James was gasping for air, sprinting down the darkened hallway, the sound of the shrieking alarm still ringing in his ears. His fingers stung where they pressed against his side, attempting to root the thud of his heart. The heaviness in his chest wasn’t just from the exertion, it was all the years, all the things that had led him to this moment.
He heard the boots pounding behind him, echoing in unison as Karpov’s men chased him. They were merciless, and he had no illusions that they would relent until he was either captured or dead. But James was not going to die today. He refused to.
He turned a corner and stepped into an alcove, his back against the cold concrete wall, his thoughts spinning. He was briefly out of sight but knew this would not last. He controlled his breathing in shal
