Matteo was gone: slipped behind a stack of shipping crates like the rat he was. The echo of my boots on concrete was drowned out by the staccato of gunfire. These men were untrained, scrambling, caught off guard, firing at every shadow on the ground. I was moving like death didn’t matter, though… because it didn’t.
I dropped two more guards.
Then three more.
Bullets screamed past me, tore through rusted metal, and sparked against walls. I never flinched, never blinked.
Twelve rounds left.
Nine.
Five.
Matteo was ahead, flanked by two men, scrambling toward a back stairwell. He was cornered now, desperate. His panic and fear was intoxicating, even at this distance. I followed with even steps, unhurried.
I slowed as he approached the corridor, my hand steady, eyes burning. This was what I was made for. This was it. This was the moment, the end of the line. The world had funneled me into this corridor, through every choice, act, and transgression, toward a single inevitability
I stepped forward to cross the street where Matteo was, and I saw her.
At first, I thought it was a memory. A flicker in the shadows or a trick my dying mind played to make the end easier. Maybe I wasn’t the angel of death here… maybe it was this woman who had me halting in my tracks.
But itwasher.
It was Eden.
Standing there, dirt-smudged, breathless, terrified, and real.
“What the hell—” I choked, breath catching in my throat. “What are you—no—”
A figure moved behind her. One of Matteo’s men, raising his weapon. Instinct kicked in before thought. I emptied the rest of the magazine into the bastard without blinking. The man jerked and fell, blood spattering the ground at Eden’s feet.
That was my mistake. I had given in to the one thing I hadn’t planned for:fear. Not for myself, but for her. I disregarded my rationale and logic. The handgun’s slide locked open: it was empty.
I ran to her and grabbed her, eyes searching hers because I didn’t believe they were real.
“What are you doing here?” I rasped. “How—how are you here?”
“I couldn’t let you die alone,” she said, voice cracking. “I don’t care what happens after. I want to be with you. Whatever time you have left, it’s mine too.”
I cupped her face like the world was crumbling… and it was.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I whispered, torn between awe and agony.
Before I could say more, the gunfire rose again.
Matteo’s voice screamed over the chaos. “Kill him! Kill them both!”
I turned, shielding her with my body as bullets ricocheted off metal and screamed overhead.
Empty gun. This was it. I felt the heaviness of the realization that I had been walking towards this my entire life. I would meet the end the way I was always meant to: protecting her.
The world narrowed into white heat and thunder: muzzle flashes and a burning ache in my chest that spread like frostbite. I was still on my feet, but barely.
Eden clung to me, small and strong and crying silently, her arms around my ribs like they could keep me standing by will alone. I wanted to tell her to run, but the words didn’t come. I wanted to be brave for her, but something inside me had already started to shut down.
A bullet clipped the wall near my head, and concrete dust rained down. The next one would hit, I knew it… and in some ways I welcomed it like a long-delayed visitor.
Because I was tired. Tired in a way I’d never let myself admit.
