Ismail advanced quickly, his claws held ready. Smoke curled from his shoulders, and his suit was ruined. I barely had enough time to duck to the side before his claws raked the air, whistling, above me. I dove directly between his legs, braced myself on the floor and donkey-kicked the small of his back. He staggered into the glass and spun around as I bounced to my feet.

“Yeah, where’s that shit, man?” I asked, my voice distant through the haze of painkillers. I bobbed forward in a boxer’s stance, fists ready.

I ducked one blow, blocked another with a sweep of my arm, caught his wrist and pulled him low to slam my forehead into his face, a flash of pain lit across my right shoulder, claws sinking home.

Relentless, I grabbed his arm with both hands and threw him, crashing, into the desk. He drew himself out of the wreckage, growled, and ran forward, claws swiping.

I caught his wrists, his weight carrying me back. We slammed into the window pane, grappling. The glare of a spotlight from outside engulfed us.