[Ethan's POV]
I kept the flashlight beam pinned to the floor, tracking the smeared crimson trail across the cracked concrete.
"Stay exactly two steps behind me," I told Claire, my voice barely a whisper over the sound of the rain drumming against the facility's rusted tin roof. "If we make contact, you drop to the floor and you stay behind cover. Do not try to negotiate. Do not try to talk."
"I'm not leaving this," Claire said.
I glanced back. She was rapidly shoving Jake's manic, scribbled notebooks and the battered laptop into her reinforced briefcase. Her hands were shaking, but her movements were efficient and precise.
"Claire, leave it. It's dead weight."
"It's his mind, Ethan," she shot back, her eyes flashing with a fierce, protective intensity. She snapped the briefcase shut and locked it. "Whatever he's been doing for the last two years, whatever he's been trying to rebuild, it's in these pages. I will manage the data. You will manage the guns. Now keep moving."
