James
This woman has an unusual habit of fainting. The first two times were my fault, yes, but this time no. Did I see it coming from her friend and her escaping at some point? Yes. Did I see it coming that Seige only took her friend and not her? No. Did I see that there was to be an invasion from him in order to kill his own daughter? Fuck no.
That's the part that cracked something deep inside me. Not the bullets. Not the chaos. Not even the way her eyes didn't flinch when those pistols were raised at her. It was that moment; her standing there, quiet and still, like she knew. Like she'd known all along that she didn't matter to him. That motherfucker.
And then she was gone; knees buckling, body folding like a broken wing, the fire in her eyes dimming just as I grabbed her arm and dragged her back from the edge.
This wasn't a shock. It was surrender.
She didn't faint from fear. She fainted because hope finally gave out. Because the person she'd been waiting for her whole life just tried to erase her from it.
I should've left her there.
That was the clean move. The smart move. Let her deal with her own people, her own mess. She was one of their leaders, wasn't she? She was built into this warped empire with her father's name stitched into the foundation, and inherited the loyalty of killers and cowards alike.
Let her lie in the ruins of it.
But something, God, something, kept my feet moving toward the fire instead of away from it. Her weight was nothing in my arms, all soft limbs and silence, her head lolling against my shoulder like the fight had finally bled out of her. She wasn't dead. But something in her was. And I should've walked. I wanted to walk. It must be because my mom brought me up to be considerate and kind. Yes, that must be it. I cradled her closer, adjusted her body against mine, and shouted, "Muovetevi!"
My voice cut through the gunfire like a blade. "Copertura a sud-ovest! Portate la macchina adesso!"
My men scrambled into position, rifles snapping up, movement clean and fast. We moved through the smoke like wolves, weaving through bullet-riddled corridors and fallen bodies. Fleory flanked me, silent for once, her face grim and smeared with someone else's blood. She looked at the woman in my arms and then away, jaw tightening like she couldn't decide if she was angry I'd brought her or relieved I hadn't left her behind. Yeah. Join the club.
Outside, the air was thick with ash and gunpowder. The night was lit up with muzzle flashes and the dull orange glow of fire eating into the side of the mansion. It wouldn't stand much longer. A black car screeched into view, tires chewing gravel, doors already open.
"Vai vai vai!" I barked, and my men covered us, forming a moving wall as we sprinted for the vehicle.
I slid into the back seat, the girl still limp against me, and slammed the door just as bullets tore through the air where we'd stood a second earlier.
"Drive," I snapped.
The car lurched forward. And just like that, we were gone. The mansion burned behind us. Her legacy crumbled. Her men turned their guns on their own kind.
And I had her in my arms, unconscious and broken, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I didn't let her burn with it.