The penthouse lights steadied again, but the air had stayed thick, charged like the moment before lightning strikes. Emilia stood frozen near the glass wall, pulse roaring in her ears. Below, she could see the two black SUVs that had trailed them earlier stop at the curb of the building across the street. Their doors opened and four men stepped out in dark suits and earpieces, moving with the practiced calm of people who got paid to make problems disappear. Then one of them tilted his head up, scanning the tower like he already knew exactly which floor to target.
But Ethan didn't flinch; rather he simply reached under the long table, pulled out a slim tactical tablet, and tapped twice. The exterior blinds descended in perfect silence, turning the panoramic view into matte black panels making the room dim to a soft, with a tactical glow emanating from the monitors alone.
"Sit," he said, it was an order not a request.
Emilia dropped into the nearest chair, her knees weak. "They're coming up here." she muttered.
"Not yet." Ethan circled behind her, so close that she could feel the heat come off his body. He leaned over her shoulder, his forearms bracing on the back of her chair, his voice low against her ear. "First they'll try to confirm you're inside. Then they'll try to get inside and they'll try to get you out but we're going to make every step hurt."
She swallowed. "How?"
He straightened and tapped the tablet again. One monitor switched to a live feed of the building lobby, where the four men began spreading out; one was flashing a badge at the doorman while another was slipping toward the service elevator.
The doorman hesitated then nodded before stepping aside.
Ethan's jaw ticked. "They've bought over the night staff, That's quite predictable."
He moved to a concealed panel in the wall and pressed his thumb to a scanner. It hissed open, inside was a compact armory; it wasn't showy, just practical. There was a matte-black Sig Sauer, two spare magazines, a tactical knife in a Kydex sheath, zip ties, a compact stun gun.
He selected the knife first and tested the edge with his thumb before he holstered it at the small of his back. The Sig went into a concealed waistband holster hidden under his shirt.
Emilia watched every motion with shallow breath. "You're going to fight them?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"I'm going to end this quietly and you're going to help" He glanced at her.
"Me!?" she half-shouted.
He crossed back to her in two strides, crouching a bit so that their eyes were level. Up close, she could see the controlled fury in his gaze. It was almost beautiful like cold fire wrapped in iron.
"You know Derek's men. You know how they move, how they think. You've lived with that pattern for six months. So when I ask you what the one in the gray tie will do next, you're going to tell me. And you're going to be right." he retorted.
She searched his face. "And if I'm wrong?"
"Then we both bleed." He stood, offering her his hand. "But you're not wrong, since you're the one who got out alive."
Emilia took his hand. His grip was firm, warm, steadying and for one heartbeat she let herself feel it; the safety, the strength, the dangerous promise that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't alone in this anymore.
He pulled her up, keeping her hand a second longer than necessary, before releasing her.
"Stay behind the table and watch the feeds. Talk to me." he instructed
She nodded, her throat tight.
Ethan moved to the door, silent and predatory. He pressed an earpiece into place, murmured a single word: "Marcus. Status."
Then a crackle accompanied by Marcus's voice; "There are three in the lobby, one is heading for the roof access and they're splitting the net. ETA to your floor in four minutes."
Ethan's lips curved, it was just a flicker, not a smile. "Good."
He glanced back at Emilia. "First question: Mr gray-tie, is he left or right-handed?"
She closed her eyes for a second, picturing Derek's security detail at the mansion. The man always stood to Derek's right during meetings and had always reached with his left when he opened doors, keeping his right hand free.
"Left," she said. "He favors his right for the draw."
Ethan nodded once in approval, sharp and briefly. "Stay low. Don't scream." he said as he slipped out the door.
The penthouse fell silent except for the soft hum of electronics.
Emilia crouched behind the table, her eyes glued to the monitors.
Lobby feed: Mr gray-tie flashed credentials again, then headed for the private elevator, the one that had required a keycard. He swiped something and the doors opened.
Roof feed: the second man was already up there, prying at the maintenance hatch.
Service stairwell feed: two more men were ascending, quietly, their weapons low but ready.
Her stomach twisted.
Then the private elevator light blinked green.
Ascending.
She whispered into the open comm line Ethan had left active on the tablet. "Elevator. One minute."
"Copy." he responded.
Then a pause.
Then his voice came in again; calm, almost amused. "Emilia?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever happens next… don't come out until I say your name. Do you understand?" he asked
"Yes." She answered as she gripped the edge of the table.
The elevator dinged softly in the hallway outside.
Then footsteps, measured and professional approached the door.
A keycard reader beeped and the lock disengaged.
The door eased open an inch as Mr. Gray-tie stepped inside his pistol already raised, its suppressor glinting under the low lights.
Emilia's eyes widened as her hand flew to her mouth stifling a gasp.
He scanned the room, at empty chairs, darkened windows with no movement.
His shoulders relaxed a fraction.
Then Ethan materialized from the shadow beside the door like smoke turning solid and with one hand clamped over Mr gray-tie's mouth, while his other drove the tactical knife upward in a single, surgical arc, under the ribs, through the lung and twisted once.
Mr. Gray-tie's eyes widened and he uttered a muffled grunt, his pistol clattering to the floor.
Ethan lowered him silently and was already moving toward the hallway before the body hit the carpet.
Emilia let the gasp fly out of her mouth as bile rose to her throat.
Her eyes went to the monitor where the stairwell feed showed the other two men rounding the final landing, they were just seconds away.
But Ethan was already stepping into the corridor to meet them, his knife dripping and his eyes cold as winter steel.
The tablet speaker crackled.
His voice was low and intimate, meant only for her.
"Stay down, Emilia, and whatever you do… don't look away" he ordered.
Then the stairwell door burst open, as shouts erupted.
Gunfire cracked, sharp, deafening.
And the feed went black.