Jason is reloading. He glances up, sees me behind William, and looks back down at his weapon.
"They're pulling back," Aidan says. "The eastern side is clear. The north is still contested."
William turns to Jason. "How many more does Viktor have in reserve?"
Jason shakes his head. "This was it. He threw everything into a surprise assault. He doesn't have reinforcements coming."
"Then we push them off the property, and we don't stop until they're gone." William checks his weapon. Chambers a round. He turns to Matty. "Get her out of here. Get her to the vehicles and stay with her."
"William, I'm not..."
"Now, Matty."
He doesn't look at me when he says it. He's already turned back to Aidan, already moving. And that's worse than if he'd argued, because it means the decision is made and I'm not part of it.
They move. William and Aidan and Jason and the men behind them, pressing forward through the smoke and the firelight and the receding gunfire.
Matty takes my arm, firm but not rough, and steers me away from the line.
"You should have stayed behind the wall," he says.
"So I've been told."
He doesn't respond. He walks me around the side of the house, away from the fighting, through a passage between the kitchen wall and what's left of the outbuildings. I can't see where we're going—just Matty's back and the dim glow of fire reflecting off stone. My shoulder is a deep, constant ache. My head throbs with every heartbeat. My bare feet are cut and bleeding on whatever surface is underneath me, and I didn't notice until now, with nothing to distract me from the inventory of what hurts.
Everything hurts.
We round the back of the house, and the service road opens up ahead of us. Vehicles lined along it, engines running, men moving between them. Matty opens the door of the nearest one, and I sit down on the edge of the back seat with my feet on the gravel because I don't have the energy to pull them inside. The smoke drifts past the open door. Somewhere on the other side of the house, men are shouting to each other—more headlights on the road. More cars are arriving.
Matty looks at me once. Then he's gone, back toward the house, back to whatever needs doing.
I think about the lamb. The overcooked lamb and the burned carrots and Aidan's toast and William's hand on mine under the table.
That was an hour ago. It feels like a lifetime ago.
The gunfire dies. Isolated shots now, far off. Then nothing. Just the crackle of fire from the east wing and voices carrying across the ruined garden.
He's alive. They're all alive. Jason and Aidan and William and Matty and Raven.
I sit in the open doorway of the car, and I try to stop shaking, but I can't.
Footsteps on the gravel. William. I know his walk before I see him. He drops to one knee in front of me. Blood on his face, dirt in his hair, his shirt ripped open across the chest. His eyes find mine.
"You alright?"
"I'm alright."
He looks at my temple again. The bleeding has stopped. Then my shoulder. My feet. He reaches down and lifts one of my feet off the gravel, turning it to see the cuts on the sole. His thumb brushes the arch, and I pull it back.
"We need to get you looked at," he says.
"After. Tell me what happened."
"We pushed them off the property. Conor's men are pursuing what's left." He pauses. "Viktor wasn't with them."
The words settle cold in my stomach.
"He sent his men, but he didn't come himself?"
