[Ava's POV]
The silence after the Hunter’s departure was a physical shroud, thick with pulverized glass and the lingering ozone of violence. The feral radiance in Lucien’s and Jaxon’s eyes took an age to dim, receding like a tide of molten gold and arctic fire, leaving behind only a scarred, hyper-vigilant emptiness.
Rhett moved with a field surgeon’s economy through the c*****e, his touch checking for wounds that were already sealing over with preternatural speed, but his own calm was a fragile veneer over eyes that scanned the ruined perimeter every other second. The Hunter was a ghost, but his words were a poltergeist now, rattling the very foundation of the room.
“We are static targets here,” Lucien finally ground out, his voice a ruin of gravel and suppressed fury. He looked at Av
