A loud, mechanical clunk vibrated through the concrete walls.

Above us, a heavy steel door slid shut with a deafening thud.

Rowan stopped on the landing of the second floor.

He pushed against the door leading to the hallway.

It was locked.

“They’ve initiated a localized lockdown,” he said.

His face was pale, his eyes scanning the frame.

He looked down the stairwell.

The guards were already climbing, their footsteps growing louder by the second.

“Maren, get behind me,” he said.

He drew a small tactical knife from his waistband.

I looked at the window in the stairwell door.

Beyond it lay the sterile corridor of the pediatric research wing.

There was a keycard reader next to the door, its small light glowing a solid, mocking red.

“We can’t go down,” I said.

“We aren’t going down,” Rowan said.

He slammed his shoulder against the glass panel of the door.

It was reinforced with wire mesh and did not break.

He hit it again, harder this time.

A spiderweb of cracks appeared in the glass.

From below, the first guard rounded the landing.