Total pages in book: 173
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169266 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 846(@200wpm)___ 677(@250wpm)___ 564(@300wpm)
Concrete. Metal. Another floor. Another. The sound of the building groaning around us.
And then—
Open air.
We burst through the roof in an explosion of gravel and tar paper, into the night sky, into the rain that’s still falling soft and steady. For a moment we just hover there, suspended above the ruined building, and I can see the damage he’s done—a column of destruction punched straight through the heart of the facility, smoke and dust billowing from the wound.
“Paragon,” Nate suddenly says, cocking his head, hearing something that I can’t. His arms tighten around me. “He’s on the way. We need to move.”
I look back as we start to fly. I watch the facility shrink beneath us, guards spilling out of emergency exits, vehicles mobilizing in the parking lot. And emerging from the chaos with a mechanical gait, looking up at us with empty eyes—
Paragon.
He doesn’t chase us. Not yet. Maybe he needs another order from Van Veen or Marsh and he’s not getting those soon, not from them anyway. He just stands there in the rain, his helmet a dark box, and I know he’s watching us go. A reminder of what’s coming. What they’ll send after us.
Then the clouds swallow us, and he’s gone.
Nate flies us northwest, over the Hudson, over Manhattan, higher and higher until the city becomes a glittering carpet far below. The air is cold up here, thin, and I’m shivering—from the temperature, from shock, from everything my body has been through in the last few hours. He pulls me closer, trying to share warmth he might not even feel.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Somewhere I can get you some warm clothes.” His voice is raw. “Somewhere out of the city.”
“And then where?” My teeth are starting to chatter.
“Somewhere they can’t find us.”
“There’s nowhere—”
“Then we keep moving until there is.”
I want to argue. I want to point out that Global Dynamix has satellites, has Paragon, has resources we can’t even imagine. That we just killed two of the most powerful people in the company and there’s no coming back from that and there will be other people in the wings to replace Marsh and Van Veen.
But I’m so tired. And for the first time in days, despite everything, I feel something I barely recognize.
Safe.
It’s an illusion, probably. We’re fugitives now, wounded and wanted, with an army being mobilized to hunt us down.
But Nate’s arms are around me. His heartbeat is steady against my cheek. And when I look up at him—at his profile against the stars, at the man who stopped, who chose me, who tore through anyone who tried to keep us apart—I know one thing for certain.
He really is a superhero.
“Hey,” I say softly.
He looks down at me.
“Thank you.”
His smile is faint though his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “We’re not out of this.”
“No.” I reach up, touch his jaw with shaking fingers. He leans into it, just slightly. “But we’re out of there. And I’m alive. And you’re you again.” I manage a smile, probably gruesome given the state of my face. “That’s enough for now.”
He doesn’t answer. But his arms tighten around me, and he flies us deeper into the night.
CHAPTER 45
VANGUARD
She can’t stop shaking.
Not the adrenaline tremors from before—this is different. Deeper. Her whole body vibrating against my chest as we cut through the clouds heading north, and her skin is like ice where it presses against my neck.
“Mia.” I angle us lower, beneath the cloud cover, scanning the darkness below for lights. “Talk to me.”
“C-cold,” she manages through chattering teeth. “Really f-fucking cold.”
Shit. Of course she is. We’re at ten thousand feet in November, she’s soaked in sweat and blood, and I’ve been flying her through freezing air for twenty minutes like an idiot. Just because temperature doesn’t affect me doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect her.
I need to land ASAP.
The Catskills spread beneath us, a dark carpet of forest broken by the occasional glint of water. Lakes. Summer homes. The kind of places that empty out after Labor Day and don’t fill up again until Memorial Day.
Perfect.
I find what I’m looking for on the third pass—a large summer house set back from a private lake, no lights in any window, no cars in the long gravel driveway. The nearest neighbor is at least half a mile through dense woods. I circle once, scanning for security systems. There are cameras on the porch and by the garage, the little red lights blinking steadily in the darkness.
Easy enough.
I land in the backyard, setting Mia down gently on a wooden deck that overlooks the water. She sways, nearly goes down, and I catch her elbow.
“Stay here. One minute.”
I move fast, hitting each camera with a focused burst of gravitational pressure—not enough to destroy them, just enough to fry the electronics. The blinking lights go dark one by one. Then I’m at the back door, and a gentle push is all it takes to splinter the lock.