Chapter 9 · Death in the Vents

"Don't even breathe," Cain hissed.

His palm slammed against my mouth, crushing my lips into my teeth. He shoved me backward into the narrow, metallic throat of the vent just as a thermal detonator blew the corridor door.

Boom.

The shockwave rattled my molars. Dust and scorched plating rained down on us. The air tasted like ozone and burnt plastic.

I tried to twist away, my heart hammering against my ribs, but Cain’s grip tightened. He didn't just hold me—he pinned me. My back hit the cold, ribbed wall of the shaft, and his body followed, pressing me flat into the steel.

"Let go," I muffled against his skin. "I can't—"

"Shut up," he whispered. The voice was a low vibration I felt in my own chest. He didn't move his hand. He stayed there, face inches from mine, eyes scanning the gap in the grate. "One sound and we're both scrap metal."

I stopped fighting. I had to. The smell of him—gun oil, cold rain, and something sharp—filled my senses, drowning out the smoke.