Dominic Mylod ended the call, the cold metallic click of the device echoing the frigid resolve in his heart. He scanned the perimeter of the Flynn estate and noticed a slight figure huddled in the shadows of a weathered stone wall. It was Sienna. She wasn't running; she had simply collapsed under the weight of her own grief, her shoulders heaving as silent sobs wracked her body.
He approached her with the silent tread of a predator turned protector. When he reached her, he didn't speak immediately. He simply draped his jacket over her trembling frame and rested a steady hand on her shoulder.
"Sienna," he said, his voice dropping to a frequency that seemed to vibrate with ancient authority. "Dry your tears. As long as I, Dominic Mylod, draw breath, no one in this city—not the Flynns, not
