"STOP!"
Ayla's voice split the air, raw with terror.
The rebels froze—guns raised, eyes wide, breath ragged. For one terrible heartbeat, the world held its breath too.
Luca knelt, blood dripping from his lip, his chains twisted around a dead rebel's throat. His gaze met hers—dark, endless, hungry.
And Ayla stepped between him and the guns.
---
Mira's voice cut through the storm.
"Move, Ayla."
"No."
"Are you insane? After everything he's done—"
"I said no!"
---
The rebels stared at her like she'd grown horns. Like she'd betrayed them all.
Maybe she had.
But she didn't care.
Because in that moment, as the smoke curled, as the corpses cooled, all she could see was Luca.
---
Gunfire split the night—not from the rebels.
Luca's loyalists had arrived.
They poured through the ruined gates like a flood, masked and armed, shooting down rebels left and right.