“How did you—” I stopped. Shook my head. “Never mind. I do not want to know.”
“Probably for the best.”
We moved through the palace using routes I'd memorized during my first week. Servant corridors. Back stairs. Places where guards didn't patrol and cameras had convenient blind spots.
Places where princes and their bodyguards could disappear without questions.
The hidden garage was three levels below ground, accessible only through a maintenance tunnel that officially didn't exist.
Sebastian's gear was laid out on the workbench. Tactical clothing. Hood. Bow case. The obsidian-tipped arrows he'd crafted himself.
He changed quickly, efficiently, while I checked weapons. Two pistols. Spare magazines. Knife. Everything I'd need if things went sideways.
When things went sideways.
“Ready?” Sebastian asked.
I looked at him. Really looked. He wore death the way other people wore suits. Natural. Comfortable. Like he'd been born to this instead of crowns and cameras.
“You know what happens if we get caught,” I said. “If anyone finds out what we are doing?—”
“Then we don't get caught.” He slung his bow across his back. “Simple.”
“Nothing about this is simple.”
“No.” He moved closer. Put his hand on my chest. Over my heart. “But it's necessary. And I trust you to keep us both alive.”
“I will try,” I said.
“That's all I ask.”
We took the bike. Easier to maneuver. Harder to track. I drove while Sebastian held on behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, body pressed against my back.
It should've felt wrong. Should've been distracting. Instead, it felt right. Like this was where he belonged. Like we'd been doing this for years instead of weeks.
London disappeared behind us as we rode east. Streetlights gave way to darkness. Buildings to empty fields. The city's glow ended at the fog line, and beyond it lay nothing but ruin and rain and the kind of darkness that swallowed everything.
Perfect weather for hunting.
Through a broken window,I counted six figures. Maybe seven. Hard to tell with all the crates blocking sightlines. They were armed. Moving with military precision. Loading something into trucks.
Weapons, probably. Or worse.
I found a position behind a stack of crates near the entrance. Drew my weapon. Waited for Sebastian to get into place.
Thirty seconds. Sixty. Then I saw him on the catwalk above, bow drawn, arrow nocked. Moonlight caught the obsidian tip. Made it gleam like a promise. He caught my eye. Nodded once.
I stepped into the light. “Nobody move.”
The first man turned, reaching for his rifle. I put two rounds through his head before his fingers touched metal. He dropped like his strings had been cut. Blood and brain matter spraying across the crates behind him.
Sebastian's arrow took another through the throat. The man went down gurgling, hands scrabbling at the shaft, blood fountaining between his fingers. He hit the ground still trying to scream.
Gunfire erupted. Full automatic. Muzzle flashes like lightning in the dark. Bullets sparked off metal beams and concrete. I dropped behind cover as rounds chewed through the air where I'd been standing, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.
“Three on the left!” Sebastian shouted.
I pivoted. Saw them trying to flank. The first one was fast, already raising his weapon. I put him down with a headshot. The second tooktwo rounds to the chest, center mass, dropped like a stone. The third made it to cover behind a forklift.
