The second floor of the RPD was quieter than it should have been.
Claire had learned to read quiet by now — the difference between empty and held. This was the second kind. She moved through it with Sherry close behind, one hand back to keep contact, the other on the gun.
She checked the corner. Clear. Moved through it.
"Claire."
Sherry's voice. Low.
Claire stopped.
Below, through the gap in the railing — two figures crossing the main hall. One supporting the other. Dark uniforms, or what was left of them.
She leaned forward.
Leon.
She almost called out.
Didn't.
Too far. Too many things between them that could hear her before he could. She watched him cross toward the west corridor and disappear.
"Was that him?" Sherry asked.
"Yeah," Claire said. "Don't stop."
The stairwell was clear on the way down. The corridor at the bottom wasn't.
One at the far end. Another turning from the wall.
Claire fired. The first dropped. The second didn't — kept coming, absorbing the hit, redirecting toward the sound.
She stepped back into the door frame. Fired again. Missed.
"Claire—"
"Stay behind me."
She steadied. Fired.
It went down.
A beat. Then she moved.
"Come on."
Sherry came through close and didn't ask anything. Smart enough to read the moment.
The passage — the mechanical override Marvin had described — she'd found the entrance two corridors back. The door had swung shut behind whoever had used it last.
She tried the handle.
Locked.
"Wait." Sherry reached past her to the panel beside the frame — a secondary release, manual. She pressed it.
A click.
Claire looked at her.
"My mom uses panels like that," Sherry said quietly.
The door opened.
Old construction beyond it. Dimmer. The smell of something sealed for years, opened recently. Claire moved through it carefully, clearing angles.
Then she saw him.
On the floor. Against the wall.
"Marvin," she said.
He moved. Slow. His head lifted.
Not right.
Claire held there for a second — giving it its weight before it was over.
Then she raised the gun. Fired.
She stood there a moment after.
Sherry had stopped in the doorway behind her, eyes on the floor.
Neither of them said anything.
Claire moved on. Sherry followed.
The garage was open in a way that felt wrong after the corridors above. Too much space. Too many angles she couldn't cover at once.
She didn't slow down.
The SMG kept the distance she needed — short bursts, controlled, not perfect but enough. They moved between the columns, Sherry staying close, the shadows between the vehicles resolving into shapes that had to be dealt with one at a time.
An overturned car blocked the path ahead.
"Stay behind me."
She moved around it to clear the far side — and lost the line for half a second.
That was enough.
She felt it before she saw it.
Absence.
Claire turned.
Sherry stood a step back from where she should have been. And behind her — a man. Older. Heavyset, shirt pulled tight at the buttons. Face calm in a way that didn't fit anything around it.
One arm across Sherry's shoulders.
Gun pressed to her head.
"Drop it," he said.
Claire measured it. Distance. Angle. Sherry's position.
No shot.
She lowered the weapon.
"Good." He adjusted his grip on Sherry. Not rough. Certain.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be."
Claire moved forward.
The gun pressed tighter.
She stopped.
Behind her, movement closing in. Not immediate. Not far enough.
"Give it to me," he said. To Sherry.
Sherry didn't move.
Claire didn't look at her. "Do it."
Sherry took the SMG. Hands shaking. She held it like she didn't know what to do with it.
"Now tie her."
Sherry froze.
Claire shifted slightly. Turned just enough to make it possible — and slipped the knife from her belt into her sleeve as she did it. One motion. Small.
"It's okay," she said. Quiet. Meaning it.
The knot Sherry tied was loose. Too loose.
He stepped in. Fixed it himself.
Tight.
Claire said nothing.
He pulled Sherry back. Not dramatic. Just there.
As he moved her toward the exit, something slipped from Sherry's hand.
Small. Metal.
It hit the floor. Rolled once. Stopped.
"Claire—" Sherry started.
"It's okay."
The door closed behind them.
Locked.
Silence.
Then movement. Closer.
Claire pulled at the rope. Stopped. Shifted her wrist.
The knife slid into her hand.
One cut. Then another.
The rope gave.
She turned.
No SMG.
"…shit."
A body near the column. She moved fast, crouched, found the handgun at its hip. Checked it.
She picked up Sherry's pendant from the floor. Held it a second.
Put it in her pocket.
Behind her, movement. More of it now, drawn by the earlier shots, filling the space.
She raised the handgun.
Fired.
The shot cracked through the garage — sharp, clean, carrying further than she wanted it to in the open space.
But she was already moving.
____________________________________
Short chapter, but this one is meant to move fast.
Next chapter shifts back to Leon's side and the group split.