Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals by Dan Abnett, Nik Vincent

left.
    Lara found herself in a closed courtyard, surrounded by buildings. There was no road, no alleyway, no way to escape. She picked a door at random in an adjacent wall. It was locked. She picked another and walked through it without hesitating. She found herself in a narrow corridor. A radio or television was playing tinnily somewhere in the building. Lara walked confidently down the corridor, away from where she had come from. Any exit would do.
    She passed a large room that opened off the corridor through an arched opening. A woman sitting at a desk, staring intently at a sheaf of computer readouts, looked up, startled.
    “Je suis désolé,” said Lara. It was the closest she could manage to any sort of explanation.
    “Crazy English,” said a disheveled man, rising from another desk. Lara hurried in the direction he was gesturing and was through the door at the other end of the hallway before he had reached her. She was outside again, surrounded by more buildings. There was a narrow walkway to her left, which opened into a garden with mature trees. It would give Lara somewhere to hide while she thought about what the hell she was doing.
    Lydia had no patience for the proprietor of the Cinéma Le Balzac. His bonhomie was not welcome.
    “I’m looking for my sister,” she said, tersely, in French.
    “There’s no need to be rude, mademoiselle. We are all friends here.”
    “It’s an emergency,” said Lydia.
    “Not so much,” said the proprietor. “Just a scratch or two, and no harm to that beautiful face. Let her tidy herself up. Perhaps a drink while you wait?”
    “You’re wasting my time, old man,” said Lydia. “Where’s my sister?”
    “I cannot make you welcome in my humble establishment if you are hostile, mademoiselle. I told you that your sister is fine, not even so very upset. She is tidying herself up in the ladies’ room.”
    Lydia’s eyes flicked over the space, and, spotting the signs for the bathroom, she pushed past the dapper man and made her way to the ladies’ loos. She burst through the door, and quickly checked the stalls. They were all empty. She was back in the lobby in less than a minute.
    “Where is she?” she asked the proprietor, tension in her face.
    “I told you,” he said. “She’s cleaning herself up. She went into the bathroom five minutes ago.”
    “The fire exit,” said Lydia.
    “There is a fire exit. Yes,” said the proprietor. “But why would she want to leave? If you have come to watch a film together, why would she run away?”
    “She’s gone,” said Lydia. She wasn’t talking to the proprietor anymore. He didn’t know that.
    “I’m sorry, mademoiselle, but I cannot help you. Perhaps I would leave you too, if you were my sister.”
    “Shut up, old man,” said Lydia.
    “Get where you can see her. Get a view,” said Hydarnes over Lydia’s earpiece.
    “Copy that,” said Lydia. “How do I get on the roof?” she asked the proprietor.
    “There’s a maintenance ladder. You can’t go up there,” he replied. “It isn’t safe. There are rules.”
    Lydia took a step closer to the proprietor, her jaw clenching as she spoke.
    “Just show me,” she said.
    “You’re not her sister,” he said. “Are you the police? Show me your credentials.”
    “You really don’t want to see my credentials,” said Lydia, unzipping her jacket and opening it just wide enough for him to see the gun nestling in her armpit. The notched grip of a .40 compensated Sig Sauer. A man-stopper. All the proprietor saw was a gun. A gun. That was enough credentials for him.
    “Mother of God, help me,” he said.
    “Oh, just show me how to get on the damned roof,” said Lydia.
    The proprietor of Cinéma Le Balzac visibly deflated as he gestured over his shoulder to a door at the end of the lobby. After Lydia had slammed the door behind her, he crossed himself.
    “Forgive me,” he said, his head tipped back and his eyes raised heavenwards.
    Lydia scaled the ladder