My eyes fly open as I hear a crash. The kidnapper has fallen over—he’s still tied to the chair, but he’s moving now and shouting something in a language I can’t understand. Christophe rushes toward him, breaking the connection between us, speaking quickly in the same language. I may not understand their words, but I get what he’s saying by the way he’s staring at me. The nerve block has worn off, and the kidnapper knows I’ve been reading Christophe.

I run for the door, but I’m exhausted from the effort of reading him, and in seconds, Christophe’s on me, grabbing me around the neck and smashing my head into the wall. My vision fades for a moment and pain rushes through my brain. I can feel a warm wetness trickle down my neck, and my arms flail as my hands grab for anything I can find to get him off me.

Christophe’s face is just inches from my own, and I can see flecks of spit fly as he speaks. “You think you can use your empath skills to read me?” he asks, his voice a harsh whisper. “I’m not going to let someone like you destroy all of the work we’ve put into this.” He tightens his grip around my throat and I can hear myself choking, even as shadows creep in around the edges of my vision. With the last bit of energy I have left, I bring one knee up into his groin as hard as I can. His hands loosen enough for me to pull away as he shouts in agony, and I stumble for the door, gasping for air. I push on it hard before I remember that it opens inward, but only manage to give it a small tug before Christophe jumps up behind me and slams it shut again, twisting an oversized lock that will keep anyone out.

I look around frantically for anything to defend myself with. The kidnapper is moving on the ground, but he’s still secured to the chair, so I focus on Christophe. He’s coming at me, slowly this time, like he’s going to make sure he enjoys every second of whatever’s going to happen next.

“Even if they hear you,” he says in a ragged voice, glancing upstairs with a grin, “it doesn’t matter.”

I push myself against the wall, as far from him as I can get in the small room. “But they’ll know you did it,” I say, trying to buy some time. “They’ll know you’re not one of us.”

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “I may not be Sekhem, but I’m still Akhet.” He glances down at the guy on the floor. “Good thing he’s here to take the blame.”

I can feel cold sweat running down my back as I frantically look for a way out. Christophe’s reflexes are lightning fast, and he has my left hand bent painfully behind my back before I can even move. I close my eyes and reach for one end of the tall metal shelving against the wall and pull with everything I’ve got, bringing them crashing down onto the floor. Canned food and bottles of water spill out all over the room and the heavy shelf catches Christophe’s leg, knocking him to the ground as I twist out of his grip.

I race for the door, clawing at the lock until I can finally turn the knob and wrench it open enough to slip through it. I manage to scream for Giselle just as Christophe bursts through the door and throws me to the floor. Christophe’s knees are on my legs, pinning me down on the ground as he looms over me, and I know that this time he’ll finish me. His hands go around my throat again, tighter this time, his face red and distorted from the effort. I’m trying to grab at his arms, but he’s so much bigger than I am that I’m just clawing at the air. I’m starting to lose consciousness when I suddenly feel the weight lifted off of me, and I roll onto my side with gasping, coughing breaths. Someone pulls at my shoulder and I’m on my back, looking up at Giselle. Her face is a mask of concern as she shakes me gently.

“He’s one of them,” I gasp, stopped by a fit of coughing. “I saw airplanes. A runway.” I can’t manage any more words. Her face is swimming in front of me and my ears are rushing with static. Christophe knows where they’ve taken Rayne; she’s got to get it out of him.

“It’s okay,” Giselle says, her breathing hard and quick. She gently checks the lump on my head before pulling herself up off the floor. I can barely hear her last words as the room fades around me. “It’s all in Christophe’s phone.”

I hear voices, but it’s so nice and comfortable where I am, I don’t want to open my eyes.