The wail of sirens grew louder, piercing through the oppressive silence that followed Viktor’s death. Michael’s leg throbbed with pain, the knife wound bleeding profusely. Every breath felt like a weight pressing down on his chest, and his mind raced, struggling to keep up with the chaos.
Natalia stood in the doorway, gun still in hand, her expression hard but conflicted. Aria was beside him, her eyes wide, flicking between Michael and the encroaching sound of law enforcement.
“We need to move!” Aria urged, her voice sharp with panic. “Now!”
Michael’s legs felt weak, the adrenaline beginning to wear off as the pain of the knife wound intensified. He looked at Natalia, who still hadn’t moved from her position at the door, her face a mask of uncertainty.
“Natalia, we have to go,” Michael
