The photo sat between them like a loaded gun.
Elira stared at it. Not blinking. Not breathing.
Damien’s voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous. “They watched you through a scope.”
“They threatened Amira,” she said flatly.
“Not threatened,” Soren corrected. “Promised.”
They were in the safe house’s basement now. The walls thick, the air tighter than it had ever felt.
“She’s not leaving my sight again,” Elira said. “Not even for a second.”
“Agreed,” Damien said.
But Soren didn’t.
He paced. Frustrated. Burning.
“They know where we are,” he muttered. “If they delivered this—”
“We move again,” Damien interrupted.
“No,” Soren snapped. “We strike. We stop hiding like cowards while your ghosts come for her.”
Damien turned, cold fury flashing in his eyes. “You think this is about pride?”
