The third ran. I chased. Blood in my boots, rage in my lungs, collar pressed to my ribs like a compass made of pain.
He rounded the corner. I tackled him into the pavement so hard his head bounced twice. I took my time with that one. Didn’t speak. Didn’t scream. Just made him understand what itmeant to breathe in a world whereshehad been silenced. When it was done, I stood. Covered in blood that wasn’t mine.
The screen still glowed behind me. Cloe’s image flickering. Looping. A lie made to sell the ending of a girl who hadn’t broken. I looked up at it. Raised the knife. And threw. The blade spun once. Twice. Buried itself in the center of the display. Dead center of her throat.
The screen cracked. Flickered.Died.
I pulled the second blade from my boot. And kept walking. Because they thought that was the end of her. But it was just the last mistake they’d ever make. I left Devane on foot. Blood in my boots. One knife gone. One hand shaking.
The collar in my pocket felt heavier than steel. They had shown her to me. Dressed her in white. Lit her in spotlights. Sold her in high resolution while I watched. And I hadn’t stopped it. The warehouse door slammed behind me. The night air hit like punishment. Cold. Dirty. Real.
I made it three blocks before I collapsed. My side tore open again. The tape gave. I staggered into an alley. Braced against the wall. I didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. I vomited. Blood. Rage. Breath. Then I stood. Wiped my mouth. Reached into my jacket. Pulled the burner. Dialed Royal. He picked up fast.
“Wolfe?”
“Tonight,” I said. “No shadows. No clean exits.”
He exhaled.
“Good,” he said. “I’m tired of being clever.”
I hung up. Dialed Barron next. No delay.
“You ready?” he asked.
“We kill everything that watched her hum.”
“You still wearing the watch?”
I looked down. The second hand ticked.
“Every second,” I said.
Hung up. Loyal was last. He didn’t speak. Didn’t have to.
“Load it all.”
Click.
The city kept breathing around me. Cars passed. Sirens screamed somewhere they didn’t matter. But I was done answering to time. Now time answered to me.
I didn’t bring flowers. Camille would’ve hated that. She didn’t believe in soft things beside graves. I brought the knife instead. The one I used at Devane. The one still warm when I cut the man who looped her breath through speakers like it was ambiance.
The dirt was dry. The grass clipped. Loyal had come. Not Royal. Not Barron. But Loyal—Loyal never missed. Camille Lawlor. No epigraph. Just stone.
I crouched. Drew the blade. Not to sharpen it. To mark something permanent.
I carved it into the holster strapped to my thigh. Letter by letter. My thumb split on the third. I didn’t stop.
C
A
M
I
L
