"Thought you could just slip away, ghost?" Petru calls, voice smooth as broken glass. "You disappoint me."
Traz pushes me and the kids back, shielding us with his body.
"You’re the one who’s finished," he growls.
Petru laughs, a low ugly sound.
"We’ll see about that."
He lifts his hand.
Snaps his fingers.
Gunfire explodes all around us.
Traz shoves Aria into my arms.
"Run when I tell you," he snarls.
I nod, heart hammering my ribs into dust.
He draws his blaster.
Silpha’s already firing from the flank, picking off the first two thugs who rush the ramp.
I grab Joren’s hand and duck low behind a crate, cradling both kids against me.
Traz moves like a force of nature.
No hesitation.
No mercy.
He shoots one bastard clean through the throat, then spins and drops another with a shot to the knee and a brutal elbow to the skull.
He’s a whirlwind of blood and fury.
And every shot fired feels like it tears another hole in my chest.
Because if I lose him now, if we survive only for me to watch him die.
I’ll never recover.
Not again.
Not ever.
Petru’s men circle tighter.
More shouts.
More gunfire.
Concrete chips spray around us.
One thug tries to flank Traz.
He sees it a second too late.
