The night burned.
The east wing of Luca's fortress was a skeleton of flame, lighting the stormy sky in hellish orange. Screams echoed through the compound. Ayla ran through the smoke, heart pounding, lungs on fire. Behind her, rebels fought in the chaos—some falling, some pushing forward, their faces streaked with soot and blood.
And Luca...
Luca hunted.
She felt him like a shadow on her soul, a predator in the dark, always just behind, always too close.
---
Ayla burst through a side door into the ruined courtyard, rain hissing as it met the blaze. She stopped, gasping for breath, pistol shaking in her hand.
The rebels had made it this far. They held the gates. But the cost—
Bodies lay strewn across the stones, lifeless eyes staring at the storm. Mira's brother. The boy who'd smuggled her notes. The woman who'd nursed Ayla's wounds in the cellars.
Gone.
Ayla's fury became a living thing.
Luca. This ends.
---
But Luca was already there.
