Yelena's head whips around at the sound of breaking glass, and one hand snaps up to her shoulder. Her eyes widen as she finds the dart. She pulls it free in a small arc of blood - too late, given the hot pain that radiates out from the small wound as the drug disperses through muscle, seeping into her bloodstream.

Her handler doesn't hear the window break. He does hear her call out a warning, even as she stumbles against the wall, fighting to keep upright, to keep conscious. He doesn't vault his chair to go to her aid. He drops instead, throwing himself to the floor, to safety.

He isn't nearly fast enough.