Damian's men moved toward the center display. One of them pulled out a heavy-duty plasma cutter and aimed it at the bulletproof glass protecting the Lotus Box.
Helen knew she had seconds. She reached into one of the small pouches on her tactical belt and pulled out a marble-sized smoke pellet.
She flicked her wrist, bouncing the pellet hard against the far wall near the ventilation grate. It popped with a sharp crack, releasing a thick, hissing cloud of white smoke.
Damian's men instantly raised their suppressed rifles, spinning toward the noise.
In that split second of distraction, Helen exploded from the shadows. She sprinted at the glass case, her laser pen already activated. She slashed it across the glass in a perfect circle. The glass shrieked and popped loose.
Damian whipped his head around. His eyes locked onto the slender figure in black.
"Take her down!" Damian roared. He lunged forward, his massive body closing the distance with terrifying speed.
Helen grabbed the Lotus Box. She sensed the rush of air behind her and violently twisted her torso.
Damian's heavy fist grazed her shoulder. The sheer force of the near-miss sent a shockwave of pain down her arm.
He didn't stop. He threw a brutal, military-style hook aimed at her head. Helen ducked under it, her body moving like water. She used his momentum against him, grabbing his wrist and twisting her hips to throw him.
Damian planted his feet, refusing to go down. He slammed her backward. Helen's spine hit the cold concrete wall with a bone-jarring thud.
Damian pressed his forearm against her collarbone, pinning her. Their bodies were crushed together in the dark. His hot, angry breath washed over her black mask.
In the violent struggle, Damian's heavy hand snagged against a small utility pouch on her belt, tearing the fabric. Immediately, a sharp, distinct scent of crushed pine and raw mountain herbs spilled into the suffocatingly close space between them. It was the exact same homemade paste the girl in the woods had rubbed on his chest.
Damian's pupils dilated. His heart slammed against his ribs. "Jane," he breathed, his voice thick with shock and rage.
Helen's stomach tightened. His senses were too sharp.
She didn't speak. She brought her knee up in a vicious, punishing strike, driving it directly into his wounded abdomen.
Damian let out a choked gasp. The pain was blinding. His grip on her collarbone loosened for a fraction of a second.
Helen spun out of his hold. She ripped a high-explosive flashbang from her vest, closed her eyes tightly, and smashed it against the floor between them.
The vault erupted in a blinding, searing white light.
Damian's men screamed, dropping their weapons to cover their eyes. Damian squeezed his eyes shut, tears of physiological pain leaking from the corners. Blinded, he reached out blindly, his fingers clawing at the air.
He caught a handful of fabric.
Helen didn't hesitate. She slashed her knife downward, severing the piece of her jacket he held.
When the spots finally cleared from Damian's vision, the vault was empty. The glass case was broken. The Lotus Box was gone.
Damian stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving. He looked down at his hand. His fingers were wrapped tightly around a jagged piece of black tactical fabric.
His jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained against his skin. "Lock down every block in a five-mile radius," he growled to his groaning men. "Find her."
High above the street, Helen scrambled across the rooftops, the Lotus Box secured against her chest, racing back to the toxic Gallagher estate.
