The sharp tang of blood and gunpowder filled the air, clinging to the back of Lucien's throat as smoke drifted through the broken warehouse windows.
The dawn had long passed—sunlight pierced through bullet holes and dust clouds—but the sound of screams and gunfire still swallowed everything.
The plan had failed.
Someone had leaked their attack, and the Scraps were ready. Lucien didn't care who. Rage drove him forward as he fired with ruthless precision, each shot finding a skull or chest. He never missed.
Behind him, Vincent covered his flank, firing in short, panicked bursts until a hulking man charged out from behind a stack of crates.
Vincent barely had time to react before the man's fist connected with his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Lucien!" Vincent shouted through clenched teeth.
