Page 191 of Victorious

She stumbled out into the hall, turned, and ran straight into a black-clad agent. The smiling stranger from the porch.

Noah.

He wasn’t wearing sunglasses anymore, and his eyes gave him away, a mottled swirl of colors that marked him as an EO.

Sydney tried to get away, but he grabbed her by the arm, his hand a crushing vise.

“Not so fast,” he said. “Where do you think you’re going, kid?”

Her heart thudded in her chest. She couldn’t run. And that was fine. Because Dr. Gray may have been full of shit, but he was right about one thing.

Sydney Clarke was sick of running.

And so, instead of struggling, she wrapped her arms around the agent’s waist, and hugged him tight, as if searching for protection. He stiffened in surprise, but her hand found what it was looking for. The sleek black weapon holstered at his back. As her thumb broke the clasp, she whispered something into the agent’s front.

Noah gripped her shoulder. “What was that?”

Syd pulled away, sliding the gun free as she looked up at him. “I said, I’m not a kid.”

And then she shot him in the chest.

This close, the sound was deafening.

He was wearing armor plate—she’d felt it through his shirt—but Victor had told her once that armor wasn’t perfect. It weakened a little more with every shot, which was why she emptied the clip into the agent’s chest. Seven rounds, and at least one must have gotten through because Noah looked down, brows knitting in confusion as blood soaked through his front. He let go of her, and stumbled back, his body flickering in and out like a glitching picture, his power dying with him as he fell.

Syd took off down the hall, away from him, and Dr. Gray.

But there was a problem.

She had no idea where she was going.

She was a mouse running in a white maze, brain screaming to get out, but there was no way to know how to get there because the halls and walls all looked the same. No signs. No windows.

She hit a T and turned right, only to find a pair of agents coming toward her.

Sydney backtracked and turned to sprint the other way, but just then, the world tipped—or she did—a sudden, lurching vertigo and—

Pop.

Sydney slumped against the counter, resting her chin on her crossed arms as she watched the packet make its slow revolutions in the microwave.

Pop. Pop.

The scent of butter filled the galley kitchen as the bag inflated a little more every turn.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

She frowned, a thought forming at the edge of her mind, like a thread dancing in and out of reach before she caught it.

This isn’t real.

She straightened, fingers gripping the counter, as if to ground herself. She hadn’t been here, had she? No, she was in the white halls, trying to—

“Hey, Syd,” called Mitch from the other room. “The movie’s starting.”

The sound of his voice filled her with relief, and as it did, the other thought escaped. Or maybe she just let it go.

“So pause it,” she called back.