The night refused to let us catch our breath. The engines roared again, and they were heavy, merciless like a storm tearing across the gravel. More SUVs, more masked men, and the gates that once kept the world out now funneled danger straight in.
Tristan's grip tightened around my hand. His arm was bleeding, dark streaks soaking through his sleeve, but his eyes burned steady, as sharp as steel. He scanned the estate like a soldier measuring every inch of his battlefield.
"Running won't help," he muttered, jaw flexing as he shoved me behind the low stone steps that led into the side hall. "If we move, they'll corner us. But here...," his gaze cut through the dark, "... we make them come to us."
My pulse thundered, but his conviction anchored me. The thought of hiding, of running while he fought alone, made my stomach twist. I shook my head hard, clutching to my gun like it was the only thing tethering me to courage.
"Then we fight here," I whispered. "Together."
His eyes flicked to mine for just a heartbeat, long enough for something softer to break through his hardened mask.
Then, with a crisp snap, he loaded his weapon. "Stay low. Watch my blind spots, and anyone who gets close, we make them regret it."
The first wave hit fast.
Gunfire spat sparks against the stone walls, the sound so sharp it rattled my bones, and Tristan fired back without hesitation. It was a clean, precise shot that sliced through the chaos. Two men dropped before they even cleared the fountain, another dove behind the hedges, his rifle spraying blindly.
Shards of stone burst around us, stinging my arms, but I stayed crouched, forcing myself to breathe steadily. When one attacker crept closer, crawling low through the grass, I spotted him before Tristan did.
Instinct took over. I snatched a chunk of broken stone and hurled it. It struck his temple with a crack, staggering him just long enough for Tristan to finish the job.
"Good eyes," Tristan barked, voice rough but alive.
More came, always more. Masked shadows racing across the lawn, their shouts cutting through the smoke. Tristan's bullets met them, but they kept pressing forward, relentless, and the air reeked of smoke, gunpowder mixed with blood.
One broke through and it was too close. Boots thundered up the steps, a knife flashing in his grip.
I didn't wait. I surged to my feet, swung hard, hitting him in the head, and his scream tore through the night as he stumbled back while Tristan's shot ended it before he could recover.
My hands shook, but I didn't falter. Not once.
The ground around us was littered with bodies, but the fight wasn't over. More shadows moved at the edge of the estate, circling, waiting.
I pressed my back against the wall, breath ragged, chest tight. My gaze caught on Tristan with his sweat slick on his brow, blood streaking his arm, yet his stance never wavered.
"Ellie..." His voice was low, heavy.
"Yeah?" My throat ached, but I met his eyes.
For a moment, he didn't speak. He just looked at me like the chaos didn't exist, like the only thing that mattered was this: me, him, and the impossible firestorm we were holding back together.
Then, in a voice like a vow, he whispered,
"You're stronger than I ever deserved."
Before I could answer, the second wave surged, louder, closer, and hungrier.
We braced ourselves, side by side, ready to hold the line.