“Of course.” She swayed. Caught herself against the wall. “Of course it's the gentle one. The healer. Not the killers.”
She took a step toward him. Stumbled.
Viktor was there. Caught her before she fell. Lowered her to the ground almost gently.
“It's not lethal,” he said. Voice rough. “Vest caught most of it. Broken ribs. You'll survive.”
“Lucky me.” She coughed. Blood on her teeth. “Gets to see the cell from the inside.”
Marcel was moving. Gun raised. Targeting Noah.
Dom's shot caught him in the knee. He went down screaming.
More Sentinels poured in. Secured Marcel. Zip-tied Élodie despiteher protests. Her broken wrist made her scream when they cinched the ties.
They dragged them both toward the exit. Marcel still cursing. Élodie just silent now. Staring at me.
I watched her go. This woman I'd loved like a sister. Who'd shaped every year of my life since I was thirteen. Who'd held me through nightmares and covered my lies and betrayed everything for power.
She looked back once. Eyes meeting mine.
“I really did love you,” she said. “I hope you know that.”
“I know.” My voice came out broken. “That's what makes it unforgivable.”
They took her away. Took Marcel. Took the ruins of eighteen years and dragged them into daylight.
My legs gave out.
Viktor caught me. We went down together. Hit the floor in a tangle of limbs and blood and relief so profound it hurt worse than the wounds.
“You came,” I gasped. “You actually came.”
“Always.” His arms wrapped around me. Tight. Desperate. “Always. I will always come for you.”
“She betrayed us.” The words came out broken. “She was with him. She wanted power. She's been lying this whole time.”
“I know.” He held me tighter. “I know. I'm so sorry.”
“Everyone I trusted?—”
“Not everyone.” He pulled back just enough to look at me. Blood on his face. In his hair. Everywhere. “Not me. Not Dom. Not your father. Not Apollo.” A ghost of a smile. “We're still here. We're still yours.”
I pressed my face against his shoulder. Breathed him in. Smoke and copper and Viktor. Alive. Real. Mine.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too.”
We stayed like that. On the floor. In the blood and smoke and ruins of everything Élodie and Marcel had tried to build.
Just holding each other.
Just breathing.
Just alive.
Noah appeared. Medical bag already open. “Both of you are disasters.”
