Illya’s eyes snap to Napoleon. There is something in the American’s eyes that he can’t quite decipher. It’s scorching in its intensity, but before he has the chance to understand it Napoleon is moving, swift and smooth like the waves of the ocean. He shoves Illya away with a strength that must come from adrenaline, and the Russian stumbles back, slamming into the vault door. He can do nothing but watch as Napoleon throws himself on the bomb.