[Jake's POV]
The Shadow stopped ten feet away from me.
The sodium light above buzzed and flickered, casting his black suit in alternating bands of yellow and dark. Water dripped from the edge of a container behind him. The only other sound was his breathing. Controlled. Measured. But I could hear the hitch. That shoulder wound was costing him.
He didn't reach for a firearm. The suppressed submachine guns they used were too loud for a stealth infiltration, and drawing a pistol in a confined space against a prepared opponent was a tactical error.
He drew a combat knife instead. The matte-black blade caught the faint ambient light. He held it in his left hand. Smart. He was right-handed, but the right shoulder was compromised.
"You're bleeding," I said, my voice a low, calm rumble in the quiet corridor. "The shoulder wound is tearing. You're losing mobility in your right arm."
