Nothing happened.

  He pressed again, holding it longer this time.

  The intercom crackled. "I'm sorry. You'll have to go around to the front if you have an emergency."

  "I'm not walking in a dog." Evan kept his voice steady, calm, reasonable. "I need help. Please."

  Silence from the speaker. Then: "Sir, you need to go around to the front if you have an emergency."

  "I can't. My friend, he's injured."

  "This is a veterinary hospital. If you need medical assistance, you should call 911."

  "I can't call 911. Please. Just open the door."

  "Sir, I can call 911."

  "Please don't!" Evan cried with more emotion than he intended. "Please. I understand you feel threatened by me, but I promise you, I'm not a threat. My name is Evan Marshall. I was a Corporal in the United States Marine Corps. I served with Sergeant Jason Harris, retired. I have him with me. He needs medical help, but it's not safe for me to take him to a hospital. He said his son knows you."

  More silence. Evan could almost sense the woman on the other end weighing her options, trying to figure out what kind of crazy she was dealing with.

  Finally, the lock clicked. The door opened, just a fraction. Enough for Evan to see brown eyes peeking out at him.

  "Please," he said softly. "Both our lives depend on you helping us."

  The door opened the rest of the way. The vet was prettier than Evan expected, with a heart-shaped face, kind eyes, a soft complexion, and brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. He got the sense from her bone structure that she had a really nice smile too, but right now it was nowhere in evidence.

  What was in evidence was abject horror. Her eyes went wide the moment she fully saw Evan, taking in the dried blood that had totally soaked his shirt, had dried on his hands, and streaked his forearms.

  "Oh my…" She took an involuntary step back, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. "I'm a veterinarian. An animal doctor. I can't…this isn't…"

  "Wait." Evan held up his free hand, palm out. "Just wait. Please."

  "I'm calling 911," she said, reaching for something in the back pocket of her jeans. "You need an ambulance, not a⁠—"

  "The blood on me isn't mine."

  That stopped her. Her hand froze midreach, her eyes darting between Evan's face and the crimson stains covering his clothes.

  "I'm fine," he assured her. "But my friend here…" He nodded toward Harris, still slumped against the outside wall, barely conscious and looking like death warmed over, although she still hadn't set eyes on him. "He needs help. And we can't go to a hospital."

  She poked her head out through the cracked open doorway, her gaze shifting to Harris, taking in all his obvious injuries. Whatever fear had been building behind her eyes transformed into professional assessment and concern. The instincts of someone who'd trained to help the injured, even if the injured party didn't have four feet.

  "What happened to him?"

  "Car accident." True enough. "I need you to look at him. Please. His shoulder's dislocated. His ankle's probably broken, maybe shattered. His arm, too."

  "But I'm not a human doctor." Still, she hadn't retreated or reached again for her phone. "I treat animals. Dogs, cats, the occasional exotic. I don't have the training or the equipment for⁠—"

  "Please. We can't go to a hospital." Evan let deeper desperation creep into his voice, let her see the truth of their situation in his eyes. "Our lives are in danger. There will likely be bad people waiting for us there. People who want us dead." He paused, watching her process that. "You're our only option. Please. I'm begging you."

  She stared at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then her gaze slid back to Harris, who had managed to raise his head enough to look at her with bloodshot eyes. "Please, Sadie," he croaked, his voice barely audible. "Donnie said you're one of the nicest girls…he's ever known."

  Something shifted in her face. Remembrance, maybe. Or just the realization that this wasn't random violence showing up at her door, but something much more complicated.

  "You're Donnie's father?" she asked, looking at Harris more carefully. "Jason. Jason Harris."

  "The one and only." Harris managed something that might have been a smile.

  Sadie's jaw tightened. She looked between them again, weighing risks and responsibilities, then stepped back from the doorway. "Get him inside. Before someone sees you."

  Evan didn't wait for her to change her mind.

  The interior of the emergency vet clinic was exactly what he'd expected. White tile floors. Fluorescent lighting. The lingering smell of antiseptic and animal waste. Sadie led them down a short hallway and into an examination room, the kind with a stainless steel table in the center and cabinets full of supplies lining the walls.

  "Get him on the table," she said, already moving toward the cabinets, pulling out supplies with practiced efficiency.

  Evan maneuvered Harris onto the table, trying to be as gentle as possible, but failing. Harris's face had gone grey. Sweat beaded his forehead despite the cool temperature. His breathing came in short, controlled bursts that spoke of pain barely held in check.

  "We need to get his clothes off," Sadie said, returning with an armful of medical supplies. "The shirt and pants, at least."

  "Copy that."

  What followed was fifteen minutes of careful, agonizing work. Harris's tactical vest came off first, then the thermal underlay, then his boots and pants. Each movement sent fresh waves of pain through injuries that had been jostled and jarred for hours. Harris kept his teeth clamped shut through all of it, refusing to cry out, though Evan could see the cords standing out in his neck and hear the ragged edge of each breath.

  When they finally had bared his body down to nothing but his boxers, Sadie leaned in close, her fingers probing the dislocated shoulder with surprising gentleness. Her expression darkened as she worked, cataloging damage that was probably worse than she'd hoped.

  "The shoulder's definitely dislocated," she confirmed. "The arm—I'm pretty sure it's fractured below the elbow. I won't know how badly without X-rays, and my machine is calibrated for animals, not people. But we can give it a shot." She moved lower, to the broken ankle. "The ankle's a mess. Multiple fractures, maybe. Could be ligament damage too."

  Harris opened his eyes. "Can you fix it?"

  "I'm not a human doctor," Sadie repeated, but there was less conviction in it now. "I can set the shoulder. Splint the arm. Stabilize the ankle. But I can't promise they'll set right. You could end up with permanent damage. Limited mobility. Chronic pain. You need a hospital and an orthopedic surgeon."

  "Least of my problems right now." Harris's voice was barely above a whisper, rough with exhaustion and pain. "Do what you can."

  Sadie looked at Evan, searching for permission, maybe, or confirmation that she wasn't making a terrible mistake. He met her gaze steadily. "Please," he said.

  She let out a breath and nodded. "All right. But I'm giving him something for the pain first. I don't have proper anesthesia for humans, but I've got sedatives that should take the edge off." She was already moving, pulling vials from a cabinet, filling a syringe with practiced hands. "This is going to hurt. Even with the drugs."

  "I've had worse. Just get it done." Harris closed his eyes as she moved to load a syringe.

  "Wait." Harris's voice was strained but insistent. "Marsh. Before she knocks me out. My pants. Front pocket. Get my phone."

  Evan moved to the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, digging through the blood-stained tactical pants until he found Harris's phone. The screen was cracked—probably from the crash—but it still lit up when he touched it.

  "Check the emails," Harris said, his jaw tight against the pain. "There's something you need to see."

  Evan navigated to the email app, scrolling through the inbox. Most of it was junk—promotional offers, spam, the digital detritus of modern life. But one message stood out, sent from an address that looked like someone had smashed their keyboard and hit send: a random string of letters and numbers followed by a domain he didn't recognize.

  The message was brief. Just a phone number and three words: "About the laptop."

  "Harris." Evan held up the phone. "Who is this from?"

  "Contact of mine." Harris's eyes were locked on the ceiling, his breathing carefully controlled. "Knows a guy who works with computers. The kind of work that doesn't get advertised."

  "Is it legit?"

  "The contact is. Can't vouch for the hacker personally, but if my guy says he's good, he's good." Harris sucked air through his teeth. "Text the number. See what he can do."

  Sadie approached the table with a syringe. "I need to sedate him now. The longer we wait, the harder this gets."

  Harris gave a short nod. "Do it."

  The sedatives took effect quickly, Harris's face relaxing as the drugs flooded his system. His breathing evened out, but he didn't go completely under—he drifted into that halfway place between consciousness and oblivion, aware but detached, the pain pushed to a manageable distance.

  Sadie studied the injuries with fresh eyes now that her patient wasn't fighting to stay coherent. "I need to get X-rays before I do anything else. See what I'm actually dealing with." She moved to the end of the table, releasing a brake Evan hadn't noticed. "Like I said, the machine's calibrated for animals, but it should give me a rough idea. I'll be back in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes."

  She wheeled Harris out of the room. The door swung shut behind them, leaving Evan alone in the examination room.

  He looked down at Harris's phone. The cracked screen displayed the email with its cryptic address and single phone number.

  Another stranger. Another unknown variable in an equation that already had too many. But Harris's contact had vouched for this guy, and right now, that chain of trust was all he had.

  He copied the number and opened a new text message.

  Got your number from a mutual friend. I have a laptop that needs attention.

  The response came almost immediately. What kind of attention?

  Password protection. Encryption, maybe. I need to see what's on it.

  Where are you located?

  Evan thought about that. Giving away their location to a stranger seemed like a bad idea. Where are you?

  Oregon.

  Can we meet somewhere in the middle?

  A pause. Then: Let's talk about payment before we meet.

  I don't have money.

  Time is money. Without money, you don't get my time.

  Evan stared at the screen, frustration building in his chest. He needed what was on that laptop. The information could be the key to everything—understanding the factions hunting him, learning what made the Ascendant so valuable, finding some way to take the fight to his enemies instead of constantly reacting.

  How much to crack a laptop? Get past the password, whatever encryption is on it?

  Ten grand.

  Evan's jaw tightened. Ten thousand dollars. There was the five grand he'd lifted from Lars's van. Maybe he could convince the guy to accept…

  A chill ran down his spine as he realized he'd left his duffel with his change of clothes, extra magazines for the Glock, and the money in Harris' crashed truck.

  Shit.

  He didn't have ten dollars to his name right now, let alone ten thousand. But if this contact could deliver, if the laptop contained what Evan hoped it contained, ten thousand was nothing. A drop in the bucket compared to what was at stake.

  He tapped forcefully on the screen, having to go back and correct errors multiple times.

  I'll pay you twelve grand if you come to me.

  I thought you had no money.

  I'll get some.

  How?

  That's my problem, not yours.

  Another pause. Then: I'll send you a bitcoin address. Once I've got half, we can finalize arrangements.

  Deal.

  Evan lowered the phone and let out a slow breath. Twelve thousand dollars. He had no idea how he was going to get it. But that was a problem for later. Right now, he had a lead. A thread to pull. Something besides running and hiding and waiting for the next attack.

  The door opened, and Sadie wheeled Harris back into the room. The older man's eyes were half-open, glazed with sedatives but tracking Evan's movement as the table locked back into position.

  "Well?" Harris slurred, but he was coherent enough. "What's the verdict?"

  "We need twelve thousand dollars."

  Harris let out a sound that might have been a laugh if it wasn't so heavily sedated. "That's a lot of money."

  "I know." Evan moved back to the table, looking down at his friend. "I'm not going to ask you for it while you're drugged up."

  "Even drugged up, I can't just give you twelve grand." Harris's eyes opened, struggling to focus on Evan's face.

  "Are you sure?" Evan leaned closer, pitching his voice low. "There might be a Möbius effigy in it for you somewhere down the line."

  Harris stared at him for a long moment, the sedatives warring with something sharper behind his eyes. Then his mouth curved into something that was almost a smile.

  "Damn you for appealing to my unhealthy thirst for excitement."

  7

  From a few feet away, his arms crossed and the backpack resting on the chair behind him, Evan watched Sadie, her hands moving with skilled efficiency, as she cleaned and stitched up Harris's head wound. After bandaging it, she disposed of the refuse in the medical waste bin and began the process of reducing Harris's dislocated shoulder. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed, casting everything in a flat, clinical glow.

  "So," she said, positioning Harris's arm at a specific angle. "You served with Donnie's dad?"

  "Afghanistan. Three deployments together." Evan kept his voice neutral, conversational. "He was my squad leader. Best NCO I ever worked with."

  "He seems like a good man." She applied steady pressure, her jaw set in concentration. "When Donnie and I went out, he spent half the evening talking about his dad. The stories he'd heard growing up, the lessons he'd learned."

  "How'd that go? The date, I mean."

  Sadie shrugged without looking up from her work. "Fine. Just the one time, though."

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing dramatic. He was sweet, polite, and good-looking." A faint smile crossed her face. "Just no spark, you know? We both felt it. Or didn't feel it, I guess. Sometimes that's just how it goes."

  Harris made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan as Sadie worked. His eyes were closed, his face slack from the sedatives, but Evan could see the muscles in his neck tightening involuntarily.

  "What about you?" Sadie asked. "What made you join up?"

  "Needed direction. Structure." Evan watched her hands, the careful way she manipulated the joint. "I was headed nowhere fast after high school. The Corps gave me something to aim at."

  "Did you find it? Direction, I mean."

  "For a while." The answer came out more honest than he'd intended. "Then I lost it again."

  Sadie glanced at him, something shifting in her expression. Curiosity, maybe. Or recognition of a wound she knew better than to probe.

  There was a muffled pop as the shoulder slid back into place. Harris's body went rigid for a moment, then relaxed. Sadie let out a breath and stepped back, examining her work.

  "That's one down. He'll have to wear a sling for a while." She moved to the cabinet, pulling out cast materials. "The arm's going to be trickier. The X-rays show a clean fracture of the ulna, which is actually good news. Should heal straight if I immobilize it properly."

  Evan nodded, watching her work. "How'd you end up doing this? Emergency vet work, I mean."

  "Couldn't afford a residency right out of school." Sadie began cutting strips of casting material with quick, precise motions. "Student loans, you know how it is. This place pays decent and gives me practical experience. Lots of trauma cases come through here. Dogs and cats, mostly. I had a horse once." She glanced at Harris. "Never a human before, though."

  "First time for everything."

  "That's what I'm afraid of." But there was no real fear in her voice now, just the dry humor of someone who'd committed to a course of action and was seeing it through. "What about you? What do you do now that you're out?"

  "Odd jobs, mostly," he answered. "Construction. Mechanical work. Whatever pays."

  "Sounds unsettled."

  "It is." There was no point in lying about it. "I've been drifting for a while. Trying to figure out what comes next."

  He watched Sadie mix up the blue casting material. "This is fiberglass," she explained. "It's waterproof so he can shower without having to worry about getting it wet."

  "Convenient."

  "Definitely."

  She restored the correct alignment of the fractured ulna, Harris's face contorting in pain as the bones slid into place. Then she immersed the lengths of gauze in the fiberglass, her movements smooth and unhurried as she began wrapping his arm.

  "I've heard that a lot of veterans struggle with that transition back to civilian life," she said, continuing their prior conversation. "The structure disappears. Then your purpose, and suddenly you're supposed to just...be a regular person again. I imagine it's not easy."

  "No. It's not."

  Silence settled between them, broken only by the soft sound of Sadie winding the casting material around Harris's arm. Evan watched her work, appreciating her quiet competence. She might not be a human doctor, but she knew what she was doing. Harris was in good hands.

  "All right." Sadie set down the roll and stepped back, examining her work. "That needs to set for a bit, but I can start on his ankle in the meantime." She moved to the foot of the table, beginning her assessment of the damage there.

  "You said you lost direction after you got out," she said, not looking up from her work. "Did you find it again? In whatever you and Mr. Harris are doing now?"

  Evan considered the question. A week ago, he'd been drifting through odd jobs and extended-stay motels, marking time until time ran out. Now he was running from alien factions, piloting a starship through another galaxy, and watching his former squad leader get patched up by a veterinarian in the middle of the night.