POV RUBY
The cellar, which moments ago felt like a sanctuary of ancient secrets, suddenly transformed into a death trap. Nevan’s kiss—heavy with the fire of discovery and the burden of our shared history—was interrupted not by reason, but by a roar that shook the very stone foundations of the manor.
BOOM.
The echo of a distant explosion was followed by the rhythmic, dry staccato of automatic gunfire directly above us. Nevan pulled away instantly, his face hardening into a mask of tactical coldness. The passion in his eyes was replaced by the lethal calculation of the "Jefe."
"They're here," he hissed, sliding me off the desk in one fluid motion while drawing a 9mm pistol from the small of his back.
"Vane?" I asked, my voice trembling as I tried to pull the tattered remains of my silk
