The corridor forked. Left toward the main lobby, wide and exposed. Right toward the east stairwell, narrow but covered.
Vane started left. Faster route.
"Right," I said.
He stopped.
"The corridor narrows at the fire doors. One body blocks it. Left is faster but they can flank from the lobby's open side."
He looked at me for one second. Then he turned right.
He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Three weeks ago I couldn't read a building layout.
Now I was reading kill lanes. Diana's combat-space drills had taken root somewhere between the training room and the truck that morning, and I hadn't noticed until this second.
A Rogue dropped from a ventilation shaft ahead of us. Vane caught it before it hit the ground. A second came from the left. He pivoted, drove it into the wall, a
