LENA
The doors explode inward in a shower of metal and glass.
I drop to the floor on instinct. The box of supplies crashes beside me, medicine scattering everywhere. My ears are ringing from the blast.
Rafe is already moving.
He grabs my arm and hauls me up, his grip like steel. "Back door. Now."
"Petra—"
"I'll get her. Move!"
He shoves me toward the rear of the warehouse. I stumble but catch myself, my body remembering how to run under fire. This isn't my first time being hunted. It's just the first time it's happening before the world ended.
Footsteps pound through the front entrance. Professional. Coordinated. At least six men, maybe more.
I hear Petra scream my name from the other side of the warehouse.
Rafe is faster than I am. He cuts left through the shelving units, moving like a shadow, and reaches Petra before I can process what's happening. She swings at him with a crowbar. He catches her wrist mid-swing.
"I'm with Lena," he says, voice hard and fast. "We need to leave right now or we're all dead."
Petra looks past him at me. I nod.
She lowers the crowbar. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone who knows how to keep you alive. Let's go."
He releases her and we run.
The back hallway is narrow and dark. Our footsteps echo off concrete. Behind us, I hear voices shouting commands, boots hitting the warehouse floor in perfect rhythm.
Rafe reaches the exit first. He stops, holds up one hand. We freeze.
He edges the door open an inch. Peers through. Then swears under his breath.
"Two guards on the loading dock. Armed."
"Can we go around?" Petra asks.
"Not without being seen."
I push forward. "Then we go through."
Rafe looks at me like I've lost my mind. "They have assault rifles."
"I know." I meet his eyes. "Do you trust me?"
He stares at me for half a second. Then something shifts in his expression. Something that looks like recognition even though it shouldn't be there.
"Yes," he says.
I don't question it. I don't have time.
I take a breath, center myself, and then I scream.
It's a high, terrified sound. The scream of a helpless woman who's stumbled into something she doesn't understand. I burst through the door, hands up, eyes wide.
The two guards spin toward me. Their rifles come up.
"Please don't shoot!" I sob. "I'm just looking for medical supplies for my daughter, she's sick, I didn't know this was illegal, please—"
The guards hesitate. Just for a second. Just long enough.
Rafe comes through the door like a hammer.
He takes the first guard down with an elbow to the throat. The man drops. Rafe catches his rifle before it hits the ground and slams the stock into the second guard's temple. He falls without a sound.
The whole thing takes three seconds.
Petra stares. "Holy shit."
Rafe tosses one rifle to me. "Can you shoot?"
I catch it. Check the safety. Eject the magazine and confirm it's loaded. Snap it back in. "Yes."
He looks at me differently now. Like he's seeing something he didn't expect.
"The truck," I say to Petra. "Where is it?"
"North side. Fifty yards."
"Run."
We run.
The parking lot is chaos. More vehicles are pulling in. Men in tactical gear are spreading out, securing the perimeter. But they're focused on the warehouse entrance. They're not expecting us to come out the back.
We're twenty yards from the truck when someone shouts behind us.
"Targets acquired! North side!"
Gunfire erupts.
Bullets punch into the asphalt. I feel one pass so close to my head I can feel the heat. Petra stumbles. I grab her arm and drag her forward.
Rafe turns and fires. Three controlled bursts. Two men go down. The others scatter for cover.
"Get in the truck!" he shouts.
Petra reaches it first. She yanks open the driver's door and throws herself inside. I dive into the passenger seat. Rafe is right behind me, sliding into the back.
"Drive!" I yell.
Petra guns it.
The truck lurches forward. Tires screech. Bullets slam into the back panel. The rear window explodes in a shower of safety glass.
Rafe leans out and fires three more shots. A pursuing vehicle swerves, crashes into a concrete barrier.
Then we're on the street. Petra takes a hard left, then a right, weaving through traffic like she's been doing this her whole life.
Two minutes later, we're clear.
Nobody speaks. We just breathe. The adrenaline is still screaming through my veins.
Finally, Petra breaks the silence. "Someone want to tell me what the hell that was?"
"Private military contractors," Rafe says from the back. He's checking his rifle, calm as if we didn't just barely escape with our lives. "High-end. Expensive. Someone with serious resources sent them."
I twist in my seat to look at him. "You said you used to be one of them."
"I did."
"And now?"
"Now I work for myself." He meets my eyes. "And apparently, I work for you."
"I didn't ask you to—"
"You didn't have to."
The words hang in the air between us. Heavy with meaning I don't understand.
Petra glances at me. "Lena. Who is this guy?"
I open my mouth. Close it. I have no idea how to answer that question.
"I'm someone who can help," Rafe says. "That's all that matters right now."
"That's not good enough," Petra snaps. "You show up in a warehouse we're robbing, you know military tactics, you have a rifle, and somehow you just decided to help us? Nobody does that."
"I do."
"Why?"
He looks at me when he answers. Only at me. "Because I've been looking for her since I woke up three days ago with a hole in my memory and her face in my head. Because when I found her, everything that didn't make sense suddenly did. Because when those doors exploded, the only thing I could think was that if she dies, something in me dies too." His voice goes quiet. Dangerous. "Does that answer your question?"
Petra stares at him. Then at me. "Lena. What the hell is going on?"
I don't answer. I'm too busy staring at Rafe.
Because I feel it too. That pull. That certainty. Like we're two pieces of something that broke apart and just found each other again.
But that's impossible.
I didn't even know his name in my first life.
"Lena," Petra says again. "Talk to me."
I force myself to look away from Rafe. "Pull over. Somewhere safe. We need to talk."
Twenty minutes later, we're in an abandoned parking garage. Petra has the truck hidden behind a concrete pillar. We're all standing outside it. Waiting.
I look at Rafe. "Tell me the truth. All of it. Why are you really here?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a photograph.
He holds it out to me.
I take it. Look down.
It's a picture of me.
From my first life. In Shelter Seven. Wearing scrubs I haven't worn yet. Standing in a hallway I haven't been to.
A photograph that shouldn't exist.
"Where did you get this?" I whisper.
Rafe's voice is steady. Cold. Certain.
"I drew it three days ago from memory. Then I found out it was a photograph. Someone sent it to me this morning with a message."
"What message?"
He looks me dead in the eyes.
"She dies on Day Ninety-Two. Stop her."