We stumble toward the exit—Tom leaning heavily against me, both of us moving with urgency that's undermined by injuries and smoke inhalation.
Leaving him.
I'm leaving Aidric with an armed killer.
This is wrong.
This is so wrong.
Behind us, Gregory's laugh echoes with manic satisfaction:
"You almost caught me that day at the firehouse. Remembered you wandering around, looking confused, so close to discovering my presence. But you didn't. Now you can live with that guilt—knowing you had a chance to prevent this and failed."
That day.
The day I thought I saw him.
He was actually there, actually watching, actually planning?—
The sound of gun being cocked—mechanical preparation for firing that makes my heart stop despite continuing forward momentum.
He's going to shoot.
He's going to kill Aidric right now and I can't?—
Movement explodes from doorway—Officer Hazel materializing like avenging spirit, another Alpha I don't recognize moving in synchronized coordination.
Both have weapons drawn—professional stance, clear sight lines, training evident in every micro-movement.
Hazel fires—single shot with precision that speaks to extensive range time, bullet striking Gregory's shoulder with impact that makes him stumble.
His gun discharges—trigger pulled reflexively, but the angle is wrong, trajectory diverted by injury and surprise.
The bullet goes wide—missing Aidric by inches, embedding in wall with sound that will probably haunt my nightmares.
He missed.
Gregory missed.
Aidric is alive.
Gregory drops—grunt of pain and shock, gun clattering from suddenly nerveless fingers.
The male Alpha moves immediately—securing a weapon, applying restraints with efficiency that suggests a law enforcement background.
"Move NOW!" Hazel's command cuts through shock. "Building is compromised—we have seconds before structural collapse."
We run—all of us, abandoning tactical formation in favor of pure evacuation speed.
Tom stumbles between Hazel and me, his weight distributed across our shoulders, legs barely functional but moving enough to assist rather than just being dead weight.
Aidric and the unknown Alpha drag Gregory—neither gentle nor excessively rough, professional detachment maintained despite circumstances.
Get out.
Just get out.
Everything else is secondary to escape.
