I gape, stunned, trying to catch up.

“Now that’s two minutes and fifty seconds to decide. Forty-five.”

My heart slams against my chest. “What do I do?”

“Under the tray there’s a keycard. Get it now.”

I’m moving fast as they talk, reaching up underneath the tray, fumbling until I feel the edge of tape and something flat and hard underneath it. I pull, and the card drops into my hand.

“Two minutes. Are your shoes on?”

“Yes.”

“Stand by the door until you hear the signal.”

“I—I don’t have my powers,” I stammer. “They’ve drugged me with some suppressant; I can’t do anything.”

“You can follow instructions.”

I shouldn’t bristle at their tone, but I do. With all that I’ve been through, who the hell is this person to tell me what I can and cannot do? I’m the one who’s being drugged and locked away and—

“No time for a temper tantrum.” They clearly read my mind. “One minute. Are you in or out?”

“One minute until what? What am I looking for?!”

“One minute until the real clock starts. And you’re not looking. You’re listening. Stand back from the door.”

“Stand back?!” I whisper-shout. “What are you going to do, blow it open?”

“Not quite. Forty seconds.”

I grip the keycard in my hand. Not sure what I could possibly be looking—no, listening for. I count the seconds down in my head, my heart pounding and blood rushing in my ears.

One chance. One chance to get out of here.

Suddenly, there’s a hiss like a vacuum being released. The ground shudders beneath my feet, and something in the ceiling groans overhead.

A heavy whoosh.

A loud pop that leaves my ears ringing.

An external alarm blares all around me, echoing outside of the window—like the fortress itself is screaming.

“What was—”

“The wards and dome are down. That five-minute window of escape I promised? Just started. Swipe the card.” I run forward and slip the card down the reader. The door cracks an inch. Enough that I can push it open and slip into the silent, wardless hall.

“I’m out. What now?”

“Elevator.”

I sprint to the elevator, heart pounding, adrenaline burning away my confusion. I grasp the edge of one elevator door to catch myself and swing around to face the panel of numbered buttons. “What now?” I screech over the high-pitched alarm, mashing the DOOR CLOSE button even though no one is coming behind me, no one is there, no one else is even on this floor.

“Hit B2.”

I smash the button with my thumb and the doors close blithely, dinging. My fist clenches the keycard so tightly that the plastic starts to bend. Loosen up, I think. Don’t break it. Just watch the floors go down. Don’t think about getting caught. “What’s on B2?”

Ding. Floor five. “Sub-basement parking garage.”