"Don't shoot."
Malcolm kept the pistol raised.
The man in the vent swallowed, and Malcolm saw him clearly through the red flash of the alarm. Hollow cheeks. Cracked lips. Dirt under his eyes. His hand shook around the stolen gun, but his stare stayed sharp.
Cedric.
Behind him, another shape filled the vent, broader and heavier, one arm braced against the frame as he fought to keep himself upright.
Phillip.
Malcolm remembered Phillip pulling them clear during the escape from the hospital.
"Malcolm, right?" Cedric whispered.
Malcolm lowered the pistol by an inch. "You're alive."
Cedric gave a weak breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "Barely."
