“Tie her up,” Victor ordered the man with the rope, gesturing toward me. “And take the drive.”

The man started walking toward me, his heavy boots splashing through a puddle of water on the concrete floor.

I looked at Lucian, whose eyes were darting toward the dark rafters above.

A faint, metallic click echoed from the far corner of the warehouse, so soft only someone listening for it would hear.

Lucian’s tactical team was already in position, moving through the upper metal walkways.

But they could not shoot without risking Alina’s life.

I needed to buy them time.

I needed to get free before the shooting started.

As the guard approached me with the rope, I looked down at Bishop, my fingers tracing a slow, deliberate circle on the side of his neck.

The guard’s boots squeaked against the wet concrete.

He smelled of stale tobacco and engine grease.

My wrists were already bound behind my back with a thin plastic strip, tight enough to bite but not completely numb my fingers.

I kept my hands moving slightly, rubbing my thumbs against my palms to keep the circulation flowing.