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Marguerite. Tied to a chair in what looked like a stone cell. Still wearing her white coif and black habit, the nun’s clothing stark against the dark stone wall behind her. Her face was turned toward the camera, eyes wide with terror.

Elena’s phone slipped from her trembling hands and clattered onto the coffee table.

They had her. They really had her.

I will try.

The response came immediately.

Try hard. And while you’re trying, make sure you delete any intel Dynamis has collected on us from the hacked files. In the meantime, we’ll get to know Marguerite a little better. I wonder what the stripes of my belt will look like across her back.

“No!” Elena screamed at the phone. She typed furiously, her hands shaking.

Do not touch her. Promise you will not touch her.

Data first.

This will take time.

Then we will take our time with her. Better hurry.

Elena’s vision blurred with tears. She knew exactly what they’d do to Marguerite, because they’d done it to her.

She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t.

She stumbled to her bedroom and grabbed her go-bag from the closet—the one she’d packed years ago and never used. Passport, cash, a change of clothes. Her hands moved on autopilot as she added a few more items.

Mexico. She had to get to Mexico. Had to trade herself for Marguerite somehow. Maybe if she went in person, if she gave herself to them, they’d let her niece go.

It was a terrible plan. She’d probably die. But at least Marguerite would be safe.

Elena grabbed her identification badge and headed for the door. She’d take the stairs, avoid the main areas where people might see her. Get to the parking garage, take one of the fleet vehicles, drive to the airport⁠—

No. They’d track a Dynamis vehicle. She’d have to get transportation another way once she was out of the building.

She opened her apartment door and headed down the hallway, moving quickly but not running. Running would draw attention.

The elevator bank was at the far end of the hall. She pressed the call button and waited, every second feeling like an eternity.

The doors opened with a soft ding.

Brock was leaving the gym on the fifty-first floor when he caught a glimpse of movement down the hallway.

Elena. Moving fast, a duffle bag in her hand.

His instincts kicked in immediately. Something was wrong.

She slipped into the elevator before he could call out. He ran for the second elevator bank, watching her floor indicator descend.

When his elevator opened to the parking garage, he spotted her heading toward the key lockbox.

The sound of his voice stopped her mid-stride. Deep and rough with concern, it wrapped around her name like he had the right to ask, like he had the right to care. She froze for just a heartbeat, then picked up her pace without looking back.

“I’ve had enough.”

He jogged to catch up, his footsteps echoing in the concrete expanse of the parking garage. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his face when he moved into her peripheral vision.

“What do you mean you’ve had enough?”