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Low, urgent voices filtered through the door, their words indistinct, but their intent was clear—accessing her lab.

The handle turned once, then stilled.

Freya held her breath. Her vision swam, the edges of the room blurring as her heart thundered in her ears. They’ll leave now. The door is secure.

High-pitched beeps scratched at her ear. They’re hacking the locking mechanism.

The door lock disengaged with a heavy thunk.

Seconds stretched as she scanned the lab frantically. There’s nowhere to hide.

She lunged for her laptop, slamming the case closed and clutching it to her chest as she faced the opening door.

Three intruders entered, their polished boots gleaming under the harsh lab lighting. Military? They wore dark, plain clothes that strained over their muscled bodies, weapons strapped to their hips. Only their eyes were visible in the slit of their balaclavas. How on earth had they got past security?

The one closest to her held out his hand. “Freya Jónsdóttir.” His voice, though muffled, was edged in steel. The safety button on his gun holster was open. For easy access . “The laptop. Now.”

They knew who she was. This wasn’t random. They were here for the data.

His hand was outstretched. No tremor, no hesitation. The steadiness of a man accustomed to taking what he wanted.

Freya tightened her grip. The metal pressed against her ribs. “This data is classified.” Amazingly, her voice did not wobble. “Security will be here any moment. Leave while you can.”

The man gave a bitter chuckle. “We don’t have time for games.” He charged, fingers grasping for the matte-black case.

Freya pivoted, swinging the laptop like a weapon. The arc of her swing was wild, fueled by desperation and an unexpected surge of rage. How dare they break into my lab and take my work?

The impact reverberated up her arms as the laptop connected with his temple with a sickening crunch.

His eyes widened as he stumbled back with a howl of pain. Thick blood welled at the corner of his eye. Surprise filled his gaze, but also a flicker of respect.

He hadn’t expected her to fight back.

For a heartbeat everyone froze and Freya savored her win before the leader’s eyes hardened to cold fury.

Chaos erupted.

The men surged toward her like a pack of wolves.

But the microchip construction formulae—she couldn’t let them have it.

She ducked, feeling the rush of air as a grasping hand swept inches from her face. The acrid tang of sweat and adrenaline filled her nostrils. Her elbow connected with soft flesh—a stomach, maybe—and a grunt of pain rewarded her efforts. For a split second, she allowed herself to hope.

Hope shattered as quickly as it had formed. Escape was futile. The men moved with the grace of trained killers. She was only a scientist, outnumbered and hopelessly outmatched.

A hand tangled in her hair, fingers twisting cruelly into her scalp. Her head was yanked back with brutal force, ripping a cry of agony from her lips as pain exploded across her scalp. Her vision swam, dark spots blooming at the edges, and the world tilted sickeningly.

Gloved hands pulled at the laptop case, trying to wrench it from her white-knuckled grip.

One man swore in a language she didn’t recognize. Russian?

“No,” she screamed and hugged the laptop tighter. “You don’t understand what you’re doing!”

“Gas out!” A gruff command bellowed through the confusion.

A series of dull pops sounded, followed by a stringent hiss. Thick white clouds billowed from multiple points, expanding with terrifying speed. The air grew heavy, tainted with a peppery stink that made her nose burn. Her eyes streamed from an intense searing pain and her vision blurred as if plunged underwater.

Tear gas.

The hands holding her suddenly released.

She dropped to her knees, still clutching the laptop case to her chest like a talisman. She needed air, but each breath was agony. Her throat and lungs were on fire, every inhalation like swallowing broken glass. Her lungs rebelled, and she gagged violently, as her body tried to expel the irritants.

Something hard and smooth pressed against her face. For an instant, panic surged, and she clawed at it with one hand.

It’s a mask.

The realization hit her as a rush of clean air filled her lungs. Firm hands grabbed her and yanked her to her feet.

“Breathe slowly.” A calm voice spoke close to her ear. “You’re safe now.”

Safe? The word was meaningless. The world was a blurry, disjointed mess, but she knew one thing: she would protect her laptop with her life.

Light shifted, and she blinked as someone guided her past black shapes—men—writhing on the ground, coughing. Tall figures in the dark green of Hellisheidi’s security team stood above them, their faces obscured by gas masks.

Relief swept through her in a knee-melting wave.

“This way.” The grip on her arm strengthened, and she was hustled up the corridor. When she came to a stop, the tang of antiseptic told her she was in Hellisheidi’s small medical room.

“The table is here.” Someone lifted her onto a cold examination table.

The light was brighter now, sending spikes of pain through her abused eyes. Too bright. She squinted, trying to make out shapes in the blinding glare.

“I need to treat your eyes, Freya.” The voice of the base’s medic, Roger Britland was calm. “I need you to let go of the briefcase?”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently, immediately regretting the motion as nausea surged. She held the case against her chest like a shield. “This is what they came for.”

A soft tut from Roger. “Alright. Let’s work around it then.”

He laid a soft towel across her lap, covering the briefcase. Cool water cascaded over her eyes, bringing blessed relief and as the burning sensation subsided, the reality of what had just happened sank in.

“Who were they? How did they get in?” Freya took a painful swallow. Tiny knives patterned down her throat. Shit.

Roger paused, and cool liquid ran down her cheek. He dabbed gently with what felt like a cotton ball. “You don’t need to worry about that right now.” His voice was carefully neutral. “Security is investigating.”

Investigating ? How on earth had anyone broken into Hellisheidi in the first place? Security had been ramped up for the archiving process. She had approved the arrangements herself, ensured they were watertight.

Her fingers hardened on the laptop. It was safe. For now.