Nicholas Pov
We didn't wait for the sirens to get closer.
Nathan was already moving, calm and efficient, breaking down his sniper rifle with practiced ease as we pushed through the corridor. Metal clicked softly as he slid the pieces into the rifle case, every motion precise despite the adrenaline still humming in the air.
"Two minutes," he muttered. "Maybe less."
"Then we don't waste a second."
I kept a firm grip on Lami's arm as we moved—guiding, steadying. His legs shook, shock finally catching up to him, but he kept up, eyes darting, breathing shallow. He didn't ask questions. Smart man.
We slipped out through the back, cutting through the narrow alley and into the night. The city felt too loud now—too alive—like it was aware something violent had just passed through it.
By the time the sirens rounded the main road, we were already gone.
The house came into view minutes later—quiet, dark, unassuming. A safe shell in a city that didn't forgive mistakes.
