The world narrows to a single point:
Luna.
A gun.
And the bastard holding it.
Snow drifts between us like slow-falling ash. The barrel of his weapon tracks along her body, steady, deliberate, hungry for fear.
I don’t move.
Not out of obedience.
But because one wrong twitch and the Syndicate will finish what they started.
Her eyes lock onto mine—wide, panicked, furious—and something inside me breaks so violently I almost hear it crack.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Adrian… don’t do anything stupid.”
Too late.
The stupidity is loving her.
The insanity is letting them see it.
The hitman clicks the safety off. “You’ve got thirty seconds to decide who bleeds first.”
The threat isn’t subtle.
Neither is the promise beneath it.
Luna flinches as the steel tip brushes her cheek, grazing sk
