He’s not fast enough.
One strike. Just one.
Claws through his chest—plasma hissing as it cauterizes flesh and muscle. His eyes go wide. His mouth opens. No sound.
I hold his gaze as he drops.
No speeches. No warnings.
This is justice.
Or maybe just the only kind of peace I know how to give.
We burn the place after.
Not because we have to.
Because I want the League to see it from orbit.
I stand at the edge of the cliff as fire eats through steel and blood and memory. Kess lights a smoke and says nothing. Garkin walks up beside me and drops the comms chip into my palm.
“From their courier drone,” he says. “Just hit mid-orbit. You were right. The Nine are watching.”
I stare at it.
The chip is slick with some poor bastard’s blood.
I take it back to the ship.
Later, back in the safehouse, I watch the message alone.
No lights. No distractions. Just me and the glowing edge of consequence.
The Nine’s sigil pulses on the wall like a heartbeat—black and gold, all menace and silk.
Then a voice—feminine, smooth, laced with venom.
“You’re soft.”
Another pause.
“You’re seen.”
And then: “Fix it.”
The message ends. The sigil flares—then dissolves into smoke.
I sit there in silence, hands still wrapped around the armrests like I might rip the chair in half. The shadows press against the windows. My ears ring with the memory of every scream I caused tonight.
And all I can think about is Ben’s laugh.
Kairo’s kiss.
The way her hand curled in my shirt like she was trying to keep me from breaking.
Too late.
I stand slowly. My voice barely makes it past my throat.
