The world had dissolved into an inferno of twisted metal, blinding concrete dust, and the sharp, coppery stench of fresh blood.
In the center of the ruined courtyard, the fire from the burning war truck threw long, jagged shadows across the stone. The rest of the battlefield had fallen strangely quiet; Gillian's remaining mercenaries lay dead across the debris, and Marcus and Jupiter were frantically trying to dig through the collapsed eastern foundation to reach the lower levels.
For the first time in their lives, Asher and Gillian Reed stood alone in the eye of the storm.
Asher didn't say a word. His dark eyes were fixed on his elder step-brother with a lethal, suffocating focus. He closed the distance between them with slow, heavy strides, his body relaxed into the fluid stance of an apex predator who had survived a hundred battlefields. Gillian spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete, dropping his empty rifle and unholstering a heavy military trench knife.
