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Nico and I hit the elevator, but the doors flash red—locked, just like he ordered. We don’t waste a second. We pivot, storming toward the emergency stairwell.

The door slams open and we climb—two, three steps at a time. My lungs burn. My legs are on fire. But I don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not while she’s in this building and I’m still on the outside of whatever hell she’s in.

Nico’s ahead of me by a step, methodical, quiet, his hand on the grip of his weapon.

Eighteen floors feel like a thousand.

When we hit the top of the stairwell, I shove through the door into the corridor, breath ragged, heart pounding.

The hallway is long. Silent. Pristine.

Too pristine.

I scan the gold room numbers as we move—1803… 1805…

I stop. My blood surges. This is it.

“Stay behind me,” Nico says, voice low, calm like a surgeon right before a cut.

I shake my head. “Not a chance.”

He doesn’t argue. Just reaches into his coat and pulls something from the inside pocket. A narrow black tool—some kind of breach bar.

“On three,” he says. “We go fast. If she’s in there—”

“She’s in there.”

His eyes flick to mine. Then he nods.

“One.”

I draw in a slow, sharp breath.

“Two.”

The world narrows. All I hear is the blood in my ears. All I see is her face.

“Three.”

Nico kicks the door and the lock shatters.

We burst into the room—

And everything stops.

The curtains are half-drawn, the morning light bleeding across the bed.

Laney.

She’s there.

Tied.

Blood covering her face.

And Randy.

Hovering over her.