The Intention Was to Kill with a Borrowed Knife

Tristan's warm, dry hand covered Cynthia's eyes, blocking her view. With his other hand, he wrapped around her waist and pulled her into his arms. "Death, seeing too much of it brings bad luck," he murmured, turning away.

As they turned to leave, Bryce and his team broke through the door. In one swift motion, they eliminated the remaining attackers. The ten or so people still standing collapsed, dead on the spot.

Bryce's gaze swept over the fallen bodies with an indifferent glance, his eyes as cold as ice, as if he were looking at ants beneath his feet. If it had been a simple diversion, he could have played along, but anyone who dared to harm Cynthia had crossed the line.

"Clear the scene," Tristan's voice was cold, like a thin layer of ice.

Bryce responded with a sharp, "Yes, sir."