The man steps closer through the smoke, completely unconcerned about the rifles aimed at his chest.
Confident.
Too confident.
“You caused quite a bit of trouble,” he says to Hannah almost conversationally. “Again.”
Again.
My jaw tightens hard.
Hannah slowly pushes herself upright beside me, still shielding the little girl with one arm.
“You kidnapped civilians,” she says flatly. “I’d say you started it.”
Jesus Christ.
Even now she mouths off to armed warlords.
Part of me wants to yell at her.
The other part—
The larger part—
Is absurdly proud.
The man actually smiles slightly.
Like he expected that answer.
“You have spirit,” he says calmly. “It’s inconvenient.”
I rise slowly to my feet beside Hannah.
Every hostile weapon outside shifts instantly toward me.
Don’t care.
The man’s gaze finally moves from Hannah to me.
Assessing.
Measuring.
“You must be Clay Vincent.”
My pulse slows dangerously.
“How do you know my name?”
The man ignores the question completely.
Instead, his attention shifts briefly toward the bodies of dead militia near the loading dock entrance.
Then back to me.
“You’ve been very difficult to delay.”
