I saw Agent Miller standing near the base of a steel staircase, his yellow FBI jacket bright against the shadows.

He was looking down at a shape on the floor.

I walked faster, my breathing shallow.

“Claire, stop,” Miller said, turning his head as he heard my footsteps.

He stepped in front of me, his hand outstretched to block my view.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Where is he?” I asked.

I pushed past his arm, my strength surprising both of us.

On the concrete floor lay Leo Vance.

His eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the corrugated metal ceiling.

A dark pool was spreading slowly from beneath his chest, turning the gray dust to mud.

His hand was still wrapped around the grip of a silver revolver.

“He’s gone,” Miller said behind me. “He didn’t give us a choice.”

I looked away from Leo, my eyes scanning the shadows of the warehouse.

“Adrian,” I breathed.

“Over here, Claire,” a weak voice called out from behind a stack of wooden crates.

I ran toward the sound, slipping slightly on the slick concrete.