Blackout on the Penthouse

The first warning was the lights.

The penthouse dropped into one dim strip over the kitchen, then that went too. The generator room gave one cough and died.

Marco was already moving toward the vault door. “Roof cams are blind.”

Adrian braced a hand against the table, the other pressed hard to his ribs. He had not sat once since sunset. Blood had dried under his shirt where the bandage had slipped.

Wren stood near the terrace glass in socks, a knife in one hand she did not know how to hold. “That’s not weather.”

“No,” Adrian said.

A beat later the front door shuddered.

Then it came off its hinges.

The sound punched through the hall. Splinters skated across the marble. Wind drove snow into the entry, along with five men in black coats and silver crest pins. One moved first, a compact launcher in his hands.

Marco fired from the sideboard.

Glass burst. A man folded in the doorway.

Wren ducked on instinct, then looked up fast enough to see Adrian shove her down behind the island.

“Stay low.”

Another round cracked through the room. The chandelier swung. The blast from the hall blew a tray of cut fruit off the counter and sent apples rolling under the table.

Adrian pulled his sidearm and fired twice toward the dark shape near the stairs. He missed once, hit the wall, then caught the man’s shoulder on the second shot.

Marco was at the stairwell now, his gun steady, jaw tight. “Two more at the back.”

Wren crawled to the bronze sculpture on the console table, a heavy horse rearing on its base. She gripped it with both hands and waited for a face to come through the smoke.

One did.

Silver pin. Black mask. Gun up.

She swung the bronze with everything she had.

It hit bone with a wet crack. The man dropped hard, his weapon skidding across the floor. Wren snatched it before he could roll. The weight dragged her arm down.

“Wren,” Adrian said.

She looked at him.

His shirt was red at the shoulder now. He had gone pale enough that the veins stood in his hands.

The man she had struck reached for her ankle.

She aimed once at his knee and fired.

The shot took him sideways. He screamed and collapsed against the baseboard, clawing at the carpet.

Adrian crossed to her in two hard steps and took the gun from her hand. He did not praise her. He checked the hall instead.

Sirens began somewhere far off, thin and rising.

Through the shattered front, tactical lights swept the street. More voices shouted from outside. One of the attackers was still trying to crawl for the door.

Wren stared at the man on the floor, then at her own hands.

Her fingers were steady.

Marco’s voice cut through the noise. “Police are here. Two blocks out.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. He pressed his palm once to his ribs, then straightened. “Good.”

He looked at Wren.

“Tell me you remember that face.”

She nodded once.

“Then we have enough.”