Chapter 37
The climb up the concrete stairwell was a brutal, unending test of physical endurance that pushed our exhausted bodies to their absolute limits.
By the time we reached the twentieth floor, my legs felt like lead, and my lungs burned with every ragged breath I forced inside.
Claire's breath came in short, ragged gasps, but her grip on Ethan never wavered, her face a mask of pure defiance against the pain.
James kept a steady, tireless pace at the front, his weapon always raised, clearing each landing before allowing the rest of us to advance.
At the thirtieth floor, the sound of heavy gunfire and muffled explosions began to echo down through the concrete stairwell from above.
Bennett's federal teams were clearly engaging Brooks' private security forces somewhere on the executive levels, turning the office into a warzone.
Suddenly, the heavy steel door three floors above us flew open, and the sound of shouting voices cascaded down the stairwell.
"We've got a breach in the lower maintenance shaft!" a voice yelled, followed by the fast, heavy thud of combat boots descending toward us.
James immediately shoved Claire and me into a small alcove containing high-voltage breaker boxes, shielding us with his own body.
Collins dropped to one knee on the stairs, unpinning a flashbang grenade and tossing it up the stairwell with perfect, lethal precision.
A blinding flash of light and a deafening boom exploded above us, followed by screams of agony and disorientation from the descending mercenaries.
James and Collins moved out of the alcove instantly, their weapons firing in a perfectly synchronized rhythm that neutralized the threat in seconds.
The three mercenary soldiers tumbled down the concrete steps, their weapons clattering away into the darkness below us.
"Move, now!" James growled, grabbing my arm and pulling me up past the fallen bodies before their backup could realize what happened.
We ran up the remaining steps, the air growing thicker with the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder, cordite, and melting insulation.
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By the time we reached the fifty-fifth floor, the gunfire above had died down, replaced by an eerie, suffocating silence that felt far more dangerous.
Only five floors remained between us and the central penthouse mainframe, but the air felt charged with an undeniable sense of finality.
