Chapter Thirty-One
Damien’s slide down the narrow, brightly lit corridor stopped early, the rubber heels of his sneakers squeaking him to a halt.
He regained his senses, just in time to spot the Azov sergeant sliding down after him. She smashed Damien with the handrail pipe, which would have rearranged his mouth if Damien hadn’t rolled clear. The handrail struck the glass wall—or was it the floor? He didn’t know which way was up anymore—which fractured into a thousand pieces, but held firm inside its protective film. The LED lights inside also remained intact, shining pure white on the Azov sergeant. Her wide eyes—one red with a burst blood vessel—fixed on Damien.
She attacked again.
Damien ducked under the pipe. It struck the wall and he weaved under her arm; the sergeant slashed down
