Max
I stand in the shadows of the mezzanine overlooking the garage floor, watching her. Lena is a blur of grease-stained denim and focused fury. She’s currently wrestling with a stubborn tire rim, her muscles corded, her jaw set in that defiant line that makes my blood run hot.
Victor is standing by the parts rack, his arms folded. “The Vipers are regrouping. They’re calling in favors from the North. If you keep the girl in the line of fire, Max, this isn't just a skirmish anymore. It’s a war.”
“Then let it be a war,” I say, my voice a low, lethal rasp. “I didn't spend twenty years building the Iron Crown to be intimidated by a few bottom-feeders with serrated knives.”
“It’s not just the Vipers,” Victor says, his eyes moving to Lena. “It’s you. You’re distracted. You’re letting a mecha
