Chapter 10 · He Takes the Latch Against Her Mouth

His hand clamps over my mouth before the scream even makes it out of my throat.

The hatch takes the hit like a truck backing into it, metal shrieking, dust sifting down from the seam. Somewhere below the sound, boots. More than one set. Shuffling on wet concrete, pacing off the corridor like they're counting doors.

"Not one sound," Calder breathes against my ear. "They don't know which room yet."

I claw at his wrist. He doesn't move it. His palm smells like diesel and copper and something colder underneath — fear he'd never admit to out loud. Behind him the panel is still bleeding red, some stranger's override chewing through his system a digit at a time.

Another hit lands. The bolt housing groans.

"Three of them," he says. "Maybe four. They're guessing."

"Guessing badly," I whisper against his palm, and something almost like a laugh dies in his throat before it starts.

I go still. He loosens his hand just enough for air, and I use the half second to spit out what I've been sitting on since he cut the knot off my wrist.

"I already spent it," I say. "Half your dock code.