The rooftop of the Spire became a battlefield in the space between heartbeats.
Sloane's second shot ricocheted off the steel antenna array, sparks showering into the wind. Veyra moved like water—fluid, silent, impossible to track—her blade flashing in the starlight as she closed the distance between herself and the woman who had come to claim her. The two figures collided in a blur of motion, their struggle carrying them across the gravel-strewn roof toward the edge.
Caleb was already moving, the fragment of the master key shoved into his coat, his own knife drawn. Behind him, Vance and Deji fanned out, weapons raised, trying to find a clear shot in the chaos. Nyla was at the stairwell door, her canisters of sedative in hand, her face pale but determined. Troy had pulled Corvin and Wren
