Page 334 of Eight of Swords, Part Two

He knows the shape of failure.

This is it.

He’s lost them.

He let them be taken.

Footsteps pound up the stairs behind him.

The roof door crashes open.

‘Lachlan!’

Danya.

Lachlan doesn’t turn.

He closes his eyes.

Because he already knows.

He knows who the insider was, who helped the Front, who slipped him the Somnex-V, upgraded to last longer because Lachlan has a high tolerance for that kind of shit after RB.

Danya Yashin is a traitor.

His instincts were wrong.

Love has blinded him.

Darkness unlike anything he’s ever felt pours in around the edges of his consciousness, a black oil slick of hatred, of rage just begging for a spark.

Danya.

He trusted Danya. He loved Danya. He still does.

It’s that love that lights the fire.

He gets up, opens his eyes and throws down his rifle.

‘Where are they?’

‘Let me—’

Lachlan hits him.

The first punch splits Danya’s mouth. The second drops him.

Lachlan follows him down and drives his fist into his face again.

‘Where are they?’

‘I can’t—’

Lachlan smashes the back of his head against the roof.

‘You drugged me.’

‘Please.’