"Too late for that." I cut his zip-ties with the guard's knife, then press the gun into his hands. "Can you shoot?"
"I'm drugged, not dead." He checks the magazine with movements that are slower than usual but still competent. "Where are we?"
"The Serpents' Den. Outside Vegas. Evan's got us both, and he's planning to use us as bait for Felix and the others."
"They'll come," he says with absolute certainty that makes me feel warm and fuzzy, but also terrified.
"That's what I'm afraid of." I tuck the knife into the pocket of my robe, along with my picks. "It's a trap. This whole place is designed to keep people in."
Archer straightens, and even drugged, even swaying slightly, there's something in his posture that changes. The soldier taking over. "Then we get out before they get here. Save them the trouble."
"There are other omegas," I say quietly. "Lots of them. I can't leave them."
He looks at me for a long moment, those brown eyes clearing slightly. "We won't. But first, we get you safe. You don't spend another second in this place if I can help it."
Before I can argue, he moves toward the door with the gun raised despite the slight tremor in his hands.
“Stay behind me,” he mutters.
"You're drugged?—"
"And you're wearing a nightgown that would make terrible armor. Behind me, Juniper."
I want to argue, but there's something in his voice that makes me listen. Not alpha command, but protection. The kind that says he'd take a bullet for me without thinking twice.
We move through the hallway, Archer slightly unsteady but determined, me barefoot and trying not to think about howmany times I've walked these halls before. But something's different this time.
I'm not alone.
Felix saved me before, taught me to save myself, gave me the strength to survive. But now I have Archer too, drugged and swaying but still putting himself between me and danger without hesitation. I have Carlisle and his brilliant violence, Bane and his mountain of protective fury, Elias and his gentle strength.
And of course, Felix. Always Felix.
I have a pack.
The thought makes me feel safer than all the weapons in the world, even as we creep through this nightmare. We're getting out. All of us. Me, Archer, every omega in this place.
And then we're burning it to the ground.
For good this time.
Archer's hand tightens on mine as we round another corner. The corridors all look the same—peeling wallpaper trying to hide decay, doors that hold too many dark secrets. But we're moving with purpose now, following the service stairs that should lead us up and out.
"Almost there," Archer whispers, but then he stops so suddenly I nearly crash into his back.
There's a hissing sound. Soft at first, like air escaping through vents. Then stronger.
I look around, gripping my knife tight, my back to Archer's as he brandishes his stolen gun, but there's no one.
Then, I see it. In the corners of the floor, where the shadows usually congregate, there's a dark, murky haze coming through the vents.
"Poison gas," Archer hisses, grabbing my arm and moving us both toward the stairs. But the gas greets us at the very top ofthe narrow stairwell, and the moment it hits my lungs, I start coughing.
"Fuck," Archer mutters, peeling off his jacket and holding it over my face. "Don't breathe."
I try to protest, because I can see he's already affected even if he's trying to look out for me, but my head is already woozy, jacket or not. The gas is concentrated, making it hard to stand, hard to think, and Archer is suddenly on his knees, gripping the banister.
I'm not far behind, and all I can do as my head hits the nearest stair is fight to maintain conscious, even though I know it's futile.
