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He’s not fast enough.

One strike. Just one.

Claws through his chest—plasma hissing as it cauterizes flesh and muscle. His eyes go wide. His mouth opens. No sound.

I hold his gaze as he drops.

No speeches. No warnings.

This is justice.

Or maybe just the only kind of peace I know how to give.

We burn the place after.

Not because we have to.

Because I want the League to see it from orbit.

I stand at the edge of the cliff as fire eats through steel and blood and memory. Kess lights a smoke and says nothing. Garkin walks up beside me and drops the comms chip into my palm.

“From their courier drone,” he says. “Just hit mid-orbit. You were right. The Nine are watching.”

I stare at it.

The chip is slick with some poor bastard’s blood.

I take it back to the ship.

Later, back in the safehouse, I watch the message alone.

No lights. No distractions. Just me and the glowing edge of consequence.

The Nine’s sigil pulses on the wall like a heartbeat—black and gold, all menace and silk.

Then a voice—feminine, smooth, laced with venom.

“You’re soft.”

Another pause.

“You’re seen.”

And then: “Fix it.”

The message ends. The sigil flares—then dissolves into smoke.

I sit there in silence, hands still wrapped around the armrests like I might rip the chair in half. The shadows press against the windows. My ears ring with the memory of every scream I caused tonight.

And all I can think about is Ben’s laugh.

Kairo’s kiss.

The way her hand curled in my shirt like she was trying to keep me from breaking.

Too late.

I stand slowly. My voice barely makes it past my throat.