I flip him onto his stomach, pinning him with my knee as I holster my gun and draw my knife instead.
“Please,” he begs, the word meaningless against the memory of Keira bound to that chair.
I lean close to his ear. “She said that word too, didn’t she? Did you listen?”
Ace’s voice crackles in my ear, cutting through the red haze of my rage. “We need to get her home. Finish it.”
The words anchor me back to what matters. Not vengeance, but Keira—getting her back to safety, to warmth, away from this place. The slower death I’d been planning for Volkov feels like wasted time.
I holster my knife and draw my gun again, flipping Volkov onto his back. His eyes widen, fear finally registering through his professional facade.
“Wait—” he starts.
Three bullets to the forehead. Professional. Quick.
I stand over his body, watching his blood spread across the gravel, and a realization hits me with physical force. If they’d actually hurt her, I would have made this last for days. Wouldhave peeled him apart layer by layer until there was nothing left but bones.
The depth of that feeling is staggering. Not because I’m capable of such violence—I’ve always known what lives inside me—but because I’ve never felt that protective rage for anyone except Ace. Never allowed myself to care enough about anyone else that their pain would trigger this tidal wave of violence within me.
I’m still standing there, processing this revelation, when I hear footsteps behind me. Ace, with Keira cradled against his chest, her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his shoulder.
“She needs to rest,” Ace says quietly, his eyes meeting mine over her head. “At home.”
I look down at Volkov’s corpse one last time, the rage still coursing through my veins. Part of me wants to empty my magazine into his body, to desecrate what remains. The part that’s still that terrified boy from the Architect program, the part that learned pain is power.
But Keira’s soft whimper as Ace shifts her in his arms pulls me back from that edge.
“It’s done. She’s safe. Let’s go home,” Ace presses.
I holster my weapon and nod, my eyes fixed on Keira’s pale face against my brother’s chest. Her eyelids flutter, fighting the remnants of whatever they drugged her with. The bruise blooming on her cheekbone makes my fingers twitch for my knife again, but I push the impulse down.
She needs us more than Volkov deserves our attention.
“The threat’s neutralized,” I say into my comm. “Target eliminated. Extraction required at the north loading dock.”
I move to Ace’s side, my hand reaching for Keira’s face. Her skin is cool to the touch, but she leans into my palm.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if she can hear me. “I’m sorry we weren’t faster.”
The weight of those hours without her—not knowing if she was alive, imagining what they might be doing to her—crashes over me again. My hand trembles against her skin.
Ace shifts Keira, freeing one arm to place his hand flat against my back, steadying.
“I know,” he says. “I felt it too.”
Our eyes meet over Keira’s head, and I see it all reflected there—the hollow terror, the frantic desperation, the bone-deep understanding that somehow, impossibly, we’d both found something we couldn’t bear to lose. Something beyond even our bond with each other.
Extraction arrives in the form of one of Xavier’s sleek black SUVs, headlights cutting through the darkness. I take Keira from Ace’s arms, allowing him to open the door while I cradle her against my chest. The wound in my shoulder screams in protest, but her weight is nothing compared to the hours we spent not knowing if she’d ever be in our arms again.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur into her hair. “We’ve got you now.”
The driver doesn’t speak as we slide into the backseat, the three of us pressed together in the spacious rear compartment. Ace positions himself on one side of Keira while I take the other, our bodies creating a protective cocoon around her smaller form. She’s still trembling slightly, aftershocks of fear and adrenaline rippling through her body.
“Take us home,” Ace tells the driver Felix arranged, his voice leaving no room for questions.
The car pulls away from the warehouse, leaving behind Volkov’s cooling body and the chaos we’ve created. Keira stirs between us, her consciousness returning in waves as the sedatives release their hold. Her eyes flutter open, those violet-blue depths focusing first on my face, then shifting to Ace.
“You came,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “I knew you would.”
