The lights cut out.
Not flickered, gone. It felt like someone had torn the heart out of the city and left everything else still twitching.
Selene squatted behind the bar, low and shaking, hand pressed to the wound on her thigh,
Warm blood slipped between her fingers.
Her breath came fast, clipped and silent, like she was trying not to be found. Every inch of her body screamed, but her focus locked on the clone standing under the single emergency light left vibrating above the stage.
Seraphim.
Same face. Same build. But none of the soul.
The clone didn’t flinch as chaos bloomed behind her, men running, blood slick on the floor, Vincent shouting commands through a faulty earpiece line. The club pulsed with panic, red lights spinning from the backup generator like a carousel from hell
