The velvet booth flipped upward as Claire kicked the heavy oak base with pinpoint momentum.
Marcus rolled left just as a suppressed round shattered the glass salt cellar beside his elbow.
Smoke curled from the ceiling ventilation ducts, smelling faintly of sulfur and ozone.
Claire didn’t run toward the front exit where the shutter locked.
She moved toward the service dumbwaiter shaft behind the mirrored pillar.
Marcus caught her wrist, his grip surprisingly firm for a desk operative.
“The shaft drops straight into the sub-drainage tunnel,” he warned over the rising roar of alarms.
“Which connects directly to the rogue faction’s primary relay station,” Claire replied flatly.
She pulled a heavy brass key from the lining of her lapel and jammed it into the manual override slot.
The rusted iron cage door groaned open, revealing pitch darkness below.
Marcus stared down into the abyss before looking back at her resolute face.
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