Chapter 30 · Severed Lead

Tear gas doesn't burn the way people describe it. It feels like someone gouged my eyes open and squeezed raw lime directly into the wet tissue.

I can't see a damn thing.

I'm on my knees behind a stack of rotten life jackets, slick blood on my palm smearing across the radio casing. Victor's voice still scratches through the speaker. Thin. Panic-edged.

"Mara? What was that? Talk to me. Mara!"

For the first time since I walked into his trap, he sounds terrified.

Good.

The floorboards shudder hard under something massive. Through the yellow smoke, a silhouette cuts through—broad as a freight door. Combat gear. Black respirator. Two blank glass circles staring straight down at me.

I swing the radio at his skull with everything I have left.

He snatches my wrist mid-air. One clean jerk. My torn skin splits open again, and the scream rips out of my throat before I can swallow it.

"Drop it," he grunts. Flat. Muffled behind rubber.

Not Dominic.

I'd know Dominic's voice through six feet of dirt.