I looked up. Viktor had his opponent on the ground. One knee on the man's chest. Gun to his head.
“Where is Marcel?” Viktor demanded.
The mercenary spat blood. Laughed. “Fuck you.”
Viktor shot him in the shoulder. Not a killing shot. Just pain. “Where?”
“You're too late,” the mercenary wheezed. “He's already?—”
Viktor shot him again. Other shoulder. “Last chance.”
“Study,” the man gasped. “Top floor. But you won't?—”
Viktor knocked him unconscious with the pistol grip. Stood. Looked at me.
We were both bleeding. Both exhausted. I could see the toll this was taking. The way his hands shook slightly. The way his breathing was too fast.
We were running on adrenaline and rage and the desperate need to finish this.
“Can you keep going?” he asked.
“Can you?”
His smile was all teeth. “Da. Let's end this.”
We moved. Dom and Troy covering our backs. Dmitri somewhere behind, securing the server room with Luka.
More corridors. More bodies. The manor seemed endless. Like it was actively trying to stop us.
My lungs burned. Ribs screamed with every breath. The cut on my face dripped blood into my eye. Everything hurt.
But I kept moving.
Because eighteen years of hunting came down to this. To these corridors. To that door ahead.
To finally facing the monster who'd taken everything.
We reached the double doors. Dark wood carved with Marcel's crest. Gold handles. Pretentious as hell.
Viktor looked at me. Blood on his face. Eyes blazing with determination and exhaustion and something that might've been fear.
“Ready?” he asked.
I checked my arrows. Six left. Plus the pistol. Plus my knives.
Thought about my mother. About the rose I'd left on her grave. About the promise I'd made.
“Ready,” I said.
Viktor kicked the door open.
The study was empty.
Fireplace still burning. Desk untouched. Papers scattered like someone had left in a hurry.
But no Marcel.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
