Outside, Armand fought, a dagger flashing in his grip, his movements brutal, desperate.
But he was outnumbered.
Figures surrounded him, shadows of men with cruel, hungry eyes.
A knife swung?—
Armand dodged?—
But another man lunged from behind.
The blade sliced clean across his throat.
Shouts and screams tore through the night, yanking Isabelle from sleep.
Terror flooded her veins.
She bolted upright, heart hammering against her ribs, the acrid scent of smoke choking the air.
She barely had time to think.
Armand.
She raced outside—only to find him on the ground.
Lifeless.
His throat slit, his blood soaking into the earth.
A sound tore from her throat—a scream so raw, so guttural, it could have cracked the heavens.
She dropped to her knees, cradling his head in her lap, her sobs breaking through the chaos around her.
And then—Malik.
He appeared through the haze, his form a dark silhouette against the flames.
Isabelle turned wild-eyed to him, desperate, broken.
“Please, Malik. Save my baby!”
The baby.
A horrifying realization slammed into her. She had left her newborn inside.
What kind of mother had she been to abandon her child in the flames?
“Please!” she begged, her hands clutching at Malik’s tunic. “Save my baby!”
But then, a figure lunged from the shadows.
A Timehunter.
Flaming torch in one hand. A gleaming knife in the other.
He barreled toward Isabelle, his blade flashing in the firelight.
Before she could react and before Malik could stop him?—
