Chapter 17: The Blood Vault
The elevator doors parted, revealing a pristine, white-tiled corridor bathed in harsh LED light. At the end of the hall stood the vault door—a massive circular steel bulkhead. But between them and the vault were six elite Vanguard tactical operatives.
They didn't ask questions. The moment the elevator opened, they raised their rifles.
Jane didn't hesitate. She dropped to a knee, her gown tearing up the seam, and fired three rapid shots. Two operatives took rounds to the throat and face, dropping instantly. Marcus laid down heavy suppressing fire, the deafening roar of his rifle echoing painfully in the confined space.
Jane moved with a terrifying, fluid grace. She was a weapon forged by her father’s cruelty, finally turned back upon him. She holstered her empty pistol, drew a throwing knife, and buried it in the collarbone of an advancing guard.
In less than sixty seconds, the corridor was painted red. The white tiles were slick with blood and dotted with brass casings. Jane stood breathing heavily, her crimson dress now stained with actual blood.
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"Clear," Marcus grunted, clutching his side. A bullet had grazed his ribs.
Jane stepped over the bodies and approached the vault.
