"Let's go." Code was standing over me, looking down at the body. Eric's blood still wet on both blades. Celine's chest still held the dull set of the web. "Bram."
I could hear it through the walls already. The crowd had changed shape. There was screaming in it now — real screaming, the kind that comes from the middle of a mass of people and spreads outward faster than anybody can run. Throats opening. Bodies hitting asphalt.
And Max had stopped talking.
The front doors burst inward somewhere down the corridor. A hard crack of glass and frame, then bodies coming through them — a lot of them at once, people who had been standing in that square two minutes ago and were now running for anything with a roof. Shoes slipping on polished tile. The sound of the lobby filling from the outside in.
"We don't have time."
"Okay."
