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The Russians.

How? Why?

Then it hit me.

Damon's surprise. That fucker.

Bullets flew through the gray haze as the Order guards fought the Russians.

But weren't they supposed to be on the same side?

It didn’t make sense.

Cutting the power had made everything worse because now all I could see were flashes of gunfire and slivers of daylight streaming through the barred windows.

Oops.

And that was exactly how I'd lost the girl.

This was a fucking nightmare. Bullets and tear gas couldn't hurt me in void form, but she was human. She could be shot, suffocated by smoke, or overwhelmed by the gas.

I waded through the battle, passing directly through men's bodies. They shuddered as I went, momentarily losing their focus. Apparently, having a ghost walk through you wasn't comfortable.

Then everything got worse. The lights snapped on, and everyone flinched against the sudden brightness.

It was the backup generators.

At least now I could see what I was looking for.

Across the room, the girl cowered beneath a guard's raised gun. Which, of course, would not do. I solidified my hand, drew my gun, and fired.

His brains painted the wall and the girl's hair.

Gross.

Sorry, girl.

I sprinted to her and knelt down to ghost her again. I got there just in time, because another guard had started pulling her by the hair toward an exit. But we voided, and I pulled her hair out of his grip.

“Sorry,” I shouted over the gunfire.

She whimpered.

“Stay with me, and they won’t be able to touch you.”

I guided her through the wall, away from the battle—straight into the arms of more soldiers. Dammit.

Order guards and Russians surged through the corridors like water through a broken dam.

Fighting each other.

My brow furrowed.

Why?

They were on the same side. Right?

Half the Russians were members of the Order and raped girls like this one. Did the guards think these Russians were with me? My men? Was the entire battle a case of mistaken identity?