Chapter 13 · The Memory Anchor

"Mara, get down!" Eli slammed into me before the broadcast rig finished counting.

The screen above us flashed my face, then split it into thirteen red copies. Every copy moved half a second late.

My mouth opened.

No sound came out.

A pulse cracked through the control room. The floor jumped under my boots. Eli drove me behind the console and covered me with his body, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping the neural-key cable before it could bite deeper into the port at my wrist.

"Take your hand off me."

"When the guns stop tracking you."

"They're tracking you too."

"They've been tracking me for years. You're new to the problem."

Rounds chewed through the upper monitors. Glass rained across the console.

Eli dragged me lower. His shoulder crushed against mine, hard and warm through both our jackets. Smoke clung to him. So did metal and the sharp antiseptic gel over the cut on his eyebrow.

The countdown kept running.

THIRTEEN.

TWELVE.

ELEVEN.

My face on the screen smiled.

I didn't.

"Why is it doing that?" I demanded.

"Quinn owns the feed."

"You said you could keep him out.