The heavy oak doors of the study closed behind Viktor, shutting out the horrifying sounds of Silas being dragged toward his inevitable doom. The silence that rushed back into the room was heavy, smelling strongly of burnt gunpowder and sheer panic. Dominic remained curled on the thick Persian rug, his expensive suit entirely ruined, whimpering softly as he desperately clung to his own life.
I stood behind the massive mahogany desk, my hands trembling slightly now that the immediate adrenaline of the execution was fading. My fractured ribs throbbed with a sickening, persistent rhythm, a sharp reminder that I was not a trained killer. I was just a girl wearing a blood-stained shirt, playing a terrifying game of chess with monsters.
"Get up, Dominic," I ordered, my voice lacking the thunder
