The elevator was too slow.
Every second felt like a countdown, the soft hum of the descent matching the pulse hammering behind my ribs.
Sienna stood beside me, silent, arms folded. She hadn't looked at me since we left her office, but I could feel the questions burning under her calm. She didn't trust me.
And I couldn't blame her.
"Where are we going?" she asked finally.
"Somewhere they can't trace," I said.
"'They' being Blackwood?"
The way she said his name made me tense. "Whoever planted that file in your system. If they breached both our networks, it's more than just him."
"Then who?"
I didn't answer, because I didn't know. And admitting that wasn't something I did easily.
The elevator doors opened to the underground level. Damien was already there, scanning the corridor.
"Car's ready," he said. "But we've got movement outside two unmarked sedans parked opposite the main exit."
Sienna frowned. "You think they're waiting for us?"
I shot her a look. "They're not here for coffee."
We moved fast past the loading bays, through the dimly lit hallway that smelled faintly of oil and rain. My hand brushed against the small of her back, guiding her without thinking. She stiffened but didn't pull away.
"Keep your head down," I murmured.
She glanced up at me, something fierce in her eyes. "I'm not a damsel, Cyrus."
"Didn't say you were," I said, pushing open the exit door, "just don't give them a reason to shoot."
We stepped into the narrow alley behind the building. Damien pulled up in a black SUV, door already open. Just as Sienna climbed in, I caught the glint of movement from the corner of my eye a reflection off glass.
"Get down!"
The first bullet cracked past my shoulder, shattering the mirror on the wall. Damien ducked, gun out in a flash, returning fire toward the opposite roofline.
"Two shooters!" he yelled. "North side!"
Sienna crouched low inside the car, eyes wide but steady. Not panicked calculating. Good.
"Drive!" I barked, slamming the door and diving into the backseat beside her.
The SUV lurched forward, tires screeching as we sped through the narrow street. Another shot hit the rear window — spiderweb cracks, but it held.
Damien took a hard turn, sending the city spinning into blurs of light and concrete.
"Still on us," he gritted out.
"Head to the warehouse district," I said. "We'll lose them in the freight lanes."
Sienna finally spoke, her tone sharp despite the chaos. "You think this is Blackwood's doing?"
"I think it's someone cleaning up his mess."
She turned to me, jaw tight. "And what about your mess?"
I met her gaze. "That's what I'm trying to fix."
We sped through the rain-slicked streets, headlights bouncing off puddles. The gunfire had stopped, but the silence that followed felt heavier.
After a moment, she said quietly, "You knew this was coming."
"I suspected," I admitted. "Just didn't think they'd move this soon."
"And now?"
"Now," I said, eyes fixed ahead, "we find out what they're so desperate to hide."
The car swerved again, merging into an empty side road. The city lights faded behind us, replaced by the cold rhythm of rain on metal.
Sienna leaned back, exhaling shakily. "I hope you know what you're doing."
I almost smiled. "So do I."