Silence stretched on impossibly long with the gun trained on Ada's heart. What was he waiting for? Was he going to shoot her? She could only tear her eyes away from the gun to study his face in brief spells.

"Upstairs, let's go." He turned to the side to let her pass.

Ada started to but kept her back facing out. "What, are you going to kill me now?"

His eye glinted. "They don't hire me to look pretty."

He had a point. Not to mention, his outfit was completely different from the security guard she had glimpsed upon entry. Fitted black jacket, black pants, all quiet materials. He made no leathery creaks or swishes of denim. Ada recalled the cars n the parking lot, the black, slightly newer model which seemed out of place.

He gestured for her to walk to the stairs, clicking on a flashlight on his Glock. Ada recognized the uniform shape and material as being the same weapon Hillebrandt carried. Ada puffed air through her nose as she stifled a chuckle. The shit he'd give her if he knew what she had gotten herself into.

"What are you, anyway?" Even with the light, Ada struggled to keep track of the obstacles in her path. "Mercenary? Private security company?"

"Something like that. Get moving, I do not want to be cleaning your fucking blood off the concrete."

Ada shivered.

Somehow, between there and the back doors, Ada had to get away from him. As soon as they were outside her life was as good as over. It wouldn't matter where he shot her out there. The oncoming storm would wash away the evidence of her demise and her body would be forever lost in the mines, if she was a betting gal. There had to be dozens of abandoned tunnels what with how long the operation had been running for.

It's amazing how the brain struggles to for thoughts in the face of danger. What should she do? She asked again and again, each time met with a confident "Right, so ..." before the rapid cycle started over, interspersed with brief, agonizing silences. In all her years pulling jobs like this, it had never been her with the gun on her back. The last time she was faced with one, she had the advantage of being no taller than the assailant's elbow and hidden in shadow. His hyper-focus had been her only chance, but she had none of that here. This man's hyper-focus was entirely for Ada. The slightest incorrect movement would shatter her spine.

Her stomach churned at the first idea that came to her. Even though the plan only required trading words and a simpering mask, it sickened her to consider putting herself in that position. She scrambled for an alternative as she put her boot on the first step. Then the next. The thoughts were empty once more.

There was one thing she knew clearly: she would rather do something risky.

"Hey, can you point your light on the stairs, please? I can't see where I'm stepping." Ada waggled her hands, which were up beside her ears. "It's not like I can guide myself, eh?"

With the proximity of the muzzle to the small of her back, only slivers of light spilled past Ada's waist. He shifted for just a second, turning the gun to the side to assess the assent, and in the instant it left her body she slammed her right forearm down on his own. The blow jarred her entire arm, pain exploding at the source and rippling outward. The gun hit the steps, but his free hand closed around her arm as she turned. He didn't see her other fist until it was too late. Through his cheek she felt the ridges of his teeth beneath her knuckles. The momentum tossed him down the three steps and he hit the ground hard. It only stunned him. As Ada hit the landing and swung around on the handrail, he was getting to his feet and coming for her.

Ada crashed into the stairwell and opened the first floor door. Lights at both corners sent her reeling for the staircase. The heavy door slammed. Ada hoped it would distract him long enough for her to find a place to hide.

She avoided the branch to her left, which she knew to be locked the whole way down. She didn't have time to pick any locks. She dashed to the right, then left around the corner. The offices were all locked. The supply closet, however, was not. Her thundering heart deafened her to any footsteps. She fumbled the lock with trembling fingers.

Her own flashlight was gone. She didn't know for sure when she dropped it, but it was probably when she attacked him on the stairs. She felt her pockets for her lighter. Though cheap and plastic, it was almost full. She struck it a few times and then held the tall flame before her, scanning the cramped space. This one had no good hiding spots at all. The shelves were hung from the wall, and three broken mop buckets cluttered most of the floor space.

Over her heartbeat, Ada caught approaching footsteps. Hurried, but not running. She released the flame and held her breath. Even with no where to hide she still searched in the darkness for anything useful. The steps passed. She struck the lighter a moment later. All her turning had disoriented her in the blackness. The flickering light was enough. Ada turned for the door ... and kicked a bucket. The rattle sent a jolt through her, and her already frazzled nerves split completely. Something rushed through her, from the tension at the nape of her neck out to her extended hand faster than her heartbeat. The flame swelled into a torch for an instant before she could remove her thumb from the fuel button. The inferno hit the tiles of the suspended ceiling and caught. Flames licked hungrily at the surface, seeming to ignore the flame retardant materials altogether.

Ada was so distracted by the brilliant fire she forgot all about the footsteps for a moment. Something struck the door, and she jumped back, knocking the bucket again. They struck harder, and the door gave. Furious eyes became curious, then horrified as they took in the growing inferno. Ada didn't wait for him to regain himself. She charged, slamming past and dashing for the stairs. She didn't get that far. His weight on her back sent her flying and crushed her to the linoleum floor. Her lighter skittered away. She could hear hungry crackling behind her as the flames spread. She fought for her breath, to get away from him.

Someone crashed through the stairwell door and spotted them in an instant. His eyes trailed to the blaze, going so wide she could watch the embers dance in them even from a distance. Unlike her assailant, he was dressed in a jacket that clearly read "Sécurité". Without any further hesitation, he smashed the cover on the fire alarm and gave it a tug before running for the stairs again. After a delay, sprinklers whined to life, masking the harshness of the trilling bell.

"Useless bastards," grunted the man before clamping a palm on her ankle as he removed his weight from her legs—all that remained stuck after all her squirming.

Ada kicked with her free leg, grazing his knee, his arm, but he dragged her back and pinned the other. She struggled to roll over and kick with all her might at his grip. His right palm was dangerously close to her knife.

The flames were undeterred by the deluge. They licked along the walls and ceiling, spreading from the hellish portal to the supply closet. The water only made them dance harder.

Water clicked his gloved palm, and Ada's left ankle slipped free. On her side as she was, she had much more room to draw it back and slam the flat of her boot into his face. He turned at the last second so his cheek took the blow, and she felt something pop near her heel. His grip slackened, and Ada scrambled away. Her gloves squeaked on the floor.

Flames neared the seam of the floor on either side of her. Ada got to her feet and did her best to brush off the aches. Her left knee ached deeply from the impact, and she knew she couldn't outrun him. He was still on all fours as she swiped hair from her face. Her toque was missing. She didn't run, but she did stagger for the stairs.

Ada was aware of the pressure in her ears before she fully registered the impressive bang. A bullet burrowed into the wall a foot to her left. Something new rang, and everything else was muted. The pressure in her ears continued.

A firm hand on her shoulder drew her back. Ada had frozen for a moment, and it was all he needed to catch up to her hurried limp. Ada followed the momentum with her fist, but struck only his shoulder as he angled to block it. He winced and released her.

The flames to her left had reached the bend in the hall, while to her right they crept along the floor. In the blackened holes appearing in their wake, Ada was horribly aware of the way the fire was crawling into the very structure. Its unnatural progression filled her with incomprehensible dread.

Ada noticed then how warm the soles of her shoes were. Her eyes widened, and she staggered back a few steps. The man frowned at her, then at his own feet a moment before a sharp crack led his fall through the floor.

His shocked yell became one of distress, terror, agony. His waist was partially obscured through the warped flooring, but his right leg was still visible, folded awkwardly at his side for support. Ada couldn't tell what was going on with the other. His eyes bulged so wide she feared they would pop out. The cry became so strangled it stopped, and he became a mute tableau.

Her first instinct was to leave him there. Fuck him for trying to murder her. But, like her, he was just doing his job. Did she really want to live with his death on her hands? Ada cursed under her breath and felt with her toes before each step. He fixated on her, somewhere between terror and pleading. His mouth opened and shut stupidly. Ada grabbed his hands and heaved him forward, but the angle was no good. His holster caught on the flooring, and he blacked out for an instant from the pain. Ada changed sides and tried to tug him backward, toward the source of the inferno. He fought her on this.

"Cut it out, ass-hole!" Ada snapped, spittle flying. "I'm trying to save your fucking life."

He found his voice again and screamed at the top of his lungs. It sent a chill to her bones. As she finally gained some ground, she understood why. Not only were the flames licking his leg, his femur was obviously broken.

Though she couldn't do anything about the break, she could at least get rid of the fire. Ada dragged him by the wrists toward the stairs. He swore endlessly. Though the door frame was aflame, the concrete stairwell was mercifully cool. Smoke roiled above them. Ada ignored his cries and dragged him down to the midway landing, where the smoke was clearer.

Ada held up her knife, saying, "I'm just cutting off your pant leg."

He kept a balled fist near her head as she did so. She worked quickly and tossed the blazing material up the stairs. She ripped off her sweatshirt and pressed it over the tiny flames singeing away his leg hair. The stink of burnt keratin clung to her throat.

Sheathing her knife, she didn't wait for his permission and dragged him down the remainder of the stairs. He flung insults at her the whole time. She didn't have time to coddle his injury. Through the little window at the bottom, flickering orange light was growing.

The fire was spreading steadily over the ceiling, ignoring the sprinklers here, too. At least the floor was thicker here. She didn't have to worry about them falling through. Plus, the growing puddles made dragging his dead weight a fair bit easier. Her spine ached nonetheless. How long was the damn hallway? It felt much shorter when she dashed down it the first time. She heard no signs of life, but she couldn't be sure of anything. The sprinklers and roaring fire were deafening. Ada could still hear faint ringing as well, separate from the ancient fire alarm.

Ada threw the outer door open and struggled to keep it that way while maneuvering him. He spared her though and demanded she release him. He hauled his weight down the steps, arm over arm, and rolled over in the muck. The downpour must have been a relief on the burns.

Hand on the rough wall, Ada staggered a few steps and threw up. Her lungs burned from the smoke and heat. The last of her adrenaline faded, leaving nausea and fatigue behind. She sank to her knees not far away, firsts clenched tight against another wave of sickness.

"How ... the fuck ... did you set t- ... the place on fire?" He, too, was fighting for breath.

Ada shook her head against an onslaught of fear and confusion. "I have no idea. My lighter just ... blew up, or something."

"You psycho, you have no idea what you've done." He groaned loudly as he sat up, propped on one arm. His dark gaze ensnared her. "They're going to fucking kill me. You should have just left me there to burn."

"Keep that up and I'll drag you back in there. Who are you talking about?" Ada finally got control of her roiling belly.

"Who do you think? The seller. You just burned millions of dollars of product. We're fucking dead meat." Even distressed, his French was flawless, distinctly Parisian. He continued his tirade, though seemingly to himself. "This was supposed to be an easy job. You fucked everything up."

"Not my problem." Sure, it freaked her out, but how would they find her? It's not like any evidence of her trespass would survive the blaze. The heat was becoming oppressive. "Come on, we need to move."

He allowed Ada to drag him away, toward the only car remaining of the four. The cool rain became more and more potent. Ada was about to release him, to go break into his car, when he gave her right arm a firm yank. She didn't have the strength to correct and hit the ground hard beside him. He was upside-down in her vision, leaning halfway over her on his good hip. She scrambled to move away, but his hand closed over her throat, watch digging into her chin.

For the second time that night she found herself being choked. Though, this time the intent to kill was apparent. Instantly her airway was cut off, and panic burbled. Her legs kicked and shoved into the dirt for purchase, but she only succeeded in exacerbating her knee injury. His other hand joined in. The only comforting thought she could manage was that at this angle, he at least wasn't likely to crush her hyoid.

Between his elbows she could see his gaze fixated on hers. While her left hand clawed at his arm, her right fumbled for her ankle. She felt muck, stones, her boot, her pants, but finding the holster was starting to seem impossible. Black spots were growing in her vision. Her finger brushed skin, then leather. Yes! She reached again, and again, and then finally her fingers closed around the molded handle.

Ada felt the whisper of the blade over her leg as she drew it and twisted it around in her palm. The determined optimism in his eyes faltered as her own must have steeled. Her grip was absolute. She had seconds left before she would black out. The solitary path stretched out before her, and rather than wait for death, she took it.