Page 110 of Green Ravens

When the assistant director stopped, Zorion pushed the tip of his arrow to the back of his neck as wordless encouragement.

They reached the final landing labeledDirector’s Wing.

They kicked open the double doors and chaos greeted them.

Mercenaries rifled through cabinets, shattering glass and throwing data pads and folders into crates. Two others stood by the director’s private vault, one hunched over the number pad, another watching the hallway with a compact submachine gun.

He didn’t get a chance to raise it.

Valor lunged.

Zorion blinked as a flash of silver slashed across the gunman’s face, almost splitting his head in half.

Zorion shot an arrow into the neck of the one in front of the keypad.

The electricity that surged through his nervous system sent him to the floor, twitching with his teeth clamped together.

Four more didn’t have time to turn before a flare arrow exploded in midair, lighting up the office in a searing glow of orange and red.

Valor barreled farther into the director’s office with his fist cocked back, and in a single motion, he crushed the first guard’s neck. The next was on the receiving end of a kick to the chest that shattered his sternum. The last two tried to flee, but Zorion loosed a single arrow that became three, each striking with bone-penetrating force.

Papers and furniture burned amid the dead sprawled around the director’s office like dismembered dolls, their bodies feeding the flames and reeking of death.

“Status report,” Jo asked.

“We’re close,” Zorion answered.

Valor turned to the AD, who was now slumped on his knees, panting like a wounded animal. Blood soaked his sleeve, and his face paled from shock and pain. He pointed to the steel door concealed behind a twelve-by-three-foot mirror.

The door was as thick as a bank vault and twice as secure.

“Code,” Valor ground through clenched teeth.

“I—I need a minute. Fuck!” The AD’s fingers trembled as he reached for the keypad.

“You don’t have a minute.” Valor stepped forward, gripped the arrow in the man’s arm, and gave it a violent twist.

“Okay! Okay!” The man howled.

He typed in a long sequence of numbers until the pad turned green, but it was only the first layer of security to enter.

“Handprint,” Zorion said, raising his bow higher.

The assistant director hesitated.

The disciple still stalking close to their side didn’t. He took one step, and the next thing Zorion saw was a blade pressed beneath the AD’s chin.

“Now!” Valor roared.

Sobbing, the AD slammed his palm against the scanner. The lock hissed and the door slid open.

They stepped into a blinding white so piercing it hurt.

White floors. White walls. White light so sterile it felt surgical.

Padded rooms sealed behind thick glass lined a corridor that seemed to stretch a mile long before curving.

They passed a room with testing equipment. Weight benches and treadmills with attached breathing apparatus. Injection rigs and chambers designed for conditioning, not comfort.

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