The grip on Fowler’s shoulder was iron, digging into bruised muscle, forcing him to pivot against his will. He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowed, rifle angled upward though his other arm clutched Selene protectively.Through the veil of rain, lightning etched the intruder’s face into stark relief. Not Victor. Not Raven. A stranger.The man was tall, lean, his uniform a patchwork of mud-stained gear that didn’t belong to any regiment Fowler recognized.His eyes were pale and merciless, his mouth curved in the thin smile of someone who thrived in chaos.And in his free hand, pressed discreetly against Fowler’s ribs, was a pistol. The steel gleamed even through the storm, steady, unshaking.“Drop her,” the man repeated, his voice cutting through the storm like wire. “Or the bullet goes through you both.”Selene stirred weakly, a broken sound escaping her throat. Fowler shifted his weight, keeping her closer, shielding her as best he could, but the angle was tight, too tight.One wron

The world dissolved into thunder. Gunfire ripped through the rain, bullets shrieking past in arcs of fire. Trees splintered, mud erupted, men screamed. The storm was no longer rain and thunder, it was steel, blood, and chaos.Fowler dropped to his stomach, curling his body around Selene’s, shielding her from the onslaught. Bullets chewed the ground inches from his head, kicking mud into his face, stinging his eyes.He dragged her inch by inch across the mire, searching desperately for cover.Her breaths came shallow, hot against his chest, weaker with every second. His mind screamed at him, she’s fading, she’s fading, you’re losing her.Another hail of fire tore through the clearing. He spotted the fallen trunk of a massive oak, half-rotted but thick enough to block the worst of the barrage.With a guttural roar, he pushed to his knees, cradling Selene, and half stumbled, half fell behind it.The trunk shook as rounds hammered into it, bark exploding. He pressed Selene down against th

The pistol’s crack split the storm, echoing through the forest like a scream. For a fraction of a second, all was still. The rain hissed. The trees swayed. Mud and blood clung heavy in the air.Then the assassin jerked. The knife slipped from his grip, falling into the muck with a dull thud.His body went rigid, eyes wide in shock, before he staggered backward, clutching his side. Blood poured between his fingers, dark and hot, mixing with the rain.Selene’s arms dropped, the pistol slipping from her trembling hands. She slumped against the roots of the oak, chest heaving, eyes barely open. Her lips moved soundlessly, too weak to speak.Fowler lay sprawled in the mud, gasping, chest rising and falling as he stared at the assassin. He forced himself up, every muscle screaming, blood streaming from his wounds. His gaze cut to Selene still alive, still breathing, but fading fast.And then the assassin laughed.It was a broken sound, wet with blood, but it carried in the storm. He straigh

The clearing became a crucible of hellfire. Muzzle flashes tore through the storm, deafening cracks of gunfire shattering the night.Bullets ripped into trees, split bark, tore through flesh. Screams echoed, swallowed by thunder and rain.Fowler dropped flat, his body curling around Selene, his rifle angled just enough to fire back. Every muscle screamed in protest, wounds burning, blood loss dragging at his strength, but adrenaline lit him like a furnace.The scarred stranger barked orders, his men scattering for cover. Half of them fell within seconds, crimson visors slicing through their formation like blades. The other half regrouped, forming a perimeter around the oak where Selene lay.And Vivienne was everywhere. She moved like smoke, gliding between trees, her sidearm flashing in precise bursts.Three of the scarred man’s soldiers dropped before they even knew she was there. Rain streamed down her face, hair plastered to her skin, eyes gleaming with something sharp, hungry, ali

Mud clung to Fowler’s knees as he forced himself upright, Selene cradled against his chest. His breath came ragged, blood seeping from too many wounds to count, his vision a blur at the edges.The forest clearing glowed red from the flare still burning overhead, smoke from the explosion choking the air. Trees groaned as fire ate at them. Bodies lay scattered, broken, faceless in the mud.And through the haze, two figures came. Vivienne. The scarred man. Opposite sides, same destination: him.Selene. Fowler’s rifle felt heavy in his hands, slick with blood. He tilted it up, sighting down the barrel. Only one round left. He could feel it in the chamber like a heartbeat.Vivienne’s eyes burned through the storm, lips curved in that sharp, wolfish smile. Her pistol was steady, but her gaze was on him, not his weapon. On him, as though she could already taste his surrender.The scarred man strode from the smoke, pistol raised, his soldiers dead or scattered. His expression was carved from