Julian’s hand gripped the bronze handle of the archive vault.
He was about to press down on the lever when Elena stepped into his path. She caught his left wrist with two firm fingers.
“Hold on, Julian,” Elena said. “Don’t turn that handle yet.”
Julian blinked, turning his head. “We’ve eight minutes, Elena. The hold expires at three-fourteen.”
“I know the clock,” Elena said. “Look at your left glove.”
Julian looked down at his hand.
The heavy blue canvas work glove was torn along the fleshy base of his thumb. A dark, tacky streak of crimson had soaked through the fabric, staining the frayed cotton fibers.
“A cable burn,” Julian said dismissively. “From the steel winch cable when we lowered Clara’s gurney down the drop-shaft.”
