“Mina,” she whispered.
“They’re clearing the board,” Kawan said.
And then, just before she could shout another order, a concussive blast shook the building beneath her.
Wood cracked.
Her balance tilted.
And the floor gave way.
The blast hit like a hammer to Kawan’s chest. A quick exhale, followed by a short intake of breath, was about all he could manage, and it hurt like fucking hell. He blinked, doing his best to regain his bearings as bodies darted by, screaming in the wake of confusion and turmoil.
His gaze snapped toward the plume of smoke rising a few blocks down—just beyond the burning chapel.
The second-story balcony Lark had been perched on had buckled in a wave of dust and fractured clay.
“Lark,” his voice tore from his throat, raw and unfiltered. He raised his arm, wiping dirt and sweat from his brow.
“Shit,” Thor shouted over comms. “Command has been compromised.”
Kawan didn’t wait for an order. Or permission. He was already running. He wasn’t loosing…her.
“Hold!” Sloan yelled. “We’ve got fire from the west rooftop, red awning. We don’t have eyes on the back of that building. We can’t have you running in, playing hero, when we don’t know what’s?—”
“Cover me, or don’t cover me,” Kawan snapped, low and hard, as he vaulted a row of market stalls. The entire square erupted. It was pure chaos as people yelled and moved through the streets like the world had exploded. Vendors had tossed their tables to take cover behind. Crates of mangoes and potatoes flew through the air like shrapnel. “But if it were one of you assholes, I’d be doing the same fucking thing.”
“Watch left,” Moose called out. “One on the corner roof with a suppressed SMG.” Thank God for, Moose.
“I see him,” Sloan confirmed. “Taking aim.” A sharp crack rang out—one clean shot. “Target down.”
Kawan didn’t look back. His mission was clear. Get to Lark. She was all that mattered to him in this moment. He ducked under a fluttering tarp, pushed through a broken door, and slammed his shoulder into the frame of the crumbling building. He paused for a moment… blinking… focusing… taking a breath… before forging forward. “Lark,” he shouted, barely able to hear his own voice over fire raging from the floor to the ceiling. It roared like a wild lion claiming its territory.
She was in here, somewhere, and he wasn’t leaving without her.
Smoke choked the hallway. A wooden beam jutted through the stairwell like a splintered spear. He climbed over the rubble, coughing, eyes burning, skin stinging from the heat.
“Lark? Where the hell are you?” He turned, craned his neck, and listened.
A moan. “Over here.” Her voice barely audible over the rumbling blaze.
He panned the room until he found her half-buried in cracked tile and splintered rafters, groaning as she tried to sit up. Blood matted her hairline, and one arm was cut and bleeding.
His chest loosened for the first time since the building collapsed.
“Jesus, that hurts,” she mumbled.
“Hey, I’ve got you.” Kawan dropped to his knees and brushed debris from her torso, patting down her extremities, looking for broken bones, dislocations, wounds…
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she slurred, seemingly blinking against the sparks and black smoke bellowing through the room.
“Yeah, well, we both know I like breaking rules. You good to move?”
“I’ve been through worse.” She grimaced, bracing herself as he slipped an arm around her waist. “Fuck,” she said. “Might have cracked a rib. Ankle’s tender.”
“Lean on me, but we’ve got to go. The whole damn board’s gone hot.” He hauled her up, supporting most of her weight.
“We need to find Bretton, Bradford, Torin?—”
