The metal door didn’t just swing open—it blew off its hinges, shaking the whole place like a bomb went off. Julian lunged forward, boots sliding across the oily floor, and yanked Maya down behind some old wooden boxes.
“Stay down!” he hissed, pressing his back to the crate. His chest heaved, breath ragged, one hand gripping a rusty iron pipe—pretty much the only weapon he had left.
Zip. Zip.
Two silver needles sliced through the air and punched into the crate, barely missing Julian’s ear. These weren’t bullets. They looked more like shards of frozen light, thin and sharp and totally unnatural.
“They’re still here,” Maya whispered from the shadows. Her breath came in quick, panicked bursts. She clutched her medical bag to her chest like a shield. “The Gardeners… not all of them left wit
