The embers of gunfire still smoldered in the abandoned warehouse, the sharp scent of smoke and blood hanging in the air. Matilda stood in the chaos, her fingers curling into fists. Silas and Martina had slipped through her grasp, but she had rattled them. That was enough for now.
Lorenzo stepped up beside her, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek. “They won’t run forever,” he said.
Matilda exhaled slowly, eyes still locked on the empty space where Silas and Martina had vanished. “No,” she murmured. “They won’t. Because I won’t let them.”
She turned to one of her men. “Check the bodies. See if any are still breathing.”
A few soldiers moved swiftly, scanning the fallen. One groaned—a wounded enforcer clutching his bleeding side. Matilda crouched beside him, her voice cold. “Where did
