Page 70 of The Gentleman

Leo lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden glare.

“What the hell?” Kat pressed close behind him.

The corridor stretched ahead, antiseptic and pristine. A muted electrical hum vibrated through the soles of his boots. The air carried the sharp scent of lemon disinfectant.

“Stay close.” The weight of his weapon was reassuring against his ribs.

Kat ghosted his steps as they advanced past a series of unmarked doors. He tested handles at random—some locked, others opening into empty hospital bays with complex equipment standing ready.

On a glass board, handwritten formulas and notes.Neural scaffolding,cochlear re-mapping,implant rejection markers.

Hair pricked on the back of his neck.

What the hell?

“It’s not empty.” Kat’s voice barely disturbed the air.

He gave a brief nod of agreement. “Maintained.”

Voices materialized ahead—the clipped tones of people who belonged here.

Coming this way.

Kat tugged his sleeve, yanking open a door to their right. Before he could move to protect her, she slipped inside.

His jaw cramped as she disappeared. Two steps ahead of him—again. He followed swiftly, the urge to shield her burning beneath his skin. He eased the door closed with a soft click just as the voices grew distinct. Leo flattened himself against the wall beside the door handle while Kat took position on the opposite side, her Glock now held across her chest.

Shadows flickered beneath the door. Laughter drifted past.

Then nothing.

Kat released a hissing breath. “Too close.”

Leo swept his flashlight across their surroundings—supply shelves, monitoring equipment, and rumpled white shapeshanging from a rack. He swept back, recognition clicking into place.

Lab coats.

He grabbed two and tossed one to Kat. He pulled the other over his dark clothes, the fabric stretching tight across his shoulders but adequately concealing his weapon. Kat pocketed her hat and shrugged into hers, tucking her Glock beneath the thick white polyester. The plastic name tag clipped to her pocket identified her as Dr. Trig Hughes.

He met her gaze. “Ready?”

She nodded, scooping up a clipboard and pen from a nearby shelf before they stepped back into the corridor together. Two more anonymous medical personnel in a facility that shouldn’t exist.

They rounded a corner as a PA system blared to life overhead. “All Nightshade team members report immediately to Briefing Center A.”

Leo slowed. Doors opened and the corridor ahead flooded with personnel, white clad scientists and black security uniforms, hurrying toward a large set of double doors.

“Follow my lead.” Leo straightened his borrowed lab coat as he snatched a tablet from an unmanned workstation.

They merged into the flow of bodies, keeping their heads down. No one questioned them—everyone too focused on the alert.

The crowd funneled into a tiered conference room with screens on every wall. Leo steered Kat to seats near the back, where they could see everything but remain inconspicuous.

He sat, angling the stolen tablet as if reviewing data.

A man in his fifties with wire-rimmed glasses took position at the front, sweat gleaming on his brow.

The room fell silent.

---