The moment the lights cut out, Isla Calloway’s blood ran cold.
Lucas cursed, pulling her closer, his body instantly shifting into protector mode.
Vincent groaned in the dark. "I hate when this happens."
Isla’s pulse pounded violently. "This is him. Edward’s making his move."
Lucas’s jaw tightened. "Let him come."
Because this wasn’t just another attack.
This was the final play.
And whoever walked away tonight?
Won the war.
A crash sounded from downstairs.
Then—footsteps.
Heavy. Measured. Unhurried.
Like whoever was down there knew they had already won.
Lucas grabbed Isla’s wrist, pulling her into the shadows of the hallway, his gun steady in his free hand.
Vincent followed behind, muttering under his breath. "You two better have a plan."
Lucas’s green eyes flashed in the dar
