“Adrien, please,” Kiara breathes, her voice breaking.
I look at Adrien—he’s frozen, thinking. And then he suddenly turns around sharply and starts heading back toward the estate.
“Adrien, stop. Don’t go blind,” I yell at him but he doesn’t stop.
“I’ll be right back. It’s already empty,” he shouts back.
Idiot.
Fucking idiot.
I curse under my breath and shove Kiara into Dorian’s arms.
“Take her to the cars. Don’t stop.”
This is the last time I’m ever leaving her. Last time. I swear to God, last time.
Fucking Adrien.
I turn to Marko and gesture to him, “With me.”
We run toward Adrien, when the fog swallows his silhouette as he disappears into the tree line.
We catch up with him right in front of the entrance. Adrien’s jaw is set, eyes locked ahead. I check my gun, safety off, finger already resting on the trigger as I lift it in front of me, ready for whatever we left behind.
We move slowly through the main lobby, boots barely whispering against the floor as Marko leads us toward a door that we completely ignored before. He opens it and we follow, taking the stairs down.
The air changes immediately, it’s colder, denser, smelling like oil and rubber. As soon as Marko steps into the garage, the world cracks.
One single suppressed shot. The bullet punches clean through his forehead and his body snaps backward, then slams onto the concrete with a sickening thud. Blood pools instantly, dark and spreading.
“Fuck!” I hiss, diving behind the nearest column. Adrien mirrors me, sliding into cover, both our guns aimed at the dark corner the shot came from.
And then I see him.
Lucien steps into the weak light like he owns the room, leaning casually against a black SUV. One arm locked around a body, a woman's body, and when he shifts her slightly into the light, my blood turns to ice.
Natalya.
White hair cascading over her shoulder, eyes glassy, empty, fixed somewhere far beyond us. Lucien presses the barrel of a suppressed gun to her neck with a lazy familiarity, his fingers curved almost tenderly around her waist.
Adrien goes completely still beside me, like someone removed the bones from his body and left him carved from shock.
“Took you long enough,” Lucien drawls. His voice drips into the silence like poison. “Guns down, both of you. Send them my way.”
We hesitate a fraction too long, and his grip on Natalya tightens, bringing her closer, her throat arched dangerously against the barrel.
We drop the guns. Kick them forward.
“Knives too,” Lucien adds, amused. “Come on. Don’t make this boring.”
The metal skitters across the concrete.
He sighs with satisfaction.
“Perfect. Now we can talk.”
He drags the gun down from Natalya’s neck and lets go of her entirely. She stands beside him obediently, blank, her chest rising too fast like her body wants to panic but her mind can’t access the instinct.
