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Cole's radio crackled. Two seconds of static, then boots on tile upstairs. He yanked Ivy back from the cold storage drawer, his own dead face still visible in the frost-rimed metal. The kid they'd dragged in was slumped against the clinic wall, eyes half-shut, breathing shallow. No time to move him. Cole killed his flashlight and pulled Ivy into the gap between two filing cabinets.
She didn't fight him this time. Her shoulder pressed against his chest, her breath warm against his collar. He could feel her pulse through the fabric of her jacket. Fast. She was scared. Good. Scared kept you alive.
Footsteps overhead. Three, maybe four sets. Cole counted the rhythm. Military boots, not militia. That narrowed it down. He thumbed his sidearm's safety off and felt Ivy tense against him.
"Who's up there?" she whispered.
"Doesn't matter."
"It matters if they're here for me."
Cole didn't answer. The boots stopped moving. Someone was talking, low and clipped. He couldn't make out words through the floorboards, but he knew the cadence. Nail. His squad lead. That meant the rest of his team was topside, which meant this loop was already off-script. Nail wasn't supposed to hit the clinic until day two. Cole had sixteen hours before that checkpoint. He'd planned the whole route around it.
Ivy's hand found his wrist in the dark. Her fingers were cold. "You said I die in two days."
"Yeah."
"And you've seen it eighty-two times."
"Eighty-three if you count the one I'm in."
Her grip tightened. "Then what the hell are we doing in a basement with your corpse in a drawer?"
Good question. Cole had been asking himself that since the moment he'd opened the cold storage. The note pinned to his chest had been worse than the bullet wound. Four words in his own handwriting: *You can't save her.*
The door at the top of the stairs rattled. Someone testing the lock. Cole pulled Ivy deeper into the gap, his free hand braced against the wall behind her. The space was tight. He could feel the rise and fall of her breathing, the heat coming off her skin despite the cold air rolling off the storage units. Her eyes caught a sliver of light from the stairwell, dark and sharp and fixed on his face.
"If you've done this eighty-three times," she said, voice barely a thread, "why don't you know how to stop it?"
"Because every time I get close, something changes."
"Like what?"
"Like Nail showing up a day early."
The lock gave. The door swung open. Boots on the stairs, slow and deliberate. A flashlight beam swept the basement, cutting through the dark in clean white arcs. Cole pressed Ivy flat against the wall and stayed still. The kid against the opposite wall let out a low groan. The flashlight snapped toward the sound.
"Got a live one," someone called up the stairs. Not Nail. Younger voice. Tomas, maybe. New guy. Three loops ago he'd taken a gut shot on day three and bled out in a ditch. Cole had stopped trying to save him after that.
Two more sets of boots descended. The flashlight beam swung across the cold storage units, paused on the open drawer, then landed on Cole's corpse. Silence. Then a low whistle.
"Boss, you're gonna want to see this."
Nail's boots were heavier. Slower. Cole knew the rhythm like he knew his own heartbeat. Eighty-three loops of listening to the man walk, talk, bark orders, die. Nail hit the bottom step and crossed to the open drawer. The flashlight beam stayed on the corpse's face. On Cole's face.
"Well," Nail said. "That's new."
Tomas laughed, nervous and too loud. "Think it's a double? Some kind of clone program?"
"Shut up and check the perimeter."
The boots spread out. One set moved toward the filing cabinets. Cole's hand tightened on his sidearm. Ivy's pulse was hammering against his chest now, fast and uneven. He could feel her trying to control her breathing, trying to stay silent. Her hand was still locked around his wrist. If she moved, if she made a sound, the whole thing would collapse. He'd have to fight his way out, and fighting Nail in close quarters was a coin flip. He'd done it eleven times. Won three.
The boots stopped two feet from their hiding spot. Cole could see the edge of a tactical vest, the muzzle of an assault rifle. The guy was checking the shadows, methodical and slow. Another five seconds and he'd see them.
Cole moved first. He stepped out of the gap, sidearm up, center mass on the guy in front of him. "Don't."
The rifle started to swing toward him. Cole fired twice. The guy went down hard, helmet cracking against the concrete. The flashlight spun across the floor, beam wheeling through the dark. Nail and Tomas were already moving, weapons up, shouting. Cole shoved Ivy toward the stairs.
"Go!"
"What about the kid?"
"Leave him!"
She hesitated. That was the problem with Ivy. Every loop, every reset, she hesitated. Cole had watched her stop to help wounded enemies, drag civilians out of crossfire, waste precious seconds on people who were already gone. It was going to get her killed. Again.
Nail's rifle barked. The round punched through the filing cabinet, missed Cole by inches. He returned fire, three-round burst, forced Nail into cover behind the cold storage units. Tomas was circling left, trying to flank. Cole tracked him, squeezed off two more rounds, heard a grunt and a clatter. Tomas was down or pinned. Didn't matter which.
Ivy was halfway up the stairs. The kid was still slumped against the wall, unconscious or dead. Cole backed toward the stairwell, sidearm trained on Nail's position. The older man leaned out, rifle muzzle first. Cole fired. The round sparked off the storage unit, forced Nail back into cover.
"Cole!" Nail's voice, rough and familiar. "The hell are you doing?"
Cole didn't answer. He hit the stairs, took them three at a time. Ivy was at the top, one hand braced against the doorframe, waiting for him. Stupid. Loyal. He didn't know which one was going to kill her first.
They cleared the clinic entrance and hit the street at a dead run. Dawn was breaking over the eastern ridge, pale and cold. The air smelled like smoke and diesel. Somewhere in the distance, a generator coughed to life. Cole dragged Ivy left, toward the old market district. The alleys there were tighter, easier to lose pursuit. He'd used them seventeen times. Knew every turn, every dead end, every rooftop with a clean sightline.
Ivy kept pace beside him, boots pounding the cracked pavement. Her breathing was even now, controlled. Combat medic training. She could run for miles if she had to. Cole had seen her do it. Usually with his blood on her hands.
They hit the market square and Cole pulled her into the shadow of a burned-out storefront. He scanned the rooftops, the windows, the gaps between buildings. Clear. For now. Nail would regroup and come after them, but that would take time. Five minutes, maybe ten. Enough to catch their breath. Enough to figure out the next move.
Ivy leaned against the wall, chest heaving. Her face was streaked with dust and sweat. She looked at him, and for the first time since he'd grabbed her outside the safehouse, she didn't look angry. She looked tired.
"You just shot your own guys," she said.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because they were going to shoot you."
She studied him, eyes narrowed. "You really have done this before."
Cole didn't answer. Movement on the rooftop across the square. A shadow, low and still. He knew that posture. Sniper. Too early. The sniper wasn't supposed to show until day four, wasn't supposed to set up until dusk. But there he was, three days ahead of schedule, rifle trained on the storefront.
On Ivy.
Cole didn't think. He stepped in front of her, one hand pushing her back against the wall. The rifle cracked. The round hit him high on the left side, just below the shoulder. Impact spun him sideways, drove the air out of his lungs. He hit the ground hard, tasted blood, felt the hot wet spread across his ribs.
Ivy was on him in seconds, hands already moving, checking the wound, applying pressure. Her face was close to his, eyes wide and focused. She was talking, but the words were muffled, distant. Cole's radio crackled in his ear. Nail's voice, clear and cold.
"Cole, if you're hearing this, don't bring the medic. I already killed her once."