Three things happened at once, none of them planned.

Riggs lunged sideways, grabbing Liz Russell under the arms and hauling her toward the alcove where the wall thickened.
Fizz instinctively stepped in front of her, hands out, protective, foolish, brave.
And Don May raised both palms, taking one slow step toward Gittins.

“Francis,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

The barrel didn’t waver.

Gittins’ voice was almost tender.

“I’m afraid, Superintendent, that I’ve run out of conversational goodwill.”

May kept his own voice level.

“You’re trapped. Armed response is on the grounds. Every exit is covered. The tunnels are mapped. We know what’s down here. You don’t walk away from this.”

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