The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of heavy boots echoed in the sterile corridor. Four security guards, clad in tactical gear, rounded the corner. They weren't expecting a girl in a hoodie and a "Tech Prince" in a navy suit.
"Li Yan, get behind me," I commanded, my voice dropping into that low, focused register I used right before a tournament match.
"Xiao Xing, there are four of them—"
"And I'm a silver medalist. Basic math, Li Yan. I've got the reach."
The first guard lunged, his baton swinging in a wide arc. I didn't flinch. I stepped into his guard, my palm striking his chest with the force of four years of repressed anger. He buckled. I spun, a roundhouse kick connecting with the second guard's shoulder, sending him spiraling into the glass partition.
Crack. The glass spiderwebbed, but held.
"The elevator is back online!" Su Lan's voice screamed in my ear. "But the lobby is swarming! You have to take the service stairs to the parking garage! Zhang Wei is idling the getaway car at Exit B!"
"Move!" I grabbed Li Yan's hand, and we sprinted toward the heavy steel door of the stairwell.
We took the stairs three at a time, the adrenaline turning the 14-floor descent into a blur of grey concrete and yellow emergency lights. We burst into the garage just as a black SUV screeched to a halt in front of us. The door flew open.
"Get in, get in, get in!" Zhang Wei roared from the driver's seat. Mei Ling and Jia Yi were in the back, laptops open, already tethered to the city's traffic light grid.
We dived in, and the tires smoked as Zhang Wei floored it, drifting past a police cruiser with an inch to spare.