They entered the service passage with the officers close around them. One of the Dominion Guard officers stepped slightly ahead to clear the turn. The first shot was so quiet that Louis did not understand at once that it was a shot. He heard only a dry crack, no louder than a hard tap against the wall. The guard in front of them jerked once and folded sideways. His shoulder struck the wall. His pistol never cleared the holster.
The second shot followed immediately. Louis turned instinctively toward the rear. The other Dominion Guard officer was already half down, one hand braced against the doorframe as if he had simply stumbled. His hand slid down the frame and left a dark smear before he fell out of sight.
For a moment, Louis could not understand what he was seeing. The bodies. The local uniforms still standing. The open door at the far end. Angelique drawing breath beside him. Then something drove sharply into the side of Louis’s neck. At first he felt only pressure. Then the pain came, sharp enough to make him twist away. One of the local officers stood beside him, his face calm and one hand still at Louis’s collar.
Louis tried to throw himself at the man, but his body barely moved. His shoulder shifted and one arm came up, no more than that. His balance gave way.
Angelique had turned toward the second shot. Another local officer caught her by the upper arm. She twisted hard against his grip and drove her free elbow toward him. Her mouth opened, but Louis could not hear what she tried to say.
Then he saw metal in the officer’s other hand. The needle struck the side of Angelique’s neck.
“No—”
The word came out thick and incomplete. He barely heard it himself. Angelique’s free hand went to the puncture. She looked straight at Louis. Then her knees buckled. The man shifted his grip and kept her upright, careful not to let her fall.
Louis tried to lunge toward her. His legs did not respond. The corridor tilted. His right foot landed wrong. Someone seized both his arms from behind. Hands caught him under the shoulders, turned him, and kept him upright.
The fluorescent lights flared, then blurred. The voices around him became distant and uneven. Someone spoke close to his ear.
“Easy now. Move him.”
Angelique was still in view, but only in fragments now. Cream blouse. Dark hair coming loose at the nape. Her hand scraping against the wall as she tried to stay upright. Another officer caught her under the elbows before she hit the floor.
Someone hurried through the service door with a folded stretcher. A person in emergency-blue coveralls pushed it toward them, wearing gloves and a lowered visor.
He tried to say Angelique’s name. Only breath, saliva, and a low broken sound came out.
His hands still belonged to him in principle, but not in sequence. He could feel his right hand dragging clumsily against someone else’s sleeve. He could feel the pulse jumping in his throat where he had been struck. He could feel terror with perfect accuracy.
Someone snapped open a white sheet in front of him.
“No,” he heard himself think.
Then it came down. The sheet covered his face. It smelled faintly of bleach and storage dust. Light blurred through the weave. Someone pinned the sheet against his shoulder while another person fastened a strap across his chest. The stretcher dipped under his weight. The wheels began to roll.
He tried to turn his head. It would not move. The fabric shifted against his mouth with each breath. Rubber soles struck the concrete beside him. Colder air passed over him. He smelled exhaust, adhesive, and damp concrete from the loading area ahead. Voices reached him only in broken phrases.
The stretcher turned. One wheel struck a seam hard enough to jar his skull. The sheet brushed his lips. Cold air reached one side of his face, followed by the smell of diesel. Then someone pulled the covering back into place, and the light disappeared behind it again.
His heart beat painfully against the puncture in his neck. His strength was gone. He could no longer tell whether the movement beneath him came from the stretcher or his own body.
A vehicle door slammed ahead. Then another. Hands lifted the stretcher, slid it forward, and locked it into place. The sheet pressed against his mouth again.
“Go.”
“Move.”
Louis tried once more to hold Angelique’s name in his mind. It was the only part of her he could still reach. But even the thought would not stay whole.
The white above his face began to darken. The voices faded. The rattling beneath the stretcher became a steady vibration against his spine. He could no longer make himself struggle. He felt the cloth lift once more with his breath. Then the world withdrew behind it.
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