“Wait,” a voice called out.

It came from the shadows near the old crane.

The voice was low, gravelly, and entirely calm.

“I am coming out,” Vincent said.

Derek’s grip on my hair tightened even more.

I gasped, my head forced back at an awkward angle.

“Slowly!” Derek yelled.

“Hands where I can see them!”

“If I see a weapon, she’s dead!”

A figure stepped forward from behind a stack of rusted iron plates.

Vincent Moretti.

His dark coat was open, revealing his empty hands held at shoulder height.

His face was expressionless, like carved stone.

His dark eyes locked onto mine for a fraction of a second.

“Let her go, Derek,” Vincent said.

His voice did not shake.

He sounded like he was negotiating a simple business contract.

“No,” Derek spat.

“You’re going to drop your guns.”

“All of them.”

“And then you’re going to get me out of here.”

Vincent took another slow step forward.

“Stop!” Derek screamed, pressing the barrel of the gun directly under my jaw.

I felt the cold metal against my throat.

“I will kill her,” Derek said.