Cena stared at her through the smoke.
Iyisha lifted one trembling hand toward her. "Cena, please. We need to go."
Cena took one step.
Her foot struck the stone hard enough to shake grit loose near Iyisha's feet. Her torn mouth moved, but no word came out. Blood ran over the tattoo on her clavicle and down her chest. Her eyes stayed on Iyisha, even while bullets hit her back and made her shoulders jerk.
The helicopters came lower. Rotor wind pushed smoke across the yard. Dust skidded over the stone. Morning light hit the broken gate, the wet ground, and the bodies near the entrance. Red emergency lights still flashed along the walls.
"We need to move," Arnulf shouted.
A voice cracked from the first helicopter speaker. "Subject confirmed. Iyisha Clarke is in the open. Recover alive."
Iyisha's hand dropped.
