8
Morgan turned at the sound, frowning as she heard the words. Martin looked up, fear in his eyes. This was meant to be a research trip, not an active mission. He wasn’t cut out for fighting. Morgan took two swift steps to the door and looked around the edge, catching sight of a group of five men in the cloistered walkway.
It would only be seconds until they reached the room.
She remembered the fight in the church of St Mary in Tabriz, Iran. She and Jake had fought their way out with the Pentecost stone, but Martin wasn’t Jake, and she wasn’t the fighter she had been back then. The burns on her legs slowed her down, and even though a part of her itched to pull a blade of Toledo steel from the cabinet and give in to the rush of combat, Morgan knew that the best option was to run.
She tu
