Chapter 9: The Crimson Tide
Gemma
The blast of the first explosion sends a concussive wave through the study, blowing the heavy oak doors off their hinges and raining diamond-sharp shards of glass onto the Persian rug. The scent of ozone and cordite instantly replaces the sea salt and jasmine.
"Get down!" Cassian’s voice is a roar. He lunges across the room, his body a heavy, protective shield as he tackles me to the floor.
The world becomes a frantic montage of strobe-light muzzle flashes and the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of suppressed submachine guns. Outside, the once-serene Mediterranean night is lit by the orange glow of a burning security hut at the funicular base.
"They’re coming up the cliffside," Cassian grunts, hauling me to my feet. He’s already checking the magazine on his H
