Julianne took a step toward the brass terminal.
The yellow numbers on the digital monitor above the hospital bed continued their steady, merciless descent. Twelve minutes. The heavy mechanical breathing of the respiratory bypass machine dominated the quiet of the stone foyer.
Christian stood by the leather chair, his firearm leveled at Maximilian Croft’s chest. He watched his wife walk toward the biometric scanner. He did not issue a command to stop her. He offered no alternative tactical strategy. The warlord who had spent his life orchestrating control yielded the floor entirely.
He trusted her.
Julianne stopped in front of the heavy brass plate. The dark glass of the scanner sat dormant in the center, waiting for the biological key it had been engineered to recognize for thirty year
