Chapter Eleven — Fire in the Dark
501 Words
The darkness was total, broken only by the pale flicker of emergency lights along the walls. Screams echoed off the marble, followed by the sharp crack of gunfire.
Adrian’s grip on my hand was iron. We wove through the chaos, our footsteps drowned out by the panic of the crowd. Somewhere ahead, I caught the gleam of Vincent’s eyes in the dim light — calm, unhurried, like he’d expected us.
“Two o’clock,” Adrian murmured, his voice steady despite the bullets slicing the air.
I reached for the blade strapped to my leg, the cool steel grounding me. My heartbeat slowed, my vision narrowing until there was only Adrian beside me and Vincent ahead.
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A man stepped into our path, weapon raised. Adrian moved faster — one shot, center mass, and the man went down hard.
“You with me?” he asked without looking back.
“Always,” I said, and I meant it.
We closed the gap. Vincent’s smirk widened as we approached, like this was a game and we were just catching up to the rules.
“You should’ve stayed in your little cabin in the woods, Blackwell,” he said. “Now you’ve brought her right into the fire.”
“Better she burn with me than rot with you,” Adrian replied, his voice like a knife.
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The fight exploded all at once. Vincent’s men surged from the shadows, firing. Adrian shoved me behind a column, returning fire with deadly precision. I took down the first man who rounded the corner toward me — the blade flashing once before he crumpled.
Adrian was a storm, his movements sharp and controlled, but then a shot rang out — close, too close — and he staggered. My breath caught as I saw the crimson bloom spreading across his side.
“Adrian!”
He gritted his teeth, waved me off. “Finish it.”
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Vincent was backing toward the balcony, firing as he moved. I followed, heart pounding, my blade slick in my grip.
“This won’t bring him back,” Vincent said, his voice calm even as I closed the distance. “Your father was already a dead man. Adrian just happened to be there.”
I didn’t answer. I lunged.
We crashed against the balcony railing, my blade at his throat. Below us, the city glimmered — the same city I’d seen the night I met Adrian.
“This,” I whispered, “is for him.”
And then I drove the blade home.
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Vincent’s body hit the marble with a sickening thud. The room was suddenly, eerily quiet — the gunfire gone, the screams fading.
I turned to find Adrian leaning against a column, blood on his hands, his eyes locked on me. There was pain there, yes… but also something fierce, unyielding.
“You came back,” he said.
“I told you,” I murmured, slipping under his arm to hold him up. “Always.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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