"Perfect…"

The presumably empty bottle clattered across the cement floor, rolling to a stop just outside the cell. He glanced in her direction tiredly, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Go on. Get out of here." Claire took a step toward the open cell door and hesitated, wondering if it was some kind of trick being shot trying to "escape" crossed her mind, and didn't seem all that far-fetched, considering who he worked for. She still clearly remembered the look in his eyes when he'd shoved that gun in her face, the cold sneer

that had twisted his mouth. She cleared her throat nervously, deciding to probe for an explanation. "What are you telling me, exactly?" "You're free," he said, muttering to himself again as he sank deeper into the chair, chin lowering to his chest.

"I don't know, might have been some kind of special forces team, troops were all wiped out … no chance of escape." He closed his eyes. Her instincts told her that he really meant to let her go, but she wasn't going to take any chances. She stepped out of the cell and picked up the bottle he'd thrown, moving very slowly, watching him carefully as she approached. She didn't think his wounded act was a fake; he looked like hell, an ashy-white pallor over his dark skin, like a transparent mask. He wasn't breathing all that evenly, either, and his clothes smelled like sweat and chemical smoke. She glanced at the bottle, an empty syringe vial with an unpronounceable name on the label, catching the word hemostatic in the fine print. Hemo was blood … some kind of bleeding stabilizer? Maybe an internal injury… She wanted to ask him why he was releasing her, what the situation was outside, where she should go, but she could see that he was on the verge of passing out, his eyelids fluttering.