50. Dante
Dante
The shot rings out.
Time fractures.
And Damien crumples.
Chest first. Right over the stone path like a toppled statue, blood pumping from the hole where his heart used to lie—if the bastard ever had one.
I lower the gun.
The silence that follows is thick. It clings to my skin. Smells like cordite and vengeance.
He doesn’t speak.
Not this time.
He can’t.
I killed him.
I walk toward him slowly, the barrel still warm in my hand. Each step feels like justice dragging its feet across a war zone. His fingers twitch against the earth—just once—like even Death isn’t sure it wants him.
I stand over the body.
Damien fucking Crowe.
Th e monster who called young girls lambs and cages homes.
The brother who burned everything he touched and then laughed while we screamed.
I spit on him.
Right between the eyes.
“You never fucking mattered,” I say, my voice sharp and low. “Not to Lucien. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
He gurgles—tries to say something—but all I hear is blood.
So I raise my boot and bring it down.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Stomping his pathetic fucking face in until what’s left isn’t a man.
Just a stain. A stain of fucking sin. Forever fucking silenced. Buried in fucking blood.
My breath comes hard. My fists still clench. But I don’t stop moving.
Because she’s still on the ground.
Harmony.
I drop beside her just as Reese presses both hands over her side. Blood leaks through his fingers too fast.
“Stay with me,” he whispers, over and over. “Stay with me, baby. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
But she’s not.
Her eyes flutter.
Her lips are pale.
And all I can hear is the sound of Reese breaking apart.
He looks at me, wild and desperate. “We have to go. Now.”
I nod.
No words.
I help him lift her, careful not to jostle the wound. She whimpers in his arms, barely conscious, her hand grasping for something she can’ t find.
“It’s okay,” he says, kissing her forehead. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
We rush toward the car.
Astra screams for us. Evelyn sobs into Lucien’s shoulder. But the world has narrowed into a single pulse, a single mission.
Save her.
Make this mean something.
Reese climbs into the backseat, holding her tight, his voice a broken prayer against her blood-slicked skin.
I slam the door and peel onto the road.
Damien is dead.
But the cost is still bleeding.
And the girl who survived him may not survive the rest.