My heart pounds against my ribs, not from the fear of crawling through that vent, but from the image of Xander trapped in Blackwell’s panic room with nowhere to go. Cornered. Discovered. Executed. Thorne picks up a tablet and swipes through several screens. “While we have the schematics of the ventilation system and outer dimensions, we lack interior details. No cameras inside that we know of.” “So we’d be going in blind,” I say, crossing my arms. “That’s not a plan. That’s suicide.”
