A volley of gunfire ripped through the hallway, tearing the plaster from the walls.

The noise was deafening, a rapid, rhythmic hammering that vibrated in my teeth.

Dust and white powder filled the air, making me choke.

Roman leaned out from behind the pedestal and fired three rapid shots.

Someone screamed in the dark corridor, followed by the sound of a heavy body falling.

“Keep your head down, Lena,” Roman muttered, his voice strained.

He shifted his weight, pressing his back against the marble beside me.

Another burst of gunfire chipped the corner of our pedestal, showering us with stone dust.

Roman reached into his pocket and pulled out a spare magazine, his fingers shaking slightly.

I looked at his hands and saw fresh, bright blood dripping from his cuff.

It wasn’t coming from his shoulder.

“Roman, you’re hit somewhere else,” I said, trying to reach for his jacket.

“Not now,” he growled, slamming the magazine into the grip of his gun.

He stood up, exposing himself to the hallway, and fired four more times.

I heard glass shattering further down the hall, followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.