Krystal’s Point Of View
I should’ve been relieved when he walked through that door. Bloody, bruised, limping—but alive. Colt. He stood there like a ghost torn from the battlefield, drenched in rain and smoke and silence. And for a second, just a second, the air shifted like everything was about to fall into place again.
But then I looked into his eyes.
And I saw it.
Something broken. Something buried.
“What happened?” I asked, voice too low, too careful. My fingers hovered near his arm, but I didn’t touch him.
He flinched anyway.
“Berlin was a trap,” he muttered. “Bishop knew I was coming. Donovan and Roderick—dead before I even arrived.”
I stepped back. “You went alone?”
“I had to.”
“No, you didn’t. You wanted to.”
The storm that had raged outside now lived inside me. “You shu
