Chapter Twenty-One – Cassian
A man comes at me from the blind side of the corridor—head low, arm raised, blade clenched. I don’t wait. I drive my boot into his shin and fire point-blank. The shot takes him under the jaw. Blood hits the wall. I pivot left—shoot again. Another figure stumbles backward and disappears through a cracked door.
I reload behind cover. Eject. Slide. Chamber.
Allegra crashes into me from the smoke, breath ragged. Her fingers hook into the front of my vest and pull me back, off course. I resist for half a step before I see her face.
She’s bleeding down one arm. Ash smears her cheek. She yanks again—toward a corridor breach, half-blown open.
“Cassian—listen,” she gasps. “She’s gone.”
My body stills.
“Elaria.” Her hand is still on me. “She went after Fausto. I saw her get into the car.” She shakes her head. “By the time I ran out—they were gone.” She looks at me with tears in her eyes. “Go, go get her.”
Her fingers go to her vest pocket. She pulls out the tracker and presses it into my hand.
“She still has my phone. And she’s moving.”
The screen pulses—blue, steady. A dot travels along the path.
Her voice drops lower. “Please go. Lorenzo and I will handle things here.”
I look at the screen. Then past her.
I run.
Two figures push into the hallway ahead. One has a sidearm drawn. The other’s barehanded. I shoot the first through the throat. The second dives. I step into him, drive my shoulder under his ribs, and slam him into the corner wall. He drops. I push through the fire-scorched hallway. The floor beneath me is littered with debris—splintered furniture, shell casings, torn coats. Blood pools near the base of the stairs.
A man steps out from behind the pillar—rifle raised.
I shoot twice. He hits the floor, twisting.
I keep going.
The side door to the garage is open. Smoke drifts in through the top panels. I don’t slow.
The first car’s engine rumbles. The door’s unlocked.
I slide into the seat and pull it shut behind me.
Her signal turns off the main road—east.
My foot drops on the pedal.
The car jerks forward and I take the corner wide, tires screaming.
The car fishtails as I tear out of the estate road. Gravel scatters against the undercarriage. My hands clamp the wheel tight—blood smeared from the knuckles down.
The streets blur. I pass the jackknifed truck at the corner, metal torn open. Brake lights flicker against the haze still hanging over the city.
Allegra’s tracker pulses steady in the passenger seat, the line angling hard toward the industrial road.
The fencing appears up ahead—chain-link, twisted. I shove the wheel left. The mirror clips the barrier and snaps off.
I keep going. A narrow bend. Crates smashed open along the sidewalk. Something in the wheel well grinds.
I approach the docks and I spot the first car. Parked with the door wide open, engine humming.
The second car is pulled up crooked behind it—driver’s side left wide. I stop with the wheels half on the gravel. Slam the door back and I’m moving before it swings shut.
Boots slap wood. I hit the planks hard.
I see Fausto first, knees planted wide in the water. Both arms stretch down, fists buried in the waves. Then I see her submerged. His shoulders are braced. He leans into the pressure like he’s done this before.
He is drowning her. I run over and I hit him.
The first impact knocks him sideways. He doesn’t see me coming. His hands fly off her. His balance slips.
He turns—
My fist connects with his jaw. His head snaps sideways.
He stumbles. Tries to speak. I strike again. The second punch lands under his cheekbone. His legs give. He crumples, arm catching on the railing before his body slaps the deck.
He doesn’t rise.
I drop to the edge.
She’s still under. I go in.
The cold drills straight into my chest. My arms break the surface. I reach for her—hair, shoulder, whatever I can get. My hand digs fabric. I yank.
Her body jerks up through the water. Her head breaks the surface. She coughs once, then chokes. Water pours from her mouth. Her lips part—no sound.
Her eyes open.
I lock my arms beneath her ribs and haul her upward, step by step, knees scraping the wet boards. Her body folds into me.
I press her against the dock. She’s limp, breath stuttering, water sliding down her throat in gasps.
She moves once. A twitch of her fingers near my chest.
I press my forehead to hers.
She’s alive. Her breath stammers against my chest. I hold her tighter. My knees dig into the soaked boards, arms locked around her ribs, water dripping from both of us. She wheezes once, body trembling. I press my face into the curve of her neck.
She’s shaking.
So am I.
My chest tightens. Heat rises behind my eyes. I squeeze them shut, mouth against her hair, and the sound that tears out of me isn’t controlled.
The dock vanishes for a second. There’s nothing but her in my arms and the knowledge of what nearly was.
A presence settles beside me. Giovanna.
Her voice slips into the space between heartbeats.
“I’ll take care of her,” she says. “Deal with him.”
I lift my head to see Fausto pulling himself to his feet.
Elaria breathes shallow, eyes barely open. Giovanna kneels across from me, one hand already stroking Elaria’s temple. She doesn’t meet my gaze. Her attention stays on the woman in my arms.
I lower Elaria gently. Her shoulder touches Giovanna’s thigh. I rise.
Fausto stands ten feet away.
Blood pours from his mouth. His eye is swollen shut. His teeth are red. But he’s smiling—wide, crooked, wrong.
“Stupid mute!” he shouts.
He charges.
I meet him head-on.
His fist swings wild. I duck low, drive forward. My shoulder slams into his gut. I lift—his feet leave the dock. I slam him down. Wood groans.
He grunts and claws at my jacket. His knee lifts—catches my thigh. I stumble.
He swings. I take the hit across my cheek. Pain flashes, sharp. I twist with the blow and use the momentum—my elbow crashes into the side of his neck. He drops to one knee.
I grab the collar of his coat and haul him up. My fist drives into his jaw. Bone shifts. His head jerks. I punch again. His teeth rattle against each other.
He grabs my belt, tries to pull me down. I hammer his ribs with a short hook. He gasps, spits something wet. His grip weakens.
He swings wide. I catch his wrist mid-air, twist hard. He yells. His elbow snaps back toward my stomach. I block, push, and throw him.
He stumbles, feet slipping on the soaked dock. I follow.
My boot drives into his chest.
He crashes onto his back.
I straddle him, knees pinning his arms. My fists land again—one after the other. Face. Mouth. Temple. Skin splits. Blood coats my knuckles.
He groans. One arm twitches.
I punch again.
The resistance fades.
His head rolls sideways. Mouth slack. Eyes glassed. One leg shifts once. Then still.
His chest rises once. Then nothing.
He’s done.
I sit back, breath ragged. My hands shake. Blood soaks into the cuffs of my sleeves.
The dock groans beneath my boots as I return to her. Elaria lies where I left her—soaked, trembling, skin drawn tight over bruised bone. Her shirt clings to her ribs, her lashes stuck together with salt.
I kneel, one arm sliding beneath her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. I lift her. One arm beneath her shoulders, the other under her knees. Her skin is cold.
Each step away from the edge drags pain through my knees. The boards beneath my boots flex slightly with every shift of my body. Water drips from her clothes, trailing behind us.
Giovanna walks beside me. Her hands hang at her sides, relaxed. Her eyes never leave Elaria’s face.
We pass the spot where the fight ended. Fausto’s body still lies there—limp, blood pooled beneath his cheek, chest unmoving.
My eyes don’t stay on him. I take two more steps.
A floorboard creaks sharply behind me.
Then it’s too late. A boot slams into the back of my right knee. My leg collapses. My balance tilts left—Elaria’s body slips from my arms. My shoulder twists, trying to catch her.
Fausto’s full weight slams into my back.
His forearm crashes against the side of my head. My vision explodes with white. My temple cracks the dock railing. I stumble, knees scraping splinters. My body pitches forward.
Elaria hits the planks hard. Her body rolls twice before coming to a stop against a cleat.
I spin, hands scrambling for grip.
His hand wraps around her ankle.
His other arm hooks under her back. He’s panting—blood pouring from his nose, teeth gritted. His mouth twitches with something half-mad.
He meets my eyes. Then he throws himself backward off the edge—taking her with him.
Their bodies vanish over the dock. The sound of the water taking them is sharp. I crawl forward, arms shaking.
The surface ripples once, twice—then smooths.
No hands. No hair. No breath.
Gone.
My palm slaps the edge of the dock. I drag myself forward, chest heaving. The water doesn’t move. The sky doesn’t speak.
She’s not rising. I jump in after them.