The stadium entrance is open. I walk through the doors into the dimly lit corridor and look up and down the two hallways that lead away from here. No Tomas.

I’ve taken a couple steps down one hall to look for signs of a common waiting area when I hear footsteps behind me.

“Cia,” a male voice whispers.

I turn and squint down the shadowed corridor. Since this building is so large, the halls and most of the rooms are not illuminated unless they are in use. Most of the power collected by the enormous solar panels affixed to the roof is directed into maintaining the controlled climate in the greenhouse.

A figure steps into view.

“Tomas?” I ask, but I know it is not. The shoulders are too broad. The hair just a fraction too long.

My instincts scream for me to turn and run.

And I do.

Chapter 9

I HEAR A voice curse. Someone must have known about our meeting and followed me in. To do what? I don’t know, but I am pretty sure I don’t want to find out.

Blood pounds in my ears as I run. Away from whoever is now running behind me. Away from the entrance. Away from what I am almost certain means an end to a plan I have barely embarked upon.

The footsteps behind me sound like they are getting closer. I dart around the large steel beam supports and follow the hallway as it curves to the left. I’m fast. The person behind me is faster. And chances are whoever it is knows this building far better than I do. I am at a disadvantage, but if my pursuer thinks I will give in easily, he or she is mistaken.

My bag bounces against my side as I run. The jostling throws me off balance, and I shift the strap over my head to better secure the bag at my side. I glance at the closed doors that I pass. Any one of them could give me a place to hide, but if the door I choose is locked, my pursuer will catch up.

I see a set of stairs to the right and race to them. My muscles burn as I climb. When I reach the first landing and head for the second flight of stairs, I brave a look. Dark hair. White jacket. Angry expression. Dark eyes that are focused on me.

There is something vaguely familiar about him. If I had time to stop and think, I might be able to place him, but at the moment I’ve learned what I need to know. The boy behind me doesn’t have a weapon and he’s halfway up the staircase to the landing. The first gives me the advantage I’ve been missing. The second tells me that if I want to capitalize on his lack of defense, I have to move even more quickly.

My breath comes hard and fast as I climb step after step while unfastening the closure to my bag. My fingers find the wooden butt of my gun as I hear the boy reach the landing below and begin to climb the next flight of stairs.

Good. Let him come. The higher he climbs the better.

When I reach the top, I don’t allow myself time to think. I just pull the gun out of my bag, turn, and fire.

The boy jumps to the left and then stumbles and goes tumbling down the stairs. He groans as he hits the platform with a thud. The sound gives me a hum of satisfaction as I race down the corridor to the left. Behind me I hear the boy swear and start his climb again. Even though I missed, the pain and frustration in his voice tell me he isn’t as fast as he was. Which is all I can really hope for. Hitting a moving target while I am also in motion requires far more skill than I have. The only way I’m going to hit anything is by chance. But my pursuer doesn’t know that. And now that he is aware of my weapon, he will be forced to move more cautiously.

I glance behind and see he has reached the top of the stairs. I fire again. This time the bullet hits the ground somewhere in front of him. He drops to the floor. I keep running. Around the curved corridor. Down the hall. I turn and fire once more to ensure he stays off balance, then bolt for the stairs that lead back down to the first floor. If I am lucky, I will find an unlocked exit and make my escape. If not, I will learn how accurate my shooting skills really are.

I fight to breathe. My muscles burn from exertion. Sweat streaks down my back as I fly down the stairs.

One flight.

Two.

I dash down the hall toward the doors I first came through, glance back to see if the boy has gained on me, and hear the rustle of fabric a second before I collide with someone.

Hands grab my arms and I fight to get free as a voice yells, “Cia?”

Tomas.

“Cia, what are you doing? What’s going on?”

Somewhere above, footfalls sound.

“Someone’s upstairs. We have to get out of here.”

“A couple of students might be working on a project. I thought the place would be empty, but we can always—”

“No. Someone was waiting for me to arrive and he’s chasing me now. We have to run.”

The sound of shoes pounding the metal stairs makes Tomas look up. From my position I see a leg step off the landing. Tomas’s eyes widen as he spots the person’s face.

“Kerrick.” For a moment Tomas goes still. Then he shakes his head as Kerrick barrels down the stairs. Tomas looks around the room and takes a step to the left. “But if Kerrick is here, then—”

A gunshot punches the air to my right and a figure steps out of one of the rooms. I don’t think. I set myself, aim, and fire. The answering scream tells me I have managed to hit something. I don’t wait to see who I shot, I just grab Tomas’s arm and yell for him to move. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I do know that if Tomas hadn’t moved, he would be dead.

We reach the end of the hall. Gunshots rip through the air. Tomas flinches with each shot, but whoever is shooting must be as skilled at hitting a moving target as I am, because the bullets don’t come close to our position. Of course, that could change at any moment.