The red emergency lights pulse like a slow, dying heartbeat, slicing the pitch-black corridor into jagged frames of crimson and shadow.
Flash. I see the steel grating.
Darkness. I hear the boots.
Flash. I see the outline of a barrel rounding the corner.
My brothers are shouting in the briefing room behind me, their voices muffled by the blast doors. They are blind in the dark. They are panicking.
I am not.
I don't freeze. I don't scream. The fear that used to paralyze the waitress has been burned away by weeks of terror. In its place is a cold, metallic calm.
I slide into the recess of a maintenance alcove, pressing my back against the cold steel. I grip the pistol Stavros gave me in my right hand. My left hand slides down to my thigh, pulling the double-edged dagger Nikos gave me f
