Five minutes.
The facility pulsed with the relentless wail of the self-destruct alarm. Red emergency lights flashed, turning the halls into a distorted nightmare of flickering shadows and pulsing crimson. The ground beneath us rumbled, metal groaning under the stress of whatever explosives had been rigged to this place.
And yet, instead of running, Anthony and I were diving deeper into the facility.
Because if this place went up in flames, it wouldn't just be us who died. The people above ground—Sienna—would be caught in the blast.
"Alright, boss," Anthony said, his tone eerily calm, as if we weren't sprinting toward a terminal deathtrap. "Let's find that control panel."
He took the lead.
I was used to being in charge, but I wasn't stupid. If anyone knew how to navigate a collapsing, booby-trapped secret base, it was the spy.
Anthony's Espionage skills kicked in immediately.
