BANG.
He slides sideways, dead.
I stand there with the smoking gun, my chest heaving while the room spins and tilts, plunging darker this time.
I tuck the gun back into my belt and push myself away.
Iris is staring at me, and I go to her. The wound in my shoulder throbs with a deep, sickening pulse that matches my weakening heartbeat.
Varro intercepts me halfway across the floor.
“Cassian,” he says, his voice low, his eyes flicking nervously toward the girl. “He was talking. Why did you?—”
“He was done,” I cut him off, my tone entirely flat and leaving no room for argument. “Get a clean-up crew in here, ASAP.”
He doesn’t argue, though I know what he’s thinking. We could have used Kirill to get more information about our attackers. But I know enough.
“And the girl?” he asks.
“She comes with me.”
I try to step past him, but my knee buckles. I hit the wall hard with my good shoulder to keep from collapsing, the severe blood loss finally dragging me under. Forcing myself off the concrete, I stagger toward Iris. She pushes herself up to her feet as I approach, leaning heavily against the pillar for support.
“Is it over?” she asks, her voice cracking in the quiet space.
I nod. “It’s over,” I mouth clearly.
I reach out, offering her my good hand. She hesitates. Her gaze drifts over my bloody knuckles and up to my bleeding shoulder. The fear and tension drain right out of her posture, crumbling into sheer, overwhelming exhaustion.
Varro steps close, his movements slow and telegraphed. He gently eases the pistol from her shaking fingers. She doesn’t fight him for it. She lets it go.
Finally, she takes my hand. Her fingers are freezing cold. Mine are burning hot with blood.
“Come.”
I lead her across the antechamber. Together, we stumble through the smoldering ruins of the basement junction. I pull her close to my good side, trying to shield her line of sight from the worst of the bodies, but she still sees them. There’s no hiding the harsh reality as we step carefully over the fallen chunks of concrete and the scattered brass casings until we’re at the service elevator.
I punch the security code in. The steel doors slide open, and we step inside. Before they can shut, Varro steps into the gap. Without a word, he rips the blood-spattered tactical pouch off his vest with a harsh nylon tear. He shoves it directly into the cargo pocket of my pants, securing Elias’s drive.
We exchange nods, and he steps back, letting the doors shut. I lean my head back against the metal wall and close my eyes.
The pain is blinding now, eating through my defenses. I’m running entirely on fumes.
But my mind is racing.
The Judge.
That fucking bastard.
I don’t care that he saved my life. That he pulled me out of a concrete cell and gave me a second chance. I’ve paid that debt. Now it’s time for him to pay his.
I open my eyes and look over at Iris. She’s leaning against the opposite wall of the elevator, hugging herself.
She’s alive. No thanks to him.
I rest my hand on the gun at my hip.
The war isn’t over. The Syndicate was only the hired hammer.
