The Perfect Lie
Lena moved like a phantom, silent and swift, her gun solid in her grip.
Noah guarded her side, their footfalls in unison. Decades of training, of existing, had made them instruments.
The third floor stretched out before them.
A lone door at the end of the hall.
Mercer's soldiers had abandoned it unguarded—an open invitation.
Lena was not stupid enough to believe Damien was disabled.
She glanced at Noah. A silent countdown.
Three, two, one.
She kicked the door open.
The room was dark, the dimming of a lamp sending shadows crawling over the floor.