Chapter 23 · The Master Key

"Katia? Katia, come in."

Static. Then a wet, ugly crack. Then dead air.

I kept the radio jammed against my mouth like screaming into it might bring her back. My hands were slick with sweat and grease, the hard plastic sliding through my grip.

Dante’s bloody fingers clamped over mine.

"She went quiet," he said, his voice grating low. "Quiet doesn't mean dead."

"Don't lie to me. Not right now."

"I'm not lying." His jaw was set rock-hard, sweat cutting clean tracks through the grime on his cheek. "Katia gets quiet right before she starts shooting."

Overhead, something slammed down with enough force to rattle my teeth. Boots hit the boards right after. Heavy. Fast. Half a dozen men, not even trying to mask their tread.

The east wing had folded. They were inside the main hall.

Dante dragged his shoulder against the drywall and forced himself up. His whole frame shuddered. The tight bandage I’d knotted over his ribs was already bleeding black-red around the edges.

"Stop moving," I hissed. "You're gonna tear the stitch open."

"Then get under my arm, wife."

The word hit wrong.