Hollow Hour

Mason Cross stopped bleeding people eight years ago. Then the ground opened.A subway car flips. Concrete seals the exits. The air inside becomes a clock.Six survivors. One of them is already bleeding out. Another is starting to hyperventilate. Mason knows what happens next—panic eats oxygen faster than any wound.He also knows the ceiling crack is widening. Slowly. Too slowly.There are two ways out of this grave.One requires a miracle. The other requires Mason to do what he swore he'd never do again.