He stumbled backward, crashing into a metal shelf before sliding to the ground.

The silence returned to the boiler room, heavier than before.

I stepped out from behind the pipes, my weapon still raised.

Marcus blinked through the blood in his eyes, staring at me.

“Boss,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hold still,” I said.

I pulled a pocket knife from my jacket and began cutting the thick ropes.

The fibers parted easily under the sharp blade.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“Just some bruised ribs,” Marcus grunted, rubbing his wrists.

“They wanted the access codes to the lower vault.”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

“Good,” I said, helping him stand.

Marcus swayed for a moment, then gripped my shoulder to steady himself.

“It’s worse than we thought, boss,” Marcus whispered.

He looked toward the open doorway of the boiler room.

“What do you mean?” I asked, handing him the fallen mercenary’s pistol.

“Caleb isn’t acting alone,” Marcus said.

“I heard them talking before they started hitting me.”

“They said the regional syndicate has already given him the green light.”