“Roman,” I breathed, stepping out from behind the crates.

He stepped down the remaining stairs, a heavy black pistol in his right hand.

His forehead was slick with sweat, and his white shirt collar was unbuttoned.

“Elias, get back to the perimeter,” Roman ordered.

Elias nodded, his face blank, and slipped past Roman into the shadows.

Roman walked over to me, his hand cold as he took my wrist.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “They cut the power.”

“The backup generators are kicking in now,” he said.

Above us, the low hum of electricity vibrated through the floorboards.

A single bulb overhead flickered, then cast a dim yellow light over the concrete basement.

“We need to move you to the safe room,” Roman said.

His voice was raspy, and his grip on my arm was tighter than usual, as if he were trying to keep his balance against the fever.

A bead of sweat ran down his temple, reflecting the dim light of the bulb.

“No,” I said, pulling my hand back gently. “They came for this.”