The Armageddon Protocol

by Dan Moren

Genres: General Fiction; Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera; Thrillers; Spy Thrillers

Synopsis

The fourth and final book in The Galactic Cold War series sees Simon Kovalic and his crew on another life threatening adventure.

On the heels of the terrorist attacks on the planet Nova’s capital, the Special Projects Team finds itself targeted by the ambitious new head of the Commonwealth Intelligence Directorate, Aidan Kester. When Kovalic and General Adaj are arrested on charges of treason, Tapper, Brody, Sayers, and Taylor are forced to go on the run. While Kovalic and the general attempt to uncover an Illyrican mole within the Commonwealth’s intelligence apparatus, it’s up to the rest of the team to clear their friends’ names, even if that means making a deal with an old enemy to carry out a daring heist that might just get them all killed.

Release date: September 24, 2024

Publisher: Angry Robot

Print pages: 400

Sample

CHAPTER 1

Rolling with the punches had always been Simon Kovalic’s operating principle. Keeping your cool in the face of adversity was a key trait for any intelligence operative – it was the kind of thing that kept you alive in the field, or even just when dealing with the never-ending bureaucracy.

But in this exact moment, he had to admit to a deep temptation within himself to wipe the smug look off the face of Aidan Kester, newly installed acting director of the Commonwealth Intelligence Directorate.

Instead, Kovalic smoothed down his shirtfront, which Kester had recently gripped in a fit of pique, and attempted to restore his equanimity along with it.

It wasn’t every day you got accused of treason.

“I don’t know what you think you’ve accomplished,” said Kester, his arch tone back in place as he carefully smoothed his slicked-back hair. He jutted his chin at the wisps of smoke still issuing from a terminal on the desk. Just moments ago, a command had melted the terminal’s innards into slag. “I’m sure the Commonwealth Security Bureau’s forensics team will have no trouble retrieving any incriminating information.”

Behind the desk sat the issuer of said command, Kovalic’s boss – and, if Kester was to be believed, co-conspirator – General Hasan al-Adaj. Hands steepled, the characteristic gleam in the general’s eye was back in full force after the accusations hurled in his direction. “By all means, Director Kester. They are welcome to it, though I suspect the recyclers might be a more appropriate destination.”

Kester flicked his fingers at the man behind him, indicating the terminal.

A pained look flashed across the face of Inspector Rashad Laurent as he stepped forward, ducking his head in the general’s direction. “If you’d please move away from the desk, sir.”

The impulse rose within Kovalic: move fast and with purpose. It was only Laurent and Kester; the former was the more formidable, but Kovalic suspected the Bureau agent’s heart might not be entirely in it. He could probably incapacitate them both in short order, all he had to do was–

But in his peripheral vision he caught sight of two figures standing just outside the door to the general’s office: a pair of marines, sidearms at their hips. A formality, perhaps, but not to be trifled with.

Kovalic forced himself to relax, let the tension ebb from his muscles. This wasn’t a confrontation that was going to be won by violence – not right now, anyway. They were still deep within the Commonwealth Executive campus, and those marines would just be the first of many lines of defense.

“You said you have evidence that links us to the recent attacks on Commonwealth soil. I’d be very interested to see it,” said Kovalic, pointedly not looking at the data chip that he himself had tossed on the general’s desk not five minutes ago.

The data on that chip had been acquired over the course of several months by Kovalic’s former team member Aaron Page: it showed a series of

 financial transactions originating on the banking hub of Bayern from accounts linked to the general. Those transactions had ultimately led to a domestic terrorist group, the Novan Liberation Front – the very organization that had only this past week bombed a communications hub in the Commonwealth capital and threatened further violence. Ultimately, Kovalic and his team had helped narrowly avert the worst of it, though somehow he didn’t think that would do much to assuage Kester’s suspicions.

Kovalic didn’t believe in coincidences: Page’s intelligence had led him to confront the general about the transactions, only to have that discussion cut short by the arrival of Kester and Laurent, who had accused both of them of treason against the Commonwealth.

He’d assumed Kester had the same banking records; the question was how the man had gotten ahold of them. Given that Page had at one point been Kester’s informant, that might seem like a clear, logical path. But Page had come clean to Kovalic about his betrayal, and they had buried the hatchet. He wasn’t the type to make the same mistake twice.

If anything, Kester’s allegations only served to cast doubt on the intel. Kovalic had long harbored his own distrust of the new CID director, stemming from Kester’s involvement with a mission on Caledonia that had gone south, plus the fact that he had turned Page to his own ends and seemed to have an axe to grind against the general. Much as Kester might seem like just another bureaucrat, he had demonstrated an expertise in twisting situations to his own advantage. So when he suddenly showed up with evidence of treason?

Convenient.

Still, given Kester’s recent promotion, the situation didn’t bode well for them – which only resurrected the impulse to wipe the smug look off the stuffed shirt’s face.

“You’ll have plenty of time to see the evidence at your trial,” said Kester, his expression just one lip-curl short of a sneer. “We’ll be arranging secure transport for you to a detention facility pending formal charges. Your security

clearances, freedom to move about the compound, and network access are all hereby revoked. The inspector will check you for weapons.”

Laurent’s face turned carefully blank, though not fast enough that Kovalic didn’t catch a look that said “oh, will I?” But the Bureau officer stepped forward anyway. “Arms out please, major.”

Kovalic complied. It’s not as if there was anything to find: the Executive compound had probably the highest security of anyplace onworld, and he hardly carried a weapon even when on active duty.

Laurent’s frisk was quick and efficient and, once satisfied, he moved onto the general, who rose from behind his desk with the accompaniment of whines from the servos in his artificial legs. If anything, the general seemed amused and even a little bit flattered by the attention.

“They’re clean,” said Laurent, stepping back.

At a snap of Kester’s fingers, the pair of marines filled the doorway: one, a hulking brute with pale skin and a crew cut, the other a woman with sharp eyes, her hair in dark cornrows. Both of them had an air of quiet competency that said they weren’t just there for show.

Just beyond the pair Kovalic caught sight of the general’s aide, Rance, who was watching the two marines with a contemplative look.

“I suppose we might as well make ourselves comfortable, then,” said the general. “Can I offer anybody a coffee? Tea? I’m afraid my bar is not particularly well stocked.”

Kovalic wouldn’t have thought the proffering of beverages the kind of thing to set one off, but the simmering ire beneath Kester’s facade broke through nonetheless. “Sit down, Adaj. We don’t want anything from you.”

Laurent looked as though he might disagree; the shadows under his eyes said he could use a coffee. But he kept it to himself.

A gentle shrug

 rippled across the general’s shoulders as he lowered himself back into his chair. “Apologies for the hospitality.”

“You’ll be getting a taste of hospitality soon enough,” Kester sneered. “The hole they’re going to throw you into is going to be so deep and dark that even you will forget you ever existed. The only question is which one of you will have it worse: the Illyrican defector who turned out to be a double agent…” His eyes lingered on the general before sliding to Kovalic, “…or the war hero who has been providing aid and comfort to the enemy he supposedly swore to fight.” His smile turned sharp. “At least you’ll have company when we drag in your whole team – unless, of course, they decide to save their own skins by testifying against you. I’m sure at least one of them would like to keep enjoying sunlight and fresh air for the rest of their lives.”

For the first time since Kester had stepped into the general’s office, Kovalic’s spirits rose. From what he knew of the man’s dossier, the acting director hadn’t spent much time in the field – he’d come up as a desk officer in the intelligence directorate and made his way to the top more through political acumen and connections than personal experience.

It showed.

“What are you grinning at?” Kester snapped at him. “You think this is funny, Kovalic? Treason’s a laughing matter?”

He hadn’t even been conscious of the smile on his face, but he really poured it on as he took a seat on the edge of the general’s desk, arms crossed over his chest. “I get it. As first days on the job go, this is a tough one. By my count, you’ve already made at least two serious mistakes.”

Kester’s brow darkened. “What the devil are you talking about?”

“You said ‘when we drag in your whole team’.”

“What of it?”

Kovalic spread his hands. “That means you haven’t got them yet.” He shook his head. “Sloppy. Always make sure your arrests are timed – Inspector Laurent would agree, I’m sure.”

The Bureau agent’s expression of thinly veiled amusement was quickly wiped away by

a look that definitively said “leave me out of this”.

Kester gritted his teeth. “You should concern yourself with your own situation. We’ll have all your colleagues in custody soon enough.”

“Maybe. Anyway, that was just your first mistake – and the less serious one, if I’m going to be honest.”

“Oh? Do enlighten me.”

“I think you’ll find you owe us each a call.”

Kester laughed. “Finally, something sensible. I hope you’ve got a hell of an attorney.”

“Oh, I’m not calling my lawyer. I just need to tell my wife that I’m going to be late for lunch.”

CHAPTER 2

The formal offer had come through mid-morning. Nat had seen the subject line in her inbox but had read through every other message first, until only the single unwinking eye of a blue unread indicator had remained.

Reading would make it real. Up until then, it was merely a hypothetical, one that she could ponder in an abstract manner – a “what if” that rivaled her occasional dalliances into sketching out plans for a nice retirement cottage outside Nova’s capital city. But the second she opened the message, it was a fact. One that meant decisions would have to be made.

After lunch. She wanted to talk with Simon anyway; she still wasn’t sure what he’d make of this.

She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t conflicted. Like she’d told him a few months back, she missed being out in the field. Her recent trip home to Centauri, complicated as it had been, had only reinforced that feeling. But there was only so far you could go in your career without moving behind a desk.

She was still mulling it over as she swiped her military ID and passed through the checkpoint at the Commonwealth Executive building. Even without her uniform, the armed security guards barely spared her a glance. Not that there was any reason to: they’d see her picture and vitals onscreen – Lieutenant Commander Natalie Taylor, Commonwealth Naval Intelligence Command. She’d spent enough time briefing people in the complex that she’d been given permanent clearance, instead of having to register as a visitor every time she came and went.

The holographic clock hanging in the atrium told her she was half an hour early. With time to kill, she strolled towards the gardens that occupied the central part of the complex. Nova’s climate veered towards the sub-tropical and the eco-landscapers had taken advantage of the enormous open space – a quarter-mile in diameter – to cultivate a variety of native flora, providing a shady retreat for those on their breaks or just looking to hold a meeting outdoors.

Plus they had a pretty good coffee stand.

With a latte in hand, she circulated around the perimeter of the gardens, the dirt path scuffing beneath her shoes, little clouds rising in her wake. Well, this was silly. What point was there in waiting, when she knew exactly what the message said anyway? Might as well read it and get it over with.

Settling down on one of the benches next to the path, she took a deep breath and opened her inbox, finger hovering over the unread message. Her eyes ran over the tantalizing preview below the subject: Lieutenant Commander Taylor, we’re pleased to formally offer you the position of chief of staff…

The smart fabric display of her sleeve blanked suddenly, its haptics squeezing her forearm as the entire display was overwritten by an alert bearing a single word, screaming in all caps.

ESCHATON.

The breath already caught in her chest expelled outwards with such force that it almost sounded like she’d huffed a deep laugh. Blood roared in her ears so ferociously that for a moment she thought the garden had

been buzzed by a low flying aircraft.

ESCHATON? Here? Now?

Her head came up, eyes already searching the immediate vicinity, half expecting to see armed security closing in, but there was nobody.

Didn’t mean they weren’t coming, though.

Nat forced herself into calm, regulating her breathing. Casual. Stay casual.

Getting to her feet as though she’d just noticed the time, she strolled around the perimeter of the garden back towards the main lobby. But she couldn’t quiet her mind, which ran through a series of conclusions at speed.

The ESCHATON signal didn’t exactly come with details attached, but Simon had briefed her on it as part of her onboarding to the Special Projects Team. In any operational situation, it meant to abort without delay: Break all contact, walk away, ditch any trackable technology, and regroup at a predefined rendezvous point.

It wasn’t a signal she’d ever expected to receive on the Commonwealth capital world, which meant that the shit had truly hit the ion engine.

Simon had also explained that it took both him and the general to authorize its use. And they were supposed to be in a meeting right now, just steps away.

She quickened her pace, even as her brain reminded her that throwing herself into harm’s way was the exact opposite of the signal’s intent.

Circling back through the garden, she returned to the front lobby – and the choice that lay before her. By all rights, following the ESCHATON protocol meant making a beeline right back through the security gates and catching the first transportation option that put as much distance between her and this building as possible.

Or she could turn left, towards the general’s office.

Towards Simon.

It ought to be a no-brainer: she couldn’t help Simon – or anybody else – if she was compromised too. But somehow those feeble protestations were beside the point; her feet had already sent her veering leftwards.

She collided almost instantly with a marine lieutenant coming in the other direction, the latte Nat had been carrying sloshing all over the decorations and ID badge clipped to the other woman’s chest.

“Oh shit,” said Nat, “I’m so sorry!”

The lieutenant stared down at the rapidly spreading stain. “Watch where you’re going!”

“I’m such a klutz, so sorry. I don’t know where my head’s at,” said Nat, producing a crumpled napkin from one pocket and attempting to dab at the dark patch, flipping up the lieutenant’s ID badge to get at the damp shirt beneath. “I just got turned down for a promotion, and I don’t know what I’m going to tell my husband. We’d really been counting on this job to have enough to start a family and…”

Inwardly, Nat breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t worn her uniform; otherwise, the lieutenant probably would have bit her tongue and insist that somehow she’d spilled the coffee all over herself rather than blame it on a superior officer. Instead, the woman’s expression softened – still annoyed, mind you, but curtailed with a sigh of resignation. “Look, it’s OK. I’ve got a spare jacket in my office. I’m sure it’ll come out in the wash.”

Nat’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears and she pressed the already sodden napkin into the other woman’s hand. “Are you sure? Let me at least pay for the cleaning.”

The lieutenant waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Sounds like you’ve got enough on your plate already. Just…good luck.”

With a sigh, the lieutenant turned down another corridor, blotting at the stain as she went.

Nat watched her go, then clipped the ID she’d lifted to her own jacket. The badges were trackable as long as you were on campus and they were tied to the owner’s biometrics. So as soon as the lieutenant tried to swipe into her office, she’d realize that she inexplicably had a stranger’s badge clipped to her chest instead.

In other words, Nat didn’t have long.

She double-timed it down the hallway and slowly wriggled her sleeve off her left forearm,

wadding it up as she went. When a cleaning drone pushing a full wastebasket trundled past, she slipped it into the trash bin and continued on her way.

A couple minutes later, having wound her way through several twists and turns until she found herself well off the main thoroughfare, she rounded a corner to the corridor where the general’s office sat.

It took all her presence of mind not to draw up short at the sight of an armed marine posted outside the door, hands clasped in front of him. The door itself was open and she slowed as she walked past, displaying the idle curiosity of the passerby.

She caught a glimpse of Rance, the general’s aide, sitting at her desk in a daze. But then the yeoman’s eyes met hers and sharpened, like a knife slashing through a curtain, and the other woman gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.

Nat’s eyes flicked past, through the open doorway to the general’s inner office, hoping for even a sliver of a view of Simon, just to reassure herself that he was all right. But two other armed guards blocked the way.

Then, just as she couldn’t linger any further, they parted for the briefest of moments, and she spotted a familiar figure in a very expensive worsted gray suit.

Aidan Kester.

She almost faltered, but managed to catch herself, passing it off as though she’d tripped over her own feet while not watching where she was going. Shaking her head, she continued on her way, not slowing until she’d rounded the next corner.

Stupid. This whole detour had been stupid, and unlike her. Some fanciful part of her mind had envisioned plowing into the office, incapacitating several marines along the way – she could see how it would be done: a punch to an unprotected windpipe here, an elbow to the solar plexus there – and dragging Simon out with her.

But Rance’s silent warning had put her straight: that idea was self-indulgent at best and dangerously foolish at worst. At least someone was thinking clearly.

With Simon and the general behind her, she shifted their plight to the back burner. There

was nothing to be done for them now. Front sight focus: deal with the problems ahead of her, the ones she could solve.

After all, she wasn’t the only one who’d be receiving the ESCHATON signal, and the rest of them were going to need all the help they could get.

CHAPTER 3

The sun beamed lazily through the waving branches of the tree and in through the windows of the loft, directly into Adelaide Sayers’s eyes.

Oh come on. What goddamn time is it?

After the events of the past day – space walks, zero-g combat, bomb disposal – she could have slept for a million years, a fact her body was quick to remind her as she rolled over in bed and all her muscles issued a unified chorus of complaints.

At least Kovalic had put them all on leave for the week. She was lucky that none of her injuries were worse than a few bruises and pulled muscles. Nothing that some stretching, a hot shower, and some breakfast wouldn’t cure.

Even as the thought of the last percolated through her mind she caught a whiff of something cooking downstairs, accompanied by the sizzle of fat on a skillet.

One arm flailed out, patting the spot in the bed where there should have been a warm body but finding only a molehill of rumpled covers. Not that long ago, that would have spiked her pulse, spun her out: abandoned, on her own again.

But she was pleasantly surprised to find something else in her chest that wasn’t a knot of icy fear. Instead, it was… peaceful contentment? Maybe it was because she could hear – and smell – him puttering downstairs in the kitchen, sense that he hadn’t left her. Instead, he’d let her sleep in while he made breakfast.

Wait… does he know how to make breakfast?

Addy stifled a laugh and rolled over to plant her face in the pillow, enjoying the brief smothering of warmth. A toasty bed, breakfast cooking, the luxurious anticipation of a day with nothing to do; it shouldn’t be this mind-blowing, but it kind of was. What more could she ask–

A sharp buzz rattled her bedside table and she sighed and rolled over, hand grasping for the spot where she’d shed her sleeve last night. Her hand hit the pile of smart fabric but it slithered from her grasp onto the floor.

With a roll of her eyes, she leaned over the edge of the bed. The sleeve was puddled on the carpet, an alert splashed across it in large letters, unreadable in its crumpled-up state. She smoothed it out, not quite ready to face the intrusion of the real world yet.

The light glinting from outside caught her in the eyes again and she put up a hand to block it, frowning. Geez, how sunny is it today? She peered through the window. It was almost like it was reflecting off something, but there shouldn’t be anything out there…

Deep within her, some animal instinct flared and she was already rolling off the bed as the window on the other side shattered into a million fragments.

It was followed almost immediately by an individual in black tactical gear, swinging in through the now gaping opening.

What the fuck?!

Her brain was still processing exactly what it was seeing, but that didn’t matter, because

 her body had gone into autopilot.

There was a knockout gun in the nightstand, but it would take too much time to open the drawer and pull it out, and the trooper who had burst in was already detaching their repelling line and reaching for a lancer carbine hanging from a strap across their shoulders.

So instead, Addy picked herself up off the floor and launched herself across the bed, using the mattress’s bounce to propel her straight into the torso of the figure, who didn’t seem to be expecting much resistance from someone in pajamas.

The loft was narrow – there were only a couple of feet of clearance around the bed – so the two of them slammed into the wall with some force, knocking them both into a heap on the floor.

Close quarters. Minimize the advantage of body armor and neutralize an unwieldy weapon. Addy’s combat training had fully taken over and, as the trooper struggled against her, she dug a forearm into their unarmored throat, pressing their own helmet strap back against their windpipe. She couldn’t see their face, hidden behind a black balaclava and goggles, but she recognized the gear well enough – it was the same worn by the security officers she’d tangled with on two separate rooftops in the past few days.

CID’s joint task force goons? I thought we were done with this!

There wasn’t time to worry about that, though, as a second crash came from behind her and another trooper swung through the window on the side of the bed she’d recently vacated.

Shit shit shit.

She wrestled the carbine from the grasp of the trooper she had pinned, who was flailing at her with the urgency of someone who couldn’t breathe, and drove the butt of the gun into their face. There was a thud as their head rebounded inside their helmet, and if they weren’t unconscious they were at least reeling from the hit.

Addy rolled to one side, trying to bring the carbine to bear on the new assailant, but it was still attached to the trooper on the floor and the strap snapped taut before she could aim it in the right direction.

Which wasn’t great, because the second goon had skipped their bigger weapon in favor of going for a KO gun at their waist, clearly opting to incapacitate both her and their colleague and let god sort it out later.

Addy flopped onto her back and kicked out with both legs at the bed frame, knocking it into the other trooper’s legs. They issued a muffle curse of pain and Addy, who had banged her own shins on it more times than she could count, spared all of a nanosecond of sympathy before pressing her advantage, vaulting back over the bed and trying to kick them in the stomach.

Unfortunately for her, the body armor over the abdomen meant it was much better protected. It took the force of her kick in stride and, honestly, hurt her foot a bit. The trooper took a step backward, slightly off balance, but seemed otherwise no worse for wear.

Guess I should have slept in my boots.

Scrambling backwards on the bed, Addy pushed the blankets aside, looking for something harder than a pillow to chuck at the trooper.

Finding nothing, she went for the pillow.

It bought her a second, just enough time to see the first trooper getting to their feet, coughing and wheezing from her ministrations as they stumbled towards the foot of the bed.

And right at the top of the stairs.

Sorry about this – well, not really. Even as the trooper she’d thrown the pillow at batted it aside, she was leaping off the bed, knees pointed right at the chest of the first trooper, who probably looked pretty surprised under their balaclava.

She hit them with a solid thud, tipping them backwards onto the floor and sliding them to the top of the stairs. They flailed for a fraction of a moment, and then they were going backwards down the stairs, Addy atop their chest like they were a sled careening down a snowy hill.

The trooper’s helmet thump thump thumped against the wooden stairs, and Addy leaned backwards, shifting her center of balance to prevent herself from flying off, head over heels. They rattled downward at a surprisingly speedy pace, jarring Addy’s teeth so hard that she thought she might have bitten her tongue, but the pain didn’t register through the adrenaline haze.

Hitting the bottom with a muted groan from the trooper, Addy pitched out across their

full length. She lay still for a second, catching her breath.

I could stay here. This would be fine.

No such luck. Behind her she heard the telltale whine of a KO gun charging – the trooper’s partner was still at the top of the stairs, and they were already in position, lining up a shot at Addy’s back.

Never a dull moment. With a grunt, she rolled over, using all of her leverage to put her trooper/makeshift sled between her and the incoming shot.

The other goon had already pulled the trigger, and a stun field washed over the two of them, mostly absorbed by the mass of the trooper atop her – she could tell because she was suddenly trapped under two-hundred-some pounds of dead weight that was slowly compressing the air out of her lungs. The edge of the field nicked her too, her vision swimming slightly as though she’d had too much to drink.

Oh, fuck. Good plan, Addy.

Her breath wheezed as she pawed at the trooper, trying to shove him off. She could deadlift two hundred pounds, but she generally didn’t try it after several bourbons. Gasping for air, she tried to stave off the black creeping in around the edges of her vision.

Where the fuck is Brody? The thought suddenly popped into her head just as the smell of bacon reached her nostrils.

But she had more pressing concerns. Through the haze she could see the second trooper coming down the stairs, weapon still leveled at her.

The carbine from the goon atop her was jammed in between them, the strap snug around the trooper’s chest. Addy fought with it, but there was no way she’d be able to get it loose, much less aimed anywhere useful.

As she wrestled with it, her hand brushed something else on the trooper’s belt: a small, squat cylinder.

A feral grin crossed Addy’s face as she unclipped it from the belt. She knew the shape well enough by feel, her thumb sliding across the ridges to find the activation stud, which she held for the requisite three seconds as

a muffled beep sounded.

The other trooper, seeing her already trapped beneath their unconscious colleague, had apparently decided not to try stunning her again. She had to time this just right or she’d probably be waking up in a cell somewhere, and once this week had been enough for her.

When the trooper was about halfway down the stairs, she moved. Using all her strength, she rolled the goon off far enough to free her right arm and lobbed the cylinder towards their partner.

They seemed startled to see the projectile describing a pleasant arc toward them, and some weird innate response kicked in as they caught it in their free hand, then stared at it blankly for a second before realizing that holding a live concussion grenade was not recommended procedure.

Addy, for her part, curled up beneath the goon, who’d already proved an adequate shield once. At least if they were already unconscious, the grenade probably wouldn’t do them any more damage.

The whump of the explosion was loud, even from beneath the body, and what little air she had left in her lungs was squeezed out as the concussion wave pressed the dead weight down on her even further.

But it was all over a moment later, except for the slow bumping of the trooper on the stairs, sliding down the rest of the flight to puddle in a heap next to their colleague.

Addy rocked back and forth and pushed with all her might, rolling the body off of her. Blessed air rushed into her lungs. Dragging herself to her feet, she was still gathering her wits when, behind her, the front door splintered with the loud bang of a battering ram.

Come the fuck on.

She spun around even as a third black-suited trooper stormed in the door, carbine pointed in her direction. They had her dead to rights. Her hands went up, even as her mind raced, looking for some 

way out.

“Get on the fucking grou – urgh.” A sound like a gong cut their command short as they crumpled to the floor atop the blue-and-white throw rug that she hated.

Where they’d been standing a moment earlier was a bizarre, but Addy had to admit, oddly attractive, ...