Chapter 9 · Whoever's Holding the Wire

"Let go of my wrist, Ortega." Levi's fingers dug in tighter instead, bone against bone, right where the gauze ended.

"Let go of my wrist first." I didn't move. His pulse was slamming under my thumb, fast as mine.

We were still chest to chest from the door fight, and neither of us had backed off an inch since the second alarm died. The overhead light buzzed, one long flicker, then steady again. Somewhere behind that wall his nephew was locked in a cell that wasn't supposed to test tonight, and neither of us could do a damn thing about it standing here.

"You said the feed's dead," Levi said. "You said the door magnets are dead. So how the hell did his cell trip a panel?"

"I said someone killed the feed. Not me. Not you." I pressed harder into the bandage, and he hissed through his teeth, jaw tight, refusing to give me the satisfaction of a full sound. "Somebody else is running this hallway right now. Not the commission. Not the gym.