The van's tires hissed over the wet asphalt, the rhythmic slap of wipers beating against the windshield. The interior smelled of gunpowder and iron, thick and suffocating, and the dim cabin light flickered as if it too was shaken by what had just unfolded.
Lila sat rigid on the bench seat, her knuckles white as she gripped her rifle across her lap. Her eyes flicked repeatedly toward Luke. He sat opposite her, slumped but steady, checking the magazine of his pistol. The captured Valcov loyalist was wedged between two of Damien's men, hands bound behind his back, head drooping with silent defiance.
Nobody spoke for several minutes. The tension was as tight as wire, and every bump in the road rattled through them like an electric shock. Luke's sharp gaze finally lifted to sweep across the v
