The scene inside stops me cold.
Nysa is on the ground, blood streaking her face, her chest heaving as she grips a rusted nail in her hand. A man looms over her, his fist raised, his face twisted with rage.
I don’t hesitate.
I raise my gun and pull the trigger.
The shot echoes in the small room, and the man collapses, lifeless.
For a second, everything goes quiet.
Then her eyes meet mine, and the rage that’s been burning through me softens, just for a moment.
“Nys,” I breathe.
She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. She just looks at me, her lips trembling, her body shaking with exhaustion.
“You came,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
I’m across the room in seconds, catching her before she collapses. My arms wrap around her, holding her close, her head tucked against my chest.
“Of course I came,” I murmur, my voice rough with emotion. I press my forehead to hers, brushing a kiss against her temple. “I’d tear the whole fucking world apart to find you.”
“More coming from the north side,” Fish shouts from the hallway. “We’ve got to move.”
I pull her to her feet, keeping her close, my arm wrapped around her waist as we push out of the room.
“We’re getting you out of here,” I tell her, my voice firm.
She nods weakly, her fingers clutching my shirt like a lifeline. But I see it—the pain, the bruises spreading across her skin, the exhaustion in her eyes.
She’s been through hell.
And I wasn’t there to stop it.
We move fast, cutting through the trees as gunfire erupts behind us. Sanford covers the rear, picking off stragglers as Atlas and Mal handle the last of the guards.
Then, just as the truck comes into view, a single shot rings out.
Nysa screams.
I whip around, instinct taking over as I pull her against me. Another shot. Atlas fires back, dropping the shooter before he gets another chance.
My eyes scan her frantically, my pulse roaring in my ears. Blood on her shoulder. A graze—not fatal.
But it’s enough to snap whatever was left of my control.
I lift her into the passenger seat, securing her in place. “I’ve got you,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.
She looks at me, her breathing uneven but her trust clear. And I know one thing for certain. This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Nysa
I wake up to the rhythmic beeping of a monitor and the sterile smell of antiseptic mixed with hospital linens. For a moment, I don’t know where I am. If this is real. If I’m trapped in one of those endless nightmares where you wake up only to find yourself in another dream.
But then it all comes rushing back, slamming into me like a wave I can’t outrun. The cold seeping into my bones. The suffocating dark. The sting of the blade as it sliced my skin. The coppery tang of blood in my mouth. The hands—brutal and unrelenting—grabbing me, shoving me, breaking me.
