In his hand, a pistol hangs loosely, like it belongs to someone else.
“Well,” he says, voice cracking with what might be exhaustion or hysteria. “The heirs arrive.”
Harper tenses beside me. Without even thinking about it, my feet place me a bit before her, shielding her frame.
I know Anton. He always fires at the heart first.
“You’re wired into the server,” I say quietly. Not accusing. Confirming. “You rigged it.”
Anton smiles, the expression too wide, splitting his face into something hungry.
“Of course I did. Truth dies in fire, Damian. You of all people should know that.”
He says my name with the weight of history, like he thinks it can bruise me.
“You’re burning the wrong lies,” I answer. “And you’re willing to take everyone else with you.”
He lifts the gun, aiming it at Harper.
She freezes.
“You—” Anton’s voice fractures. “You were supposed to be the sacrifice. The lesson. The price for their greed.”
Harper inhales sharply, but she doesn’t step back. She stands there, gaze steady, chin high. Brave in that quiet, devastating way she has, like a wound learning how to scar.
Anton’s hand trembles.
“You were supposed to die,” he whispers. “And instead you lived.”
In the split second he takes to tighten his aim, I tackle him.
We collide hard. My shoulder slams into his ribs, his gun discharging into the ceiling with a deafening crack. He snarls, twisting with surprising strength. The impact rattles the server glass, dust raining from above.
His elbow cracks against my jaw as we grapple—brutal, close-quarters, teeth-gritted survival. My fist connects with his side. His breath stinks of metal and adrenaline.
Harper shouts my name, but I can’t look away, not when Anton’s hand shoots for the control panel on the wall.
Not when I realize what button he’s reaching for.
“Harper—!” I shout.
But he’s faster.
Anton slams his palm onto the fail-safe.
A mechanical, furious high-pitched whine shrieks through the chamber. The servers flare hot white, every light strip exploding into sparks.
And Harper—
Harper flits through the air like lightning itself.
She dives beneath the glass housing, sliding into the maintenance crawlspace, fingers flying to yank the primary power feed. Sparks bite her hands, but she doesn’t stop. Her jaw stays clenched, eyes burning with some fierce, reckless certainty.
The chamber convulses in a thunderous shudder.
And then—
The whine cuts out mid-scream. The lights gutter, flicker, stabilize at half power.
