The sound of a human skull rolling across Italian marble didn’t echo the way you’d expect. It was too wet. Too heavy. Through the penthouse intercom, the sickening thud vibrated straight into the roots of Jane’s teeth.
Ryan’s chest heaved on the security feed. Sweat plastered his boyish, catalog-model hair to his forehead. He didn't look like an Alpha. He looked like a frantic child who had just found a loaded gun.
Jane stared at the screen. The silver-threaded chainmail of the Council’s executioners caught the harsh lobby lights. Her pulse should have been redlining. She should have been screaming. Instead, the icy shroud of her dissociation dropped over her shoulders like a lead blanket.
She looked down at the shattered crystal on the floor. "Marcus had a daughter," she said. Her voic
