This has Tatiana written all over it.
I scan the perimeter, rifle raised, body steady.
They came to my house. They touched my family.
We need to show them their God is dead.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Lily
Hallie doesn’t say a word.
She just wraps her arms around me and holds me tight, like she can physically keep me from falling apart if she squeezes hard enough.
I cling to her like I’m drowning.
My hands shake. My whole body shakes. I can still feel the recoil of the gun in my bones, still hear my mother’s scream in the back of my skull like it’s branded there.
Hallie’s voice drops to a whisper, right beside my ear.
“Lily… whose blood is that?”
My throat closes.
I try to speak, and it comes out fractured. “M-my mom.”
And then I break. Not just a little bit. Not tears sliding down my cheeks. A full body sob that nearly folds me in half, like something inside me is snapping clean through.
Because Drago is still out there. Because my dad is fighting for his life. Because I did it.
I pulled the trigger. I killed my own mother.
Hallie’s grip tightens around me, her mouth pressing into my hair.
“You did what you had to do,” she whispers. Firm. Certain, like she needs me to borrow her strength for a minute.
But my stomach twists anyway. I can’t stop thinking about her face. About how she looked at me like I was supposed to be hers.
Hallie pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me. “Let’s get you into some clean clothes,” she says gently.
I don’t have the energy to respond. I don’t have the energy to be a person. I just let her guide me through the bunker, my legs moving like they aren’t mine, my head floating somewhere above my body.
The underground space is lit with harsh white lights and lined with metal shelves and padded chairs. It’s not cosy. It’s not warm.
But it’s safe. And safe is all that matters.
Hallie sits me down on one of the chairs—more like a tactical seat than furniture—and I stare blankly at my hands, still sticky, still trembling.
Steph rushes over, clutching her little girl in her arms.
Her face is pale. Her eyes are wet. But her voice is steady when she speaks to me, like she’s holding it together out of pure will.
“Finn is with your father,” she says. “He’s in surgery. He’s in the best hands at the hospital.”
My chest aches. I nod once, like I can accept that. Like it’s enough. Like it will stop the terror crawling under my skin.
Hallie kneels, rummaging through a bag on the floor. She pulls out a black sweater and holds it out to me.
