The scream died in his throat.
The body convulsed once, violent and hard against the leather straps, and then went limp.
Doc stepped back, checking the pulse on the neck. "Heart rate is spiking. 180... 190... dropping. It's leveling out."
Nova watched the face on the table. She saw the sweat beading on the forehead. She saw the way the jaw unclenched.
Then, the eyes opened.
They weren't Arvin's eyes.
They were the same color, the same shape. But the weight behind them was different. Arvin's eyes were usually darting, apologetic, terrified.
These eyes were still. They were cold. They were assessing the room like a predator scanning a clearing.
"Unstrap me," the man on the table said.
The voice was an octave lower. The stutter was gone. The tone wasn't a request; it was a command.
Doc looked at Nova. "Is that...?"
"Dante," Nova whispered.
"I said unstrap me," Dante repeated. He tested the restraints, his muscles bunching. He looked down at his splinted left hand. He didn't wince. He just stared at it with disdain. "Sloppy."
"It's set properly," Nova said, stepping forward. She didn't back down from his stare. "Two fractures. I reduced the displacement myself."
Dante looked at her. Really looked at her. He tilted his head, analyzing the way she stood, the lack of tremors in her hands.
"You drugged the Host," Dante said. "You poured dirty engine coolant into a Ferrari."
"The Ferrari was about to drive off a cliff," Nova snapped. "Arvin was losing it. The shadow was talking, Dante. It was waving at us."
Dante went still. The arrogance flickered for a second, replaced by something sharper. Calculation.
"It manifested?"
"Yes. In the tunnel. And in the storage unit."
Dante closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply through his nose, testing the internal systems.
The Iron Door is shut, he realized. The hinges are slagged, welded shut by the chemical burn, but it holds. The roaring from the basement has stopped.
"Acceptable," Dante decided. He opened his eyes. "Release the restraints. We are leaving. This location is compromised."
"This location is a fortress," Doc argued, though he looked nervous. "Steel doors. No windows."
"You are a back-alley butcher in the Meatpacking District," Dante said, his voice dripping with contempt. "You are on six different surveillance lists. If Arvin found you, He can find you."
"Who is He?" Doc asked.
"The man coming to kill us," Dante said. "Now. The straps."
Nova reached over and undid the buckles on his chest.
Dante sat up. He rolled his neck, cracking the vertebrae. He swung his legs off the table and stood up. He swayed slightly—the drug made the body heavy, sluggish—but he forced his equilibrium to correct.
He walked over to a metal tray of surgical tools. He picked up a scalpel.
Doc took a step back. "Hey, easy..."
Dante ignored him. He turned to Nova.
"Turn around," Dante said.
"What?"
"Turn around. Lift your shirt."
"Excuse me?" Nova crossed her arms.
"You fell in the tunnel," Dante said. "You were limping on the way to the subway. Arvin didn't notice because Arvin is an idiot who was busy having a panic attack. But I saw the gait analysis in the memory buffer."
He pointed the scalpel at her.
"If we run, you need to be at 100%. If you have a laceration or a fracture, I need to know. I do not carry dead weight."
Nova stared at him. Then, she laughed. It was a short, dry sound.
"You're a charmer, Dante."
"I am a survivor. Turn around."
Nova turned. She lifted the back of her denim jacket and her shirt.
There was a large, purple bruise blooming across her lower ribs, and a nasty scrape where the skin had broken.
Dante stepped closer. He inspected the wound with clinical detachment.
"Soft tissue damage. No broken ribs. You're lucky."
He grabbed a bottle of antiseptic from the counter and splashed it directly onto the wound.
Nova hissed, her body seizing up, but she didn't pull away.
"Pain is data," Dante muttered, wiping the excess with a gauze pad. "It tells you you're still online."
He pulled her shirt down.
"You have a file," Dante said, stepping back. "Arvin told me. Three years."
"Possession with intent," Nova said, turning to face him. "And assault on an officer."
Dante's eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. "Assault?"
"He was hurting my brother," Nova said simply. "I hit him with a brick."
Dante looked at her. For the first time, the coldness in his eyes thawed into something resembling respect.
"A brick," Dante mused. "Crude. Effective."
He walked over to the pile of Arvin's clothes. He stripped off the hospital gown without shame and started dressing.
"We are moving to a secondary location. A safe house in the Bronx. It is off the grid. No digital footprint."
"And then what?" Doc asked. "You just hide forever?"
Dante buttoned Arvin's shirt over the bruised chest. He put on the coat. He picked up the scalpel again and slid it into his sleeve.
"No," Dante said. "We hide until the drug stabilizes the neural pathways. Then we stop running."
He looked at the door.
"The Hunter thinks he is chasing a wounded animal," Dante said. A cruel smile touched his lips. "He is about to find out that the animal has teeth."
Crash.
The heavy steel door at the front of the clinic shuddered.
Someone had hit it. Hard.
Doc jumped. "What was that?"
Dante's smile vanished. His face went blank. The Wolf was listening.
Thump-Thump-Thump.
Three rhythmic impacts. Not a battering ram. Suppressed gunshots. Someone was shooting the locking mechanism.
"He's here," Dante said.
He grabbed Nova's arm.
"Back exit. Now."
"There is no back exit!" Doc panicked. "Just the ventilation chute!"
"Then we crawl," Dante said.
He shoved Nova toward the rear of the room. He turned back to Doc.
"Do you have a weapon?"
Doc fumbled in a drawer and pulled out a rusty .38 revolver. His hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped it.
"Good," Dante said. "Aim at the door. Shoot anything that isn't me."
"You're leaving me?" Doc squeaked.
"You are the distraction," Dante said cold.
He didn't wait for an answer. He boosted Nova up into the open ventilation shaft near the ceiling. She scrambled in.
Dante jumped, hauling himself up with one arm, ignoring the agony in his broken hand.
As he pulled himself into the darkness of the shaft, the steel door of the clinic flew open.
A flashbang grenade rolled across the tiled floor.
BANG.
White light flooded the room.
Dante didn't look back. He pushed Nova forward into the tight, dusty metal tunnel.
"Move," he hissed. "Or we die in the wall."