Page 73 of The Knight

Her fear receded a little as her expertise grounded her. “I’d rather negotiate terms than watch my work be destroyed by ham-fisted hacking.”

His eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“The timed component requires security protocols entered in a specific order.” Her tone was aloof. “I designed it that way on purpose. The world’s not ready for what’s on that drive. But perhaps we can come to an arrangement that preserves the integrity of my work while satisfying your interests.”

The orchestra’s last note hung in the air as Korolov bowed, his grip still holding her captive. “Thank you for the dance.” He caught the attention of one of his men with a lifted finger.

The crystal chandeliers cast shifting patterns across the marble floor, competing with shadows dancing at the edge of her vision.

Something’s wrong.

The crash of shattering glass pierced the hubbub of conversation. Across the ballroom, women shrieked and men shouted. Every head turned toward the noise.

Except Korolov’s.

His free hand shot out, clamping around her bare upper arm. A tiny sting pricked her skin. Her heart slammed her ribs.

No.

She yanked backward, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. The ballroom tilted, yellow light from the chandeliers stretching into long, wavering streaks.

Her knees buckled, and her hand hit the cold floor to steady herself.

“What did you...” Her tongue was too thick, her words slurring together.

The chandeliers dimmed, their light fading to gray, then nothing.

39

“I have a visual on Freya,”Abe confirmed, his fists balled hard as Korolov spun her across the dance floor. The arms dealer’s hand gripped her waist, too possessive, pulling her closer than the dance demanded. Every inch closing between them made Abe’s trigger finger itch.

Korolov turned, and for an instant his gaze collided with Abe’s, a knowing curl warping his lips.

Abe puffed his cheeks, searching for a calm that wouldn’t come.

Korolov’s security detail shifted. Three men. Armed. Twelve, three, nine o’clock. Closing in.

“Something’s off.” Abe pushed forward, his pulse ramping.

A burst of static hit his earpiece, then nothing.

“Leo? Zak? Sitrep?” Silence. Total blackout.Fuck.

Cracks split the air like gunshots, slicing through the ballroom chatter as the band paused. A woman screamed. Glass shattered.

The chandeliers surged, then failed in rapid succession, plunging the room into darkness. Emergency lighting kicked in, bathing the room in sickly orange.

Abe’s hand went for the gun under his jacket.

“Leo? Zak?” Still fucking dead. EMP? His eyes darted upward. The hotel security systems were dark. No green lights.Shit.

Explosions detonated across the room, belching thick milk-white smoke.Flashbangs.The conclusive thump of disorientation hit. Voices spiked, panic rippling through the crowd.

Freya.

The caustic stench of burned magnesium seared his throat, his eyes streaming. With no power, there was no clear exit. Bedlam engulfed the ballroom as guests scrambled blind, their screams rising.

His heart stopped cold.