Sophia's heart had stopped. The monitor in Dante's mind—the one trained operators developed after enough field medicine—was counting seconds. Each one precious. Each one reducing the chances of meaningful recovery.He was performing CPR with desperate precision. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. The rhythm burned into muscle memory from a hundred training sessions. But this wasn't training. This was Sophia dying beneath his hands.Cain was beside him despite the bullet wound in his shoulder. Blood soaking his shirt. Pain irrelevant when someone was dying. "Come on! BREATHE! Don't you dare quit on him!"Matthews was crawling over. Broken leg dragging behind her. Each movement agony written across her face. But she kept moving anyway. Professional determination overriding physical limitation."Move! I know emergency medicine!" Her voice carried authority despite the pain. "Let me take over!"Dante shifted. Matthews took his place. Her compressions were

Stone's fist connected with Sophia's face. The sound was brutal. Bone on bone. No genetic modifications to absorb the impact. No superhuman durability to distribute the force. Just a normal human jaw taking a hit from a man who'd spent forty years learning exactly how to hurt people.Sophia flew backward. Physics taking over where biology failed. Her body hit the ground hard. Rolled. Came to rest in the dust of the abandoned military base. No superhuman recovery. No rapid healing. Just pain. Real pain. The kind that told you bones were breaking and systems were failing and this was what dying felt like when you were just human.Stone was advancing. Each step measured. Professional. A predator that had cornered its prey and knew there was nowhere left to run. "This is for my son. For EVERY innocent your father killed with his weapons. For every child who died because Leonard Hayes decided profit mattered more than lives."Dante was struggling against the soldiers holding him. Four of

Dante's team was leaving the military base in a convoy of vehicles Stone's soldiers had provided. Not out of generosity. Out of code. Combat had been completed. Terms had been met. Honor demanded they facilitate the departure of people who'd earned passage through victory.Three hundred professional soldiers watched them go. Standing at attention. Not threatening. Not following. Just witnessing. Bearing witness to the fact that their general had lost fairly and the victors had shown mercy when killing would have been easier.Military culture. Honor culture. The codes that made men who'd spent their lives learning to kill choose to let enemies walk away.Cain was in the lead vehicle beside Dante. His face was still destroyed from Lucas's beating. Nose definitely broken. Orbital socket fractured. Multiple teeth missing. But he was conscious. Functional. Operating despite pain that should have stolen consciousness.He was watching Dante with something that might have been respect. Or rec

Victor's smile was the kind that belonged on predators. The satisfaction of a trap sprung perfectly. The pleasure of watching pieces fall exactly where decades of planning had positioned them to fall."Sophia and Emma are here. In this building. Different floor. Secured. Safe." He paused for effect. Enjoying the moment. "Well. Safe from everyone except me."Dante lunged. No thought. No strategy. Pure instinct. The distance between him and Victor was maybe ten feet. Professional training said that was closeable in under two seconds. Said a trained operator could cross that gap before security could respond.Professional training was wrong.Victor's guards appeared from concealment. Dozens of them. Emerging from positions that shouldn't exist. Behind panels. Through doorways. From blind spots architectural design had created specifically for this purpose. Each one carrying automatic weapons. Each one with clear line of fire.The penthouse became a kill box in under three seconds.Cain w

The Trinity's facility had become a battlefield. Not a skirmish. Not a raid. A full-scale military engagement happening fifty feet underground in a space that was never designed for sustained combat. Three armies attacking simultaneously. One defending. Four different forces with four different objectives creating chaos that transcended tactical planning.Victor's forces were professional mercenaries. Cutting-edge equipment. Night vision. Thermal imaging. Weapons that cost more than houses. Coordinated assault tactics refined through decades of private military operations. They moved like water. Fluid. Adapting to resistance. Overwhelming through superior technology and training.The Broker's forces were even better equipped. Somehow. Impossibly. Equipment that shouldn't exist in private hands. Body armor that stopped rounds it shouldn't stop. Weapons with targeting systems that seemed almost predictive. Coordination that was inhuman. Like they shared consciousness. Like they were sin