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Clark was still shivering when Hopkins pulled her outside the small tower. The wind was blowing strong at the trees of the enormous and unkempt garden, scattering fire sparks in the air. They moved through the rooftops, looking for a good point to climb down, when Hopkins stopped.

On the other side of a big, semi-destructed window, he saw Holt on the first floor, shouting orders to some men holding gallons. Hopkins grunted. If they entered through that window, they'd fall on the second floor and, if they were quick enough, they could get the necklace and ran away from that place.

Clark, still pale, held his wrist. Hopkins knitted his eyebrows. "Please don't tell me you're thinking about going back to hell now we're outside."

"We can't let this son of bitch win," he replied. "What if he finds this Romanov's Vault and..."

"This is nonsense, Hopkins." Clark raised her body, still pressing his wrist. She sneered. "You're crazy. And know what? Let's go back to hell. Any place's better than this miserable rooftop."

He smiled and nodded, carefully opening the window. They hit the floor with a thud, instantly welcomed by the heat of the flames licking the walls. Hopkins swallowed dry before exchanging a look with Clark.

They sneaked through the empty burning floor, searching for a ladder to get down, when an armed thug, leaving one of the rooms, saw them. The wide-eyed man shouted, raising his gun, "Holt, they're here!"

And without another word, the man shot them.

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