An arm locked around her waist from behind. Cloth pressed hard over her mouth.
Her cry came out muffled.
Marcus moved.
He caught a glimpse of a man’s jaw near her temple, hat brim low. A second man slammed into Marcus’s side, driving himback a step. He struck hard, felt ribs give, and shoved the man aside.
The first attacker dragged Lila toward a narrow service door, pulling her between them. Her heels scraped. The door burst inward.
“Lila.”
Her eyes found his above the cloth. Wide. Furious. Alive.
He lunged, but the second man struck again. Marcus drove him off and reached the door as it slammed. A bolt scraped. He forced it wide.
The passage beyond ran straight to a rear exit. Cold air rushed in, carrying the smell of the alley.
Marcus ran.
Boards blurred beneath his boots. Henry’s music still played behind him, bright notes cutting through the chaos in his chest.
He burst into the alley.
A carriage waited at the far end, dark, unmarked. The driver snapped the reins. Wheels bit into the ground.
Marcus saw Lila through the small rear window. Her palm struck the glass.
He sprinted. The alley narrowed. The carriage lurched forward.
His hand brushed the back rail.
A crate toppled into his path. He leaped, stumbled, and lost his stride. The carriage shot into the street and vanished.
Marcus reached the corner too late. Only dust and the echo of wheels remained.
Behind him, the Lyon’s Den erupted. Shouts. A slammed door. Somewhere above, Henry’s music faltered and ended on a thin, broken chord.
Marcus did not turn.
He stared down the street where she had vanished. Everything he had ever risked weighed against one truth.
Fenwick had taken her.
From his ground. From within reach of his hands.
Cold settled through him. Clean. Absolute.
He would find her. He would bring her back.
Whatever part of him failed in that task would not be worth saving.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The dust hadnot settled. It drifted through the lamplight like ash, catching the last churned breath of the carriage that had carried Lila away. Marcus stood at the mouth of the alley, chest heaving, hands clenched so tightly his fingers trembled.
His confession still hung in the air.The vow held. It did not need words now.
And then she was gone.
