Wounded. Good. Wounded men make mistakes. They get desperate. They get loud.
The silence that follows is more agonizing than the gunfire. My heart is a drum in my chest. My lungs burn from the plaster dust.
"Echo on site,"Mitzy says, her voice breaking with relief."Frost north. Flint south. Bird is hovering."
"Copy."
Two sharp, heavy cracks ring out. Different caliber. .308. Suppressed.
The return fire from the SUV stops instantly.
Silence falls over the neighborhood, heavy and suffocating.
"Target neutralized,"Frost’s voice comes through, cold and level."We’re clear, Riot. Room is yours."
I exhale, and the air finally reaches the bottom of my lungs. My knees feel weak, the adrenaline crash starting its slow slide.
"Coming in hot."Flint appears in the shattered doorway. Full tactical kit. Night vision. Suppression gear. He looks like a ghost from my past life. He surveys the carnage with professional detachment."Hell of a mess, Riot."
"They started it," I say, my voice sounding like I’ve been swallowing glass.
"Mm." His eyes flick to the ceiling. "Civilians?"
"Upstairs. Back bedroom. Three of them."
"Get them. Extraction in ninety seconds. We don't wait for the local sirens."Frost lays it out.
I'm already moving. The stairs creak under my boots. I look down at my hands—they’re coated in a mix of blood and drywall dust. I look like a nightmare. I stop outside the bedroom door and force my voice to soften.
"Evie? It's me. We're clear. Open up."
The sound of furniture scraping against the floor. The door opens, and Evie is there. She’s pale, shaking, but her eyes are fierce. Rosie is clutched against her chest, her face buried in Evie's neck.
She sees me. Sees the blood. Her face crumbles.
"You're hurt?—"
"Not mine. Most of it." I reach for her, and she comes to me, and for one second I just hold on. I feel her heart beating against mine. I feel her alive. "I told you. I've got too much to live for."
"We need to move," Frost calls from the stairs. "Now."
I pull back, keeping one hand on her shoulder. I get them moving—down the stairs, past the bodies I’ve covered with rugs so Rosie doesn't see, out the front door where Flint is already idling the vehicle.
The next three minutes are a frantic blur. SUV to the airfield. Airfield to the helicopter. Angel is at the controls, the rotors already screaming. We lift off smooth as silk, and the sprawl of Sacramento falls away beneath us, a grid of lights that hides a thousand monsters.
I slump into the seat beside Evie. The adrenaline is gone now, leaving behind a cold, heavy exhaustion. My arm is throbbing.
"Jon."
Evie's voice pulls me back. She's looking at me with an expression that is a devastating mix of relief, fear, and something so tender it hurts.
"Yeah?"
"You killed a lot of people tonight."
The words land differently than I expected. Not an accusation. Just a fact she’s trying to reconcile with the man who kissed her in the crevice.
"Yeah," I say. I don't lie to her. "I did."
