Movement in the darkness. A figure emerging from the house, silhouetted against the light spilling from the broken windows.
Jagger.
He's covered in blood. Head to toe, drenched in it, his clothes saturated and dripping. In one hand, he carries a severed head by the hair.
Webb's head.
His eyes are open, mouth frozen in a final scream. The cut is clean, precise. Professional.
Jagger crosses the lawn toward us. His movements are steady, controlled, but there's something wrong with his face. Something empty. Like the person inside has stepped away and left only the monster behind.
"Jagger," Jinx says carefully. "It's over. They're all dead."
No response.
"Brother. Look at me."
Jagger's gaze shifts to Jinx. There's no recognition in his eyes.
"Jonah's hurt," Jinx continues, keeping his voice calm. "He needs help. We need to get him out of here."
At my name, something flickers in Jagger's expression. The emptiness cracks, just slightly, and I see the man underneath fighting to surface.
"Jonah." His voice is hoarse. Raw.
"I'm here." I reach for him with my free hand. "I'm still here."
He drops Webb's head without looking at it. Crosses to me. Falls to his knees beside me and pulls me into his arms, blood and all.
"You took a bullet for me," he says against my hair.
"Seemed like the thing to do."
"You stupid, stupid man. Never do that again."
"No promises."
He holds me tighter, and I feel his whole body shaking. The weapon is gone. The man is back. And he's got a whole lot of adrenaline trying to leave, all at once.
"We need to move," Jace says, limping toward us. "More will come. We have maybe ten minutes before this place is swarming with reinforcements."
Jagger doesn't respond. Just holds me, his face buried in my neck.
"Jagger." Jace's voice sharpens. "Hey, we need to move. Now."
Slowly, Jagger pulls back. He looks at me, really looks, and I see what just happened settle onto his shoulders.
He helps me up. The pain is incredible, blackness crowding the edges of my vision, but I stay upright. Jinx takes my other side, supporting most of my weight.
We move toward the tree line. Behind us, the house burns. Someone must have knocked over a lantern, or maybe Jagger set it deliberately. The flames are already licking at the upper windows, painting the night orange and red.
"What about the records?" I gasp out. "The vault—"
"Gone," Jagger says flatly. "Webb knew we were coming. The vault was empty when I checked."
"Then this was all for nothing."
"Not nothing." His grip on me tightens. "I killed Alfred Webb. That's not nothing."
