Page 247 of Scarlet Wars
The mugs hit the floor at the same time.
We were already running, sprinting down the hallway so fast my heartbeat drowned out everything else.
Another scream tore through the air, broken enough to peel skin off bone.
I slammed into her door shoulder-first, bursting inside… And froze.
The love of my life was on the floor.
Curled in on herself like she was trying to keep her body from splitting apart. Sobs tore out of her in ragged, soundless heaves, her chest shaking, her breath hitching like she couldn’t get air. Her hands were clamped over her head, nails digging into her scalp hard enough to draw blood.
She looked like she was coming apart at the seams.
James skidded in behind me and stopped cold, all the color draining from his face.
“Emma.” I dropped to my knees beside her. “What the hell happened?”
Her breath came in broken bursts, fists clenched tight in my shirt like it was the only thing keeping her anchored. Her whole body shook with it—rage, grief, horror—all of it ripping through her.
“Baby,” I whispered, fucking frantic with worry as I pulled her tighter against my chest. “Talk to me.”
“Glad to have you join us, gentlemen.”
My head snapped up so fast my neck nearly cracked.
The High Chief’s reflection flickered through Emma’s Nexus, hovering right above her like some smug, omnipotent specter come to watch the destruction he’d orchestrated.
A split screen.
And in the second feed: a headless body slumped in a chair.
My heartbeat slammed against my ribs, pounding out a vicious rhythm that drowned out everything except the merciless realization clawing its way through me.
Saoirse.
All the air punched out of my lungs at once, leaving me cold—subzero cold—with a kind of frozen fury I hadn’t felt in years, something feral and long-buried ripping itself awake and stretching through my veins like wildfire.
“Remember this,” I said, each syllable sharp enough to carve steel, “when you’re begging me for death.”
“Mister Colt,” the High Chief drawled, unbothered and infuriatingly composed, “your lovely but empty threats will have to wait.”
A third screen flickered to life beside the others, the image snapping into clarity with a sickening inevitability.
Another woman.
Black hair.
Strapped to a chair.
Bruised so badly her skin looked mottled.
Blood was smeared across her collar like someone had left the crimson there to dry.
I didn’t recognize her face, but I didn’t need to.
I knew exactly who she was.
James stepped forward, shoulders squared, voice dropping into something so cold it made the air feel thinner.
