Elena staggered back into Warehouse 12, soaked to the bone, river water streaming from her clothes. The alarms had stopped; only the rain hammered the tin roof now, a relentless drumbeat. Floodlights still burned, casting long shadows over the bodies sprawled across the concrete.
Mia was on her knees, zip-ties cutting into her wrists, eyes wide and disbelieving. Reyes and Harlan were beside her, hoods ripped off, faces pale but alive.
Elena dropped to one knee in front of her sister, pulled the knife she’d retrieved from the dead operative, and sliced the ties.
Mia lunged forward, arms wrapping around Elena’s neck so hard it hurt.
“You’re bleeding,” Mia whispered, voice cracking.
“I’m fine,” Elena lied. Her ribs felt cracked, her cheek was swelling, and something in her left shoulder
