The sound cracks through the chamber and my ears start ringing.
The chanting stops.
The robed figures scatter, shouting, screaming.
I twist my head, searching through the chaos.
And then I see him.
Octavian.
He bursts into the room like a force of nature, his gun raised, his eyes wild with fury.
He fires.
One of the robed figures falls.
He fires again.
Another collapses.
The room erupts into chaos, bodies moving, voices shouting, blood spraying.
I look up, searching for Cormac.
He's still on the walkway above us, but now his hood is down, and his arrogant, fearless expression is gone.
His face is twisted with rage, or fear, I can't tell, and then he turns.
And runs.
Like the coward he is.
Octavian keeps coming, keeps firing, cutting through the robed figures like they're nothing.
A few get to him, but he deals with them quickly as he towers over everyone.
And all I can do is lie here, bound and bleeding, my world destroyed.
Watching him.
Wondering if he's here to save me, or if this was always part of his plan.
Because I can't tell if I'm being rescued.
Or delivered.Consciousness returns slowly, dragging me up through layers of thick fog. My head pounds, a dull throb that radiates from the base of my skull. My mouth tastes bitter and chemical.
I can't seem to get my eyes open. I instinctively try to move to rub my aching forehead, but they don't budge.
Panic flares in me. It's sharp and immediate, pulling me through the haze. I yank harder, feeling rope dig into my wrists.
I shift to try and move my legs, but they're the same—bound tight and immovable.
My eyes slowly open, the world coming into a murky view.
The warm glow of candles fills my vision, streaking out at the edges of my line of sight.
The air smells of incense as things come into focus. I'm lying on my back, staring up at a vaulted ceiling barely visible in the dim light. My dress is torn and dirty. I see dark streaks and I can't tell if it's blood. If it is, I don't think it's mine.
