Understanding passes between us.
Then they close again, and he goes completely still.
His breathing slows to almost nothing.
Even knowing he's alive, he looks dead.
I stand, blood on my hands, my dress, my soul.
Maya's white dress now has red splatter across it, a grotesque painting of innocence lost.
"He'll be dead in minutes," I announce, voice carrying through the warehouse. "The shots are through the lung. He's drowning in his own blood."
It's partially true.
He is shot through the lung.
There is blood.
But I know exactly where I placed those bullets, and I know Varrick's body, know his strength.
He has more than minutes if he gets help. He has a chance.
My father believes me because I've never lied to him about a kill before.
Because I'm covered in Varrick's blood.
Because the King is on the ground and his empire is ready to fall.
"Good," he says, satisfaction dripping from the word. "Now come. We have your sister's future to discuss. I think it's time Maya learned the family business properly. Starting with disposing of the bodies."
I look at Maya one last time.
She's staring at Varrick's body, at Will's, at the blood that's turned her white dress into a prophecy.
When her eyes meet mine, I see she understands.
Not everything, but enough.
Enough to know I've chosen her.
Enough to know it's destroyed me.
Enough to know that the sister she loved is as dead as the men on the floor.
"Yes, Father," I say, the words tasting like betrayal.
As we file out of the warehouse, leaving Varrick and Will bleeding on the floor, I don't look back.
I can't, if I do, I'll break, and breaking isn't an option.
Not with Maya's life still in the balance.
Not with the baby inside me that no one knows about.
Not with the slim hope that Varrick understood my whispered intelligence and has backup coming.
Behind us, I hear something—a slight movement, maybe Varrick shifting, maybe Will still breathing.