“Stay behind me,” Ethan ordered.
Gunfire tore through the night. Security shouted into radios. Another blast followed, closer this time. The estate was breached.
“They’re inside,” Amara said.
“I know.”
They ran through corridors toward the reinforced wing of the house. An armed man appeared ahead. Ethan shoved her aside as a shot cracked into the wall.
He seized a guard’s weapon, fired back, dropped the attacker.
They kept moving.
Outside, the compound had become a battlefield—smoke, gunpowder, flashing lights, shouting.
“Get to the car!” someone yelled.
Ethan pushed her forward.
Then another explosion detonated beside them.
The blast threw Amara to the ground.
Pain ripped through her side. Her hearing vanished into a high, terrible ringing. Smoke filled her lungs.
“Amara!”
Ethan reached her, panic finally breaking through his control. He hauled her up, shielding her as more shots rang out.
He got her into the car.
“Drive!”
As the vehicle sped away, Amara drifted in and out of consciousness. Ethan held her hand too tightly, as if letting go would mean losing her.
“Stay with me,” he said, his voice cracking for the first time.
At the hospital, time collapsed into blood, bright lights, shouted orders, and waiting.
Ethan stood outside the emergency room with her blood on his hands.
When the doctor finally emerged, Ethan moved at once.
“She’s alive,” the doctor said.
Relief hit like a blow.
