The World was upside down, smelling of leaking gasoline and burnt rubber.
Nala’s lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass. Every breath was a jagged struggle against the weight of the Bentley’s roof, which had collapsed like a tin can. Blood, warm and sticky, ran down her forehead and dripped onto the shattered remains of the dashboard.
"Dante..." she wheezed.
Beside her, Dante Moretti was a mess of grey suit fabric and raw meat. His legs were pinned under the engine block, and the silver plates on his face were sparked with short circuiting electricity. He wasn't moving. His white frequency, which usually hummed with a terrifying arrogance, was now nothing more than a faint, dying flicker.
They were broken. Not just as people, but as assets. The Board had always seen them a
