The moment stretches, perfect and crystalline.
BOOM.
The world shatters.
The ground jumps beneath us. The cabin shakes violently, dust raining down from the ceiling beams. The sound of the explosion rolls over the swamp like a physical wave, deep and bone-rattling.
"The bridge," Jax roars, already moving.
He shoves me behind him, scrambling to his feet, the shotgun snapping into his hands before I can even blink.
Then, the sound changes.
From the east, cutting through the echo of the explosion, comes a sound that chills my blood.
Awooooooo.
It’s a howl. But it’s cut short. It turns into a yelp of pain.
Then another. And another. A chorus of screams rising from the darkness.
"They breached," Jax says, his face a mask of savage fury. "They blew the perimeter."
He racks the shotgun.Clack-clack.
"Get the knife and gun, Miranda," he orders, his voice devoid of the tenderness from seconds ago. "The Longest Night just started."
22
JAX
The explosion fades, but the silence doesn't return.
Instead, the world turns white.
Floodlights—massive, industrial-grade banks of LEDs mounted on the trucks at the levee—slam on all at once. They cut through the fog, the darkness, and the privacy of the swamp with a violence that hurts my eyes. It’s not the soft glow of morning; it’s a sterile, blinding interrogation lamp turning the clearing into a stage.
"Get down!" I roar, shoving Miranda to the floorboards.
I drop beside her, the shotgun stock biting into my shoulder as I aim at the door.
The light bleeds through the cracks in the plywood I nailed up hours ago. It finds the gaps in the floor. It turns the inside of the cabin into a cage of fractured light and shadow.
"Jackson Roux!"
The voice is amplified, booming from a loudspeaker system that shakes the dust from the rafters. It’s distorted by feedback, but the fanaticism is clear.
Gregor.
"We know she is in there," the voice continues, echoing off the water. "Send out the Abomination. Send out the Half-Breed, and the rest of you dogs can live to lick your wounds."
"Abomination," Miranda whispers, her face pressed against the wood floor. She clutches the knife I gave her, her knuckles white.
"Don't listen to him," I growl.
"If you do not comply," Gregor’s voice rises, sharp and gleeful, "we will burn the structure. We will cleanse this swamp with fire and silver. You have ten seconds."
"He’s going to kill everyone," Miranda says. Her voice isn't panicked; it’s flat. Analytical. She’s running the numbers again. "If I go out there?—"
