The gunshot sent every instinct in Wren's body into pure animal panic, and it was only Cruz's grip on her arm, hard and immediate, that kept her from bolting blind into the chaos.
"Down," he barked, pulling her behind the bulk of a parked truck as more shots cracked across the compound — return fire now, Dutch's men answering from their perimeter positions, the negotiation's careful pretense collapsed entirely into open exchange. Birdie had dropped into a crouch beside them, shotgun braced, her face pale but her hands steady in a way that told Wren this wasn't the first time she'd found herself in exactly this position.
"They're pushing the gate," Birdie said, peering around the truck's edge. "Dutch's holding, but barely — we don't have the firepower for a sustained fight, not against eq
