The hallway door bangs open again, and a broad-shouldered man fills the frame with a pistol in hand. Dallas is already turning, boots grinding through glass. Jackson keeps his weapon up, shouting for the intruder to freeze. Eli folds tighter into the corner, white-faced.

Dallas drives in low. The pistol wavers, then jerks toward him. Murderbone launches from the bedframe, teeth flashing, and the man stumbles backward into the torn doorway.

The struggle tears a hotel keycard loose from the man’s jacket. It skitters across the floor and stops under the dresser, face up. Jackson spots it first, and his eyes narrow at the motel number stamped on it. Room 14.

From the wall behind the dresser comes a sharp thump, then a man’s voice, low and furious, through the thin partition. Voss is on the other side, and he knows the net is closing.

Dallas drives his boot into the adjoining door. The cheap lock snaps, and the room beyond jerks into view. Dust jumps from the frame as Jackson pivots toward the window, weapon still up.

Jackson moves fast, taking the angle beside the curtain and sighting along the glass. Eli stays folded in the corner, breathing hard, eyes fixed on the open doorway and the wall beside it.

Dallas steps through the broken door and levels his revolver into the next room. The intruder recoils, pinned between Murderbone and the hallway light, while the keycard lies exposed on the floor between them.

A dull удар runs through the partition, then another, from Room 12. Voss is on the other side, listening, and whatever he heard makes the wall go quiet for a beat.

Dallas surges through the opening and slams Voss back against the far wall. The room shudders with the hit, and the intruder at the threshold freezes under Murderbone's teeth and Jackson's gun.

Jackson snaps his aim from the window to the doorway, boxing the intruder in. Dallas rips the keycard free and plants his revolver under Voss's chin.

Voss goes pale at the sound of his own name. Behind him, the room is a wreck, curtains torn, bed askew, the shattered mirror throwing broken versions of his face across the wall.

Dallas presses Voss down and wrenches his wrist aside, exposing empty hands and a crumpled phone slip that falls between the beds. From Room 12, there is a hard scrape, then silence.