“Tristan has allies,” Arthur said.

“The local syndicate he has been funding. They will try to stop us from leaving the building.”

Victor shifted the SUV into drive.

We surged forward, heading toward the concrete ramp that led to the street.

The pillars of the garage blurred past in the dim light.

Up ahead, the iron security gate was open.

The rain-slicked street was visible, gleaming under the yellow streetlights.

The black van was parked diagonally across the exit, blocking the lane entirely.

Its headlights were off, its windows tinted black.

“They are blocking the path,” Victor shouted.

“Ram them,” Arthur ordered.

I grabbed the leather handle on the door, squeezing my eyes shut.

The SUV accelerated, the engine roaring.

Just as we cleared the ramp, a loud pop echoed through the street.

A spiderweb of cracks appeared on the passenger window.

“Sniper,” Victor yelled, steering hard.

The vehicle jolted violently as we hit the curb.

Another shot hit the side panel with a deafening clang.

“Get down,” Arthur said.

He grabbed my shoulder, pulling me down onto the leather seats.