Page 86 of The Arbiter
"Look at ‘The Arbiter’, reduced to a lying beggar."
Deimos flinches at the sight of the gun against my skin. The fight drains out of him instantly, replaced by a paralyzing, suffocating horror. He stops struggling against the guards, his body going limp as he stares at the masked man holding his only weakness.
"Let her go, Charles," Deimos whispers, his voice trembling with a vulnerability I’ve never heard.
"Take the ledger. Take the city. Just... let her walk out of here."
"The city isn't enough anymore, Son," the masked man says, his finger tightening on the trigger. I can feel the mechanical click of the safety being disengaged against my skull.
"The Elite require a guarantee. You have become too efficient, too curious. If you ever breathe a word of what is in these files, if you ever lift a finger against a single member of the High Council again, I will paint this vault with her brilliance."
I look down at Deimos, my eyes swimming with tears I refuse to let fall. He looks broken. The man who feared nothing is now terrified of a single heart stopping.
"Don't listen to him, Deimos," I gasp, the cold metal of the barrel biting into my skin.
"Don't give them what they want."
"Silence, Doctor," the mask whispers into my ear.
He looks back at him, the porcelain face mocking his son’s despair.
"Choose, Deimos. Your crusade for the truth, or the girl’s life. You have five seconds before I close the case on Dr. Emerson forever."
The pressure of the cold steel against my temple is a constant, icy reminder of how little my life weighs in this room of power and secrets. I look down at the man I suddenly want to protect.
He is still pinned to the marble, his face a mask of raw, unfiltered agony. ‘The Arbiter’ has vanished; in his place is a man watching his entire world narrow down to the tip of a firing pin.
"Five," the masked voice whispers behind me.
Deimos's fingers claw at the floor, his knuckles white, his breath coming in shallow, broken hitches.
"Stop. Please. I’ll do it. I’ll burn the ledger. I’ll be whatever you want."
"Four."
I feel the hand in my hair tighten, pulling my head back further. There is nothing he can say. His father didn't actually give him a choice of saving me. He's just enjoying the absolute terror in his son's eyes.
My eyes lock onto them. I see the surrender in them, the willingness to become everything they want just to keep me breathing. He is ready to throw away his soul to save mine.
I won't let him. He protected me once. I’m returning the favor. I’m still not ready to admit there’s more to it.
"Three."
I don't wait for two.
With a sudden, violent surge of adrenaline, I don't pull away from the gun. Instead, I throw myself toward it. I twist my body, lunging sideways with a strength I didn't know I possessed.
The goal isn't to escape; it's to disrupt the line of sight, to create the one-second window of chaos Deimos needs to turn from a captive back into a feral predator.
"No!"
Deimos screams, the sound tearing through the vault like a physical blade.
The movement catches Charles off guard. The porcelain mask tilts as I wrench my head to the side, my shoulder slamming into his chest. The suppressed pistol huffs. A dull, metallic phut, and I feel a searing, white-hot line of fire graze my upper arm. The pain is instant, blinding, but it’s the catalyst.
The moment the guards' focus flickers toward me, Deimos explodes. The paralysis of fear is gone, replaced by a cold, murderous vacuum. He snaps his head back, shattering the nose of the man behind him, and wrenches his arm free with a sickening pop of a shoulder joint.
He doesn't reach for a gun. He reaches for the nearest guard's throat, his fingers turning into iron talons.
