Finn hit the floor.

The fucker had a gun. 

A surgeon with a gun. 

Now, there was an image for you. 

Twenty-four hours earlier he’d fought off a former SEAL wielding an obsidian scalpel. Now he had a surgeon with a gun. 

Finn listened for the sounds of alarm in the hallway outside, the shouts, the running feet, then realized there wouldn’t be any. 

Nobody would come running down the hallway. 

There would be no knocks on the door.