My boots cleared the edge, and I didn’t break stride.
I leaped up and used the tops of the chairs as stepping stones.
My first landing crushed a chair’s velvet flat beneath my sole. The chair rocked dangerously under my weight, wood groaning in protest, but I pushed off before it could tip.
My boots hit one, two, three, four—each top of the chairs launched me forward.
On the fifth step, a man ducked too late. My coat skimmed the top of his head as he dropped into his wife’s lap.
On the sixth, an armrest splintered beneath my heel, snapping backward into the aisle.
The seventh chair buckled the instant I left it and collapsed into the stampede below.
The theater blurred on either side—red velvet, flashing diamonds, flailing hands, rising smoke—everything collapsing into motion while my focus narrowed to a single point ahead.
Akiro.
He slung people out of his way to escape.
“Brother, where are you going?! I want to give you that hug!” Moving too fast to fall, my body leaned forward, momentum carrying me from one impact to the next before gravity could catch up.
Akiro's men tried to intercept. One climbed over a row to block my path. I shot him in the chest without breaking stride. Fire caught his jacket, and he fell backward into the seats, thrashing and setting another in flames.
Another of Akiro’s henchmen rushed for me.
One of the twins—Aki I think—appeared beside me like a ghost. Aki’s blade flashed, and the man's hand separated from his wrist.
He screamed.
Aki kicked him in the chest, and the man went down.
Yuki appeared on my other side. A man lunged at me from below, grabbing for my ankle. Yuki drove his blade down through the man's shoulder and pinned him to the seat.
The twins stayed with me. Step for step. Like shadows I couldn't shake.
I checked around us.
The whole theater was now a battleground.
Hiro had one of Akiro's men by the throat, using him as a shield while firing over the man's shoulder.
Three.
Four.
Five shots.
Each one found a target.
I checked for Reo and found him to my right.
Blood ran down his face from a cut over his eyebrow. He wiped it with his sleeve and cut a path through the center aisle. His blade moved in tight, efficient arcs.
No wasted motion.
Every cut was a kill or a cripple.
A man swung at him with a pipe. Reo stepped inside the swing, drove his blade up through the man's jaw, and pulled it free before the body hit the ground.
