Page 82 of Rogue Mission
Gulp.
He disappears, completely silent.
It’s okay. He knows what he’s doing. But…is this squeezing in my chest cardiac?
The footsteps are getting louder. Closer.
My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m certain whoever’s coming can hear it echoing through the lab.
Justice is somewhere out there in the shadows, waiting, and I’m crouched behind this metal cabinet like a kid playing hide-and-seek. Except this game could get us killed.
The door swings open with a metallic groan.
I press my palm over my mouth, forcing my breathing to slow.In. Out. Nice and easy.
A cart squeaks across the tile. Then…humming?
I peek around the edge of the cabinet, just barely, and my stomach drops.
It’s a janitor. Gray coveralls on, mop bucket on wheels, completely oblivious to the fact that two trespassers are lurking in the shadows.
Creak. Creak. The wheels squeak slightly as he rolls further into the lab. He moves past the rows of shelving, still humming some tune I don’t recognize.
He’s maybe sixty, with tired eyes and a slight limp.
Justice materializes behind him like a ghost.
I almost scream.
One second the janitor’s reaching for a spray bottle, the next Justice has him in some kind of hold that makes the man freeze mid-reach.
“Don’t make a sound,” Justice rumbles, low and dangerous.
The janitor’s hands go up, instantly trembling. “Please, I—I don’t want trouble.”
“Then you won’t get any.” Justice loosens his grip just slightly. “How many guards on this floor?”
“Not sure. Maybe three. There’s more of them nowadays.” The man’s voice shakes. “They rotate every hour.”
Justice curses under his breath, his frustration radiating across the room.
“We need to roll,” he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear through the comms. “I want you out of here.”
He brought me here because leaving me behind was worse, but he hates it. That’s clean in every word.
Ryker’s voice crackles through the bone-conduction mic. “JT, there’s more movement. Getting close to you.”
He looks at the janitor, then at me, his eyes burning with a decision he doesn’t want to make.
“Rosalie. Stay.”
Justice moves fast, pressing against the man’s neck. The janitor slumps, and Justice lowers him carefully to the floor.
“Pressure point,” he says, catching my wide-eyed stare. “He’ll wake up in a few minutes with a headache. That’s all.”
“Twenty seconds,” Ryker warns.
Justice grabs my hand, hauling me to my feet. “Come. Now.”
