I press my finger to his lips. Silence him.
"Listen to me." I keep my voice steady, keep my expression blank for Webb's benefit. "Whatever happens, whatever you hear, whatever they tell you I've done, remember one thing: I will come for you. I will always come for you. Do you understand?"
He closes his eyes. His body shakes with a sob he's trying to suppress.
"I understand," he whispers against my finger. "I just wish you didn't have to."
I lean closer. Press my forehead to his. Feel his breath on my lips, his tears on my cheeks. For a moment, just a moment, the world narrows to this: his warmth, his fear, his trust.
"I'm going to burn it all down," I breathe into his ear. "Every piece of this. Every person who had a hand in taking you. And when the fire's done, I'm going to carry you out of the ashes."
I straighten before he can respond. Turn. Face Webb.
My expression is blank. My posture is compliant. Every external signal says I've accepted the terms.
But inside, something has shifted. Something has crystallized into a certainty I've never felt before.
I am going to kill Briar Harrington and Landon Thompson. One of our own and his chosen.
To save me and mine.
"Seventy-two hours," I say.
"Seventy-two hours." He smiles. "I knew you'd see reason."
I walk toward the door. Every step feels like walking through water, like my body is fighting against itself. The animal part of me wants to turn around, wants to tear out Webb's throat, wants to burn this building to the ground with everyone in it.
But the collar is still around Elliot's neck. And Webb's thumb is still on the button.
So I keep walking.
At the door, I pause.
"Webb."
"Yes?"
"When this is over, one way or another, I'm going to kill you. Not quickly. Not cleanly. I'm going to do to you everything you taught me to do to others. And when you're begging me to stop, I won't."
I don't wait for his response. I push through the door into the grey afternoon light.
Behind me, I hear Webb laugh. A soft, satisfied sound.
He thinks it's an empty threat. He thinks his collar and his button, and his seventy-two hours have made him untouchable.
He's wrong.
I start planning.
Seventy-two hours.
Two targets.
One impossiblechoice.
I don't go home.
The apartment is compromised. Webb's people were inside, which means they've planted surveillance, maybe traps, maybe both. Going back would be stupid, and whatever else I am, I'm not stupid.
