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Cal’s expression doesn’t change—but something in his posture tightens.
“They’ll protect him,” he says.
Not concern.
Reality.
I hold his gaze.
“They won’t protect him from us.”
That’s the truth.
And everyone in the room knows it.
Movement continues around us—fast, efficient, lethal.
But for a second—
everything narrows.
Lark’s hand finds mine.
Warm.
Steady.
Real.
I look down at it, then back at her.
“You’re not dying tonight,” she says.
Not fear.
Not pleading.
A line drawn.
I step closer.
Close enough that the noise of the room fades.
“Neither are you.”
Her eyes search mine.
Not for doubt.
For truth.
“Promise.”
There it is.
The thing I don’t give lightly.
The thing I don’t break.
