Darlene's lips curl. "Brave, aren't we?"
"Don't!" Winston's voice cuts sharply. "Take me instead."
"Uncle, no!" Jace shouts, voice breaking.
Winston doesn't falter. "He's young. Inexperienced. I'm the better trade. Take me."
"Winston—"
"Uncle—"
"As you wish," Darlene says.
Her voice is low, almost gentle. She drops the crossbow with a clatter, but her hand flashes to the gun at her hip lightning fast.
The shot cracks.
Time stops.
My heart seizes, my scream tangled in my throat as the bullet finds its mark. Straight to the chest.
Winston staggers, eyes flaring coyote yellow, a broken howl ripping from him, wild and agonized, and then his body collapses.
Still.
Lifeless.
"NO!" Jace's roar splits the room. He lunges at her, but gunfire erupts behind him. Mercenaries unload, bullets tearing into him in a storm of impact. His body jerks with every hit, falling hard, growling through the pain. Not dead, thank gods not dead, but broken down under a dozen rounds.
"Enough." Darlene's command slices the air. She motions to retreat, her mercs snapping to obey. Before she turns, her gaze finds me. One last, unreadable look, cold and sharp as glass.
The mercenaries shove me forward before leaving, my arms aching from their grip. I stumble, catching myself on the floorboards.
And then they're gone.
When I lift my head, the bar is quiet.
Astrid unconscious. Jace bleeding. Asher still down.
And Winston… Winston is dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Darius
The storm rages against the windows, but it is nothing compared to the violence I hold inside.
Darlene went rogue. My second. My most trusted blade.
And I didn't see it coming. Not from her. That miscalculation is mine to correct.
When she enters the office, I don't turn.
"You wanted to see me, Darius," she says, voice taut.
She knows. We both know.
The silence grows, stretching until it weighs on her shoulders.
