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Marcus was halfway through the loading bay when he turned and said, "You're gonna try the north stairwell next."
Charlotte's gun didn't waver. He shouldn't know that. She'd only decided it two loops ago.
"Gate four," he added. His hands were still up, but his voice had that flat calm of someone who'd already seen how this played out. "You'll pick the lock. Takes you forty seconds. Then you double back through the old breakroom because you think I'm coming from the dock."
Her finger tightened on the trigger. The Glock was cold and the weight felt wrong in her palm—she'd grabbed it off Reeves three loops back and hadn't had time to zero it. Didn't matter. Center mass at twelve feet, she could put him down even if the sights were off.
"How," she said.
Marcus tilted his head. The overhead light caught the scar along his jaw, the one he got in Caracas when they were still on the same side. "Same way you do."
That stopped her.
He lowered his hands an inch. Not enough to spook her, just enough to show he wasn't playing the hostage anymore. "Monday. Three a.m. You wake up in your car on Tenth."
"Shut up."
"The coffee's cold. Radio's still on. And you've got twenty-one hours before they put you in the water."
Her mouth went dry. Nobody knew about the car. She hadn't told anyone because there wasn't anyone left to tell.
Marcus took a step forward. She should've shot him right then—she'd done it in loop six when he reached for a gun, in loop nine when he tried to rush her. But this time he wasn't reaching. He was just looking at her like she was a equation he'd finally solved.
"I've done this seventeen times," he said. "You?"
"Twelve." The number came out before she could stop it.
He nodded. Slow. Like he'd expected that. "You're catching up."
The sound of boots echoed from somewhere deeper in the warehouse. Two sets, maybe three. They had ninety seconds before the others circled back.
"Why," Charlotte said. Her voice came out rougher than she wanted. "Why are you still hunting me if you know how this goes?"
"Because it's the job." Marcus's face didn't move. "And because every time I let you walk, you put a bullet in Hale. Then Serrano. Last loop you got to Voss before I could warn him."
She hadn't thought about that. Hadn't considered he might be running the same math from the other side—trying to save his people the way she was trying to save herself.
"They sold me out," she said.
"They're following orders."
"Whose?"
Marcus shook his head. "That's not the deal."
"What deal? You haven't offered me anything except a reason to shoot you right now."
He glanced past her shoulder. The boots were getting closer. "There's a way out of this that doesn't end with one of us in a bag. But you're gonna have to trust me long enough to hear it."
"Trust." The word tasted like rust. "You put three guys on me at the dock."
"Four," he corrected. "You didn't see Lao. He's the one who drops you if you make it past the crane."
Her jaw clenched. She'd thought she had the count. Thought she was getting sharper. But he'd been counting too, and he'd been doing it longer.
The footsteps stopped. A radio crackled somewhere behind the shelving units.
Marcus looked at her straight on. "The freezer. Back corner. I'll give you thirty seconds, then I tell them you went east."
She didn't move. "Why would you do that?"
"Because next loop, you're gonna save someone for me."
Her breath caught. "Who?"
"No time." His eyes flicked to the side. "Go. Now."
She should've pulled the trigger. Every instinct she'd spent fifteen years honing said put him down and run. But he knew about the car. He knew about the stairwell. And he knew something she didn't.
Charlotte backed toward the freezer door, gun still trained on his chest.
Marcus stood there and watched her go. Didn't call out. Didn't move. Just before she slipped through the door he said, quiet enough she almost missed it, "Your daughter had a blue hair clip. The cheap kind from the drugstore."
The air went out of her lungs.
She yanked the freezer door shut behind her and the cold hit like a fist. Her hands were shaking. Not from the temperature. From the way he'd said *had*. Past tense. Like Lisa was already gone.
No.
She forced herself to breathe. The clip was real. She remembered it. Blue plastic, shaped like a butterfly. Lisa wore it every day that last summer, even after the paint started chipping.
Charlotte pressed her back against the freezer wall and tried to pull up her daughter's face. The shape of it. The gap between her front teeth. The way she used to hum off-key when she did homework.
But the details were slipping. Like someone had taken an eraser to the edges.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Lisa's face. Come on. Brown hair. No—dark blonde? Or was that later, after she turned eight?
Panic spiked through her chest. She'd done this same thing two loops ago and it had been clear. She'd seen Lisa laughing on the porch swing. Now the image was soft. Blurred.
The clip. Focus on the clip.
Blue butterfly. Drugstore plastic. Five dollars on a Tuesday because Lisa had wanted it so bad she'd used her own allowance.
That stayed solid. The thing itself was still there, even if the face wearing it was starting to fade.
Something hissed near the ceiling. Charlotte looked up and saw the vent spilling white vapor into the freezer. Not condensation. Too fast. Too thick.
Gas.
She lunged for the door. Locked from the outside. Of course it was.
Her throat started to burn. She pulled her jacket over her mouth and dropped low where the air was still clear. The Glock was useless—shooting the lock would just ricochet in a metal box this size. She scanned the room. Shelving. Cardboard boxes. A pallet jack in the corner.
The vent. If she could jam it shut, buy herself another minute.
She dragged a shelf unit under the vent and climbed up. The vapor was thicker now, clawing at her lungs every time she sucked in a breath. Her eyes were streaming. She shoved the barrel of the Glock into the vent slats and twisted until the metal bent.
The hissing slowed. Didn't stop. But slowed.
Her vision started to swim. The edges of the room went soft and she knew that feeling. She'd been gassed once in Kiev and it had taken two hours to wake up. If she went under now, she'd wake up Monday. 3 a.m. Cold coffee. Same car.
She slid down off the shelf and hit the floor harder than she meant to. Her hands found the door and she pounded on it. No strength left. Just noise.
"Marcus!"
Silence.
Then his voice came through the door, muffled but close. "You still awake?"
"Let me out."
"Can't. Hale's got the dock wired. He sees me open this, we both go down."
Her forehead pressed against the cold metal. "You set me up."
"No." He sounded almost tired. "I bought you time. You'll loop back before this kills you. I checked."
She tried to push herself upright and her arms wouldn't hold. The floor was freezing. The vapor was in her head now, turning her thoughts slow and sticky.
"Next loop," Marcus said through the door. "There's someone on the east dock. Civilian. Wrong place, wrong time. She's got a kid at home. You save her, I'll tell you who ordered the hit on you. And I'll tell you where your daughter is."
Charlotte's breath fogged against the metal. "You're lying."
"Maybe." A pause. "But you're gonna find out anyway. That's how this works."
Her eyelids were so heavy. The blue clip. She could still see it. Butterfly wings. Cheap plastic. Lisa's hair pulled back on the left side because she always did it crooked.
The rest of the face was gone now. Just the clip. Just the thing she could hold onto.
Marcus's voice came one more time, quieter now. Almost soft. "Her name's Renee. East dock. Twelve minutes after midnight. Don't be late."
The white vapor swallowed everything. Charlotte's last thought before the loop snapped shut was that if he was telling the truth, she'd just found the only person in the world who knew what happened to Lisa.
And if he was lying, she'd kill him slower next time.