Sophia buried her face in his shoulder. “Don’t worry—I haven’t given up. Not—”
Suddenly, the lights went out, and the room fell into blackness. Sophia’s breath hitched, and she squeezed his arm tight enough to hurt. “What’s going on?” she hissed.
He shushed her, his heart hammering. It could’ve been coincidence, but Jac didn’t believe in coincidences.
Sedric Torren had once killed Eight Fingers to send Levi a warning.
Maybe Charles had tired of playing nice.
“Are we the only ones here?” Jac whispered. Few employees but them came to Liver Shot this early.
“I think Ken left...”
Faintly, a sound murmured in the darkness. It was eerie and high-pitched, like some sort of flute.
Sophia clutched at him tighter and cursed under her breath.
The music gradually came closer.
“A match,” Jac rasped. “Strike a match.”
He could hear footsteps approaching the den, the creaking of floorboards, the melody of the flute. Jac fumbled in his pocket for his pistol while Sophia dug out a match from his stash in the desk. He aimed his gun in the direction of the door.
The music stopped, plunging everything into silence.
Sophia struck the match.
They both screamed at the sight of the stranger standing directly in front of them, close enough to stare down the barrel of Jac’s gun. In the dim matchlight, Jac made out the freckled face of a young man, and greasy hair dyed white.
Jac fired, but the Dove had already ducked. Sophia shrieked and pressed herself against the wall while Jac lunged for the man, intending to tackle him to the floor. He grabbed him by the arm, spinning the Dove around. There was a flash of silver.
“Jac, watch out for—”
But then the match burned out, and the room slipped back into darkness. Jac grunted as he threw their assailant against the closest wall. Books tumbled off the adjacent shelf, thumping on wooden floorboards and the edge of the carpet. Jac stumbled on one as he pinned the man down. He was bluntly built but skinny, his elbow jamming painfully into Jac’s stomach as he struggled to break free.
Jac let out a groan, but quickly collected himself. The man landed a hard punch at Jac’s face, and Jac took it, using the opportunity to bury his pistol in the Dove’s gut.
“Don’t move,” Jac panted.
Sophia struck a second match and edged closer. She held it up to the young man’s face, and his pale green eyes narrowed at her inspection.
“Kill me,” he spat.
“Who sent you?” Sophia demanded.
He said nothing. There was something feral about his face and the way he pressed himself harder against Jac’s gun. Jac squeezed tighter on his shoulder, keeping him pinned to the wall. He didn’t want to kill if he could help it.
“Did Charles Torren send you to kill us?” Jac asked.
“I doubt it,” Sophia answered. “Charles killed Delia himself.”
But Jac wasn’t so sure.
He’d overpowered this Dove now, but how many more Doves would it take? One for every day that passed after the deadline? Two? Three? Jac didn’t think Charles could afford that, but he couldn’t be certain.
Jac twisted the gun into his stomach. “Well, you can tell Charles—”
“I’m not a messenger.” The Dove squirmed so that the gun moved closer to his heart. “Do it.”
