Peyton hesitated. No way this was going to work. But Desmond waved her forward, confidence in his face.

What do I have to lose?

She moved to the opening, and Desmond gripped her arm, one hand on her bicep, the other on her forearm. “We have to go fast. It’s the only way.” More quietly, he added, “It’s going to hurt.”

She stared at him, trying to look brave. “I know. Let’s get it over with.”

He planted his foot on the glass and leaned back, pulling.

Peyton closed her eyes as the pain took over. Pain in her chest as the glass raked past her ribs. Pain at her armpit as Desmond pulled until she was sure he was ripping her arm off.

And then she tumbled free and fell on top of Desmond. Her face connected with his, but he moved quickly, deflected the blow, and caught her before she hit the floor.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Every breath through her bruised chest brought pain.

Avery led them away from the cell. “We need to hurry.”

Footsteps sounded from beyond the hatch at the end of the corridor. Avery and Desmond quickly reached up to flip their night vision goggles down and switch off their helmet lights, leaving Peyton in darkness.

“Stay here,” Desmond whispered, his voice close to her.

On instinct, Peyton crouched, making herself a smaller target, and moved to the wall. With each passing second, her eyes adjusted. Through the slightly open hatch, she could see beams of light crisscrossing the room beyond. Her chest ached as her heart beat faster, knowing these people were searching for her, would likely shoot her on sight.

Desmond and Avery rushed through the hatch. Five soft pops followed—silenced rifle reports. Avery’s voice, barely over a whisper, called into the dark corridor: “We’re clear. Come on.”

Petyon moved forward and paused at the entryway. Desmond and Avery had switched on their helmet lights again. Beams from three more helmets pointed at the ceiling, wall, and floor, depending on how the fallen soldiers had landed. Blood flowed from head and chest wounds, slowly covering the floor, a blob with tendrils reaching toward her.

The gunshots reminded her of Hannah, of the blood that had flowed from her wound in the back of the SUV in Kenya.

Avery was crouched over a backpack in the corner. Her face was bathed in shadows, but Peyton could make it out. She saw no remorse there, just cold concentration. She saw a woman who had taken lives before, and who wasn’t bothered by it.

Avery reached inside the backpack, drew out a cell phone, and began tapping its screen.

“What’re you doing?” Desmond asked, sounding alarmed.

“Backup plan,” she mumbled. “I told you, we should have been out of here by now. We’re out of time. We need a diversion.”

Explosions rocked the ship.

“What was that?” Desmond asked.