The scream tears out of my throat as her weight goes completely slack—as the steady, chaotic pulse of her emotions through the bond suddenly dims to almost nothing.
Blaze curses.
He grabs the heated liquid from over his flame—pours it into his mouth despite the steam still rising from it—and moves with a speed I've rarely seen from him. His hands grip Seraphine's face, tilting it toward him, and then he's kissing her.
Not romantically.
Desperately.
Transferring the heated antidote from his mouth to hers, forcing the liquid down her throat, using the most efficient delivery method available when she can't swallow on her own.
While this is happening—while Blaze is literally trying to kiss life back into our dying Omega—Ro begins to play audio.
Recorded voices.
Male.
Rough.
Clearly not expecting to be heard.
"—orders came from the top. Lawson himself. Wants his son and the entire pack eliminated before they become a problem."
"The heir too? Isn't that a bit extreme?"
"Something about insurance. The boy knows too much. Got too close to figuring out what really happened with the Eastman massacre. Can't have him connecting the dots."
"So we burn the Omega's place, grab her as bait, and when the pack comes running?—"
"Pop. One shot each. Make it look like a territory dispute. Academy violence. Happens all the time."
"And the money?"
"Triple our usual rate. Lawson doesn't fuck around when he wants someone dead. Even his own blood."
The recording ends.
Silence.
I look at Kai.
Watch his face as the information processes.
Watch the careful control he's maintained for years crack—shatter—crumble into something I've never seen from him before.
Pain.
Pure, devastating pain.
His father—the man who raised him, trained him, turned him into the weapon he is today—ordered his death.
Sent us to this academy not to eliminate the Eastman heir, but to beeliminated.
All of us.
Disposable.
Inconvenient.
