Nico and I hit the elevator, but the doors flash red—locked, just like he ordered. We don’t waste a second. We pivot, storming toward the emergency stairwell.
The door slams open and we climb—two, three steps at a time. My lungs burn. My legs are on fire. But I don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not while she’s in this building and I’m still on the outside of whatever hell she’s in.
Nico’s ahead of me by a step, methodical, quiet, his hand on the grip of his weapon.
Eighteen floors feel like a thousand.
When we hit the top of the stairwell, I shove through the door into the corridor, breath ragged, heart pounding.
The hallway is long. Silent. Pristine.
Too pristine.
I scan the gold room numbers as we move—1803… 1805…
I stop. My blood surges. This is it.
“Stay behind me,” Nico says, voice low, calm like a surgeon right before a cut.
I shake my head. “Not a chance.”
He doesn’t argue. Just reaches into his coat and pulls something from the inside pocket. A narrow black tool—some kind of breach bar.
“On three,” he says. “We go fast. If she’s in there—”
“She’s in there.”
His eyes flick to mine. Then he nods.
“One.”
I draw in a slow, sharp breath.
“Two.”
The world narrows. All I hear is the blood in my ears. All I see is her face.
“Three.”
Nico kicks the door and the lock shatters.
We burst into the room—
And everything stops.
The curtains are half-drawn, the morning light bleeding across the bed.
Laney.
She’s there.
Tied.
Blood covering her face.
And Randy.
Hovering over her.
