I force it down.
The pain of losing my mother will never go away. Never completely.
But Izzy is still here. My son is still here.
And I’d die before I let my anger be the reason I lose them both.
Pavlov must see the shift in me. So does Izzy. She stands a little straighter, mouth half-open, as if wondering what I’ll do next.
“You’re wrong,” I say. “Our queens aren’t weaknesses. They’re the only thing worth protecting.” My gaze shifts to Izzy and softens. For a long second, nothing exists but us. “They’re what makes us strong.”
I see it then—a decision forming in her eyes.
“How sweet,” Vladimir Pavlov mocks us. “Too bad you won’t be able to protect your queen. Again.”
Izzy’s shoulders tense under Pavlov’s arm. It’s subtle. A breath; a shift of her jaw.
She turns her head just enough and then bites down hard on Pavlov’s hand.
He howls and jerks back instinctively.
Izzy drops.
I fire.
The bullet whips past his shoulder and slams into the metal wall behind him.
He retreats instantly, grabbing Noah and dragging him toward the back of the room. One of his guards jumps in front of him.
I pull Izzy behind me and fire again.
The guard drops.
Now it’s just Pavlov.
And Noah.
“Noah!” I shout.
He hears me. He starts running immediately, towards me, towards his mother?—
The knife appears in Pavlov’s hand so fast I almost miss the motion.
The blade presses against Noah’s throat.
Everything stops.
For one second the world narrows to that thin line of steel against my son’s skin.
Despair opens under my feet.
Then I see it.
Izzy. Behind me. Her hands low at her side, holding…
A gun?
Yes. It could be nothing else. She must have taken it from one of the men when everything exploded.
