My boots made no sound on the damp linoleum floor.

Mara’s weight shifted against my left side, her breathing shallow and uneven.

I kept my rifle raised, the butt stock pressed tight against my shoulder pocket.

The green light from the ceiling fixtures made her pale skin look almost decayed.

“Step by step,” I whispered.

“I’m with you,” Mara said.

Her hand gripped the spare service pistol I had slipped into her belt.

We reached the heavy metal door that had swung open.

The air coming through the gap was cold and smelled of ozone and industrial disinfectant.

I nudged the door wider with the muzzle of my rifle.

It swung back without a squeak, revealing a long, narrow corridor lined with reinforced glass panels.

Behind the glass lay dark, empty offices filled with silent computer terminals and overturned swivel chairs.

“Voss is watching us,” Mara said, her eyes scanning the dark corners of the ceiling.

“Let him watch,” I said.

I led her into the corridor, my eyes moving from left to right.

Every shadow seemed to stretch toward us under the pale green emergency lights.