The submachine gun weighed exactly seven point four pounds.
Jane didn’t know how she knew that, only that her brain had compartmentalized the terror into mathematics. Seven point four pounds of cold steel and polymer. Three silver bullets currently melting through the muscle and bone of the Sovereign Alpha bleeding out at her feet. Four heavily armed Tribunal executioners standing in the elevator.
And Elena.
Her golden-blonde half-sister stepped over the twitching body of a dead guard. She was wearing Christian Louboutin heels. The iconic red sole came down squarely in a puddle of Arthur’s blood. She didn’t even look at their father, who was currently choking on his own crushed larynx against the baseboards.
"Did you really think we'd leave the extermination to our father?" Elena asked
