The sudden, roaring noise was deafening.

I knew the sound would be agonizing for Aries, but the fog was our only chance.

I grabbed my shears and threw my shoulder against the locked office door.

The old wooden frame splintered, and the door swung open.

I stumbled out onto the metal catwalk.

The air was thick, hot, and smelled of rust and wet iron.

I held my hand against the cold metal railing and began to guide myself down the stairs.

Every breath was warm and damp.

A gun fired in the fog below—a sharp flash of light followed by a thunderous boom.

“Aries!” I called out, keeping my voice low.

A hand reached out of the white mist and grabbed my forearm.

I gasped, raising my heavy shears to strike.

“Sienna,” a quiet voice said.

It was Aries.

His face was pale, his eyes dilated from the intense noise of the steam, but his grip was firm.

“We have to go,” I whispered.

“The doors are blocked,” Aries said, his voice strained as he fought the sensory overload.

“Killian has men at the perimeter,” he added.