The brass ratchet beside Line Two clicked.
Clink.
The steel pointer had less than a millimeter of travel left before it engaged the municipal bypass leaf-spring. Zero point eight seconds.
“Hannah!” Elena called out, leaning over Clara’s shoulder toward the small cue speaker.
“Hannah, I’m here! It’s Elena!”
Julian Vance didn’t shout. He placed his left hand flat against Elena’s collarbone, pushing her back with firm, unyielding force until her spine hit the mahogany sound-lock doorframe.
“Step back,” Julian said. “You’re a medical professional, Rostova.”
“Work like one. Check the vitals before you prescribe.”
