All I heard was my own deep inhale.
Then I moved—grabbed the doctor's gun hand and wrenched it left. His shot went off—straight into a guard.
I drove my elbow into his ribs and tore the weapon free. Using his body as a shield, I fired over his shoulder and dropped the second guard.
Patrick lunged from behind. I pivoted with the doctor's weight and kicked out—caught Patrick in the back. The doctor crashed to the tile at his feet.
Patrick charged again and, before I could line up a shot, he kicked my injured side. Pain detonated. I flew backward and smashed into Ashur's glass.
Air left me in a ragged gasp. I slid to the floor.
Patrick fired. I clamped a hand to my side, rolled, and the shot cracked past. I surged up, rammed my fist into his chest, twisted his wrist, and trapped his gun.
Another guard leveled his gun at me. I swung Patrick's weapon toward him and fired. At the same time, I kicked Patrick in the gut. "Bastard!"
He hit the floor. I staggered toward him, gun rising—when a kick hammered my ribs and dumped me.
The doctor stomped my back, snarling,
"I should've killed you from the start."
I curled, gasping. Numbness crawled through my limbs as I rolled on the cold tile. He bent toward the fallen gun, reaching. "Don't worry," he said. "You missed your chance. I won't let you die easy."
I bared my teeth and launched through the pain—kicked his side and clamped his wrist. Flat on the tile, I twisted hard. Bone shifted with a wet crack as he screamed.
That sound lit something sweet and awful in me. I yanked again and kicked him in the face. He flew back and crashed down.
Someone tackled me out of nowhere, crushing me to the floor. My spine slammed the tile; breath vanished. For a second I thought it shattered.
I looked up into Patrick's bruised face. The whites of his eyes were shot through with blood. His features trembled with rage as he fought to drive a knife into my throat.
I locked both hands around his wrist, straining to hold the blade off.
I turned my head to the right—Ashur's glass box. Gray gas was swelling inside.
Thicker by the second. His face was already hard to see. If he went under, I was done.
Pain scorched my neck.
The knife tip had kissed my skin.