The warehouse plunges into darkness.
For a split second, everything is still.
Then—
The unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.
Alex's pulse roars in his ears, his instincts screaming. His grip tightens around his own weapon, but he doesn't fire. Not yet.
A low chuckle echoes through the warehouse, slithering through the shadows like smoke. Victoria.
"Well, well, well," her voice purrs through the dark. "Look who finally showed up."
Alex doesn't answer. His eyes strain to adjust, searching for Emma's outline, for movement, for anything.
Then—shuffling. A soft groan.
Emma.
"Emma," he calls, low and sharp. "Are you hurt?"
A pause. Then a weak voice. "I've been better."
Relief crashes through him like a tidal wave, but he shoves it down. Now isn't the time.
Michael exhales beside him, amusement laced with something sharper. "You do love a grand entrance, don't you, brother?"