My hand wraps around my rifle. My jaw locks hard enough to crack.
I breathe once.
Slow.
Purposeful.
Deadly.
Then I rise to face him.
Because he has no idea—
He already lost.
13
Ronan
Location: Level Three
Thirty Seconds Before Blast Door Seals
Roscov steps into the corridor like he owns it.
Like he isn’t a dead man walking.
He holds no weapon — which makes him more dangerous, not less. Men like him don’t need guns. They weaponize everything else: fear, pain, memories you can’t scrub out no matter how hard you try.
He tilts his head, studying me with the lazy curiosity of a scientist observing a violent creature behind glass.
“Ronan Pierce,” he says smoothly, “you’re bleeding. And you look tired. I imagine she is too.”
Lena tenses beside me. I feel it — the tremor that runs through her body, the instinct to pull deeper into the shadows. I shift my stance just enough to shield her completely.
“You have three seconds to walk away,” I tell him.
He smiles. “Or?”
“Or I put a bullet between your eyes.”
His smile widens. “You won’t risk her.”
“Try me.”
For a split second, something flickers in his eyes — recognition. The understanding that I’m not bluffing. That today might finally be the day he dies.
But then he glances toward Lena, and he recovers.
“You know,” he muses, “she never broke. We tried everything. Starvation. Sleep deprivation. Isolation. Even the serum trials. And she still—”
My rifle fires before he finishes the sentence.
The round hits the wall inches from his head. He freezes.
“You’re done talking,” I growl.
The comm crackles harshly.
