“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said, her tone devoid of warmth. “Now I’ll have to kill you.”
Imara tensed, her pistol trained on the Kaizen. The woman shifted, resting her hand on her own weapon.
The silence in the room quivered, thick and biting. Hawk’s blade was already in his grasp, his chest heaving with fury, but before he could speak again, his father stepped forward.
“Enough,” the governor said, his voice hoarse but sharp. His eyes moved from Hawk to the Kaizen, back and forth, as if he could stitch them together by sheer force of will. “Phoebe. Hawk. Stars above, look at you. Both armed, both ready to spill each other’s blood like strangers. This is madness.”
The Kaizen’s jaw ticked, but her hand stayed on her weapon. “He chose his side. He’s no son of mine.”
Hawk’s lips pulled into a snarl, his grip white-knuckled on the hilt of his blade.
“You know what? Fuck you,” Hawk bit out, his uncovered eye burning with sorrow and fury. He turned his rage on his dad. “And fuck you too. I never had a mother or a father. You left me here, alone, when I was two years old, like youforcedme to do to Melody.”
The governor flinched as if struck. His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for Hawk, then it dropped uselessly to his side.
“I told you,” the governor said, “this is our family’s way. I grew up in the same manner as you. Do you really think we didn’t miss you every single day? Even your mother grieved your absence.” He turned toward the Kaizen, pleading. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”
The woman’s stare was unflinching, colder than stone. “I didn’t marry you to live quietly, Philip. And I didn’t bring a son into this world to watch him kneel with rebels.”
Hawk’s voice tore from him, jagged and grief-stricken. “These ‘rebels’ are more family to me than you’ll ever be.”
Gemma’s pulse throbbed in her ears. She could feel the shift, the moment the balance tipped. The Kaizen punched a button on the wall, and Hawk lunged, his blade arcing toward the mother who’d become his enemy.
The instant his blade met her bracer, the room erupted into a maelstrom. Guards flooded from the hall, weapons raised.
Gemma took a deep breath and pulled on her powers. With them in charge, she’d barely have to think about fighting. She needed to keep an eye on her friends if they were going to all make it out alive.
Time slowed. Her senses heightened.
One of the guards lunged for her, dagger flashing. She slid sideways, slamming both blades into his gut. Sparks exploded as his armor’s shield flared cerulean, but her strike bit throughanyway. He crashed against the governor’s desk, blood streaking down the wood before she ripped her blade free.
Another came at her. She spun low, her tattoos flaring as she ducked his strike then snapped her blade up in a vicious swoop, cutting his throat open. He dropped before he even realized he was dead.
Christian fought at her side, limping hard but still feral, his knives carving brutal, efficient arcs.
Across the room, Imara and Lysa wielded their own weapons with practiced precision. Lysa took a hard blow to the chest, but she recovered quickly and spun her staff. The end connected with the guard’s face, filling him with blue shocks of electricity.
Guard after guard fell as Hawk and the Kaizen were locked in a brutal duel, blades sparking with every furious clash. Phoebe fought like a storm, relentless and perfect, her strikes forcing Hawk back, step by step. He was strong, but she was sharper, faster. Only his fury kept him standing against her.
Hawk’s blade clanged against his mother’s as the Kaizen parried with surgical precision. Every strike was answered, every furious lunge redirected. Hawk’s breathing came ragged, sweat running in rivulets down his temple. But his eyes burned with something Gemma had never seen in him before: the will to kill his own blood.
Yet the Kaizen wasn’t yielding. She moved like wind, each counter as inevitable as the turning of the planet. Hawk’s anger kept him upright, but it wasn’t enough.
Gemma’s own duel tore her attention in flashes—parrying one soldier’s blade, ducking the hammer strike of another—but her gaze snagged on Hawk’s fight as his dagger scraped along Phoebe’s breast plate.
The sight was wrong. No blue sparks.
Realization snapped through her like lightning.
Gemma twisted her wrist to slice a guard’s throat before spinning clear of his falling weight. Her tattoos ignited violet fire, and she thrust her palm toward the Kaizen.
Power ripped from her, slamming into the woman. Phoebe’s body wrenched back as if hit by a comet, her dagger skidding across the floor. She struck the wall with bone-jarring force and collapsed in a sprawl of shattered revarium steel.
With a roar that cracked, more grief than rage, Hawk drove forward, blade pointed at his mother—
He faltered as a sob broke free of him.
She leered up at him, snarling.
