I did not run.

I stood beside Vesper, my hand on her neck, feeling the tension in her powerful muscles.

“Strike,” I whispered, giving her the command I had trained her to know.

Vesper didn’t hesitate.

She lashed out with her forelegs, her heavy front hooves striking Julian squarely in the chest.

The force of the blow sent him flying backward into the dirt.

His gun flew from his hand, landing yards away in the loose soil.

Julian lay on his back, gasping for air, his ribs clearly broken.

I walked over to him, my boots sinking into the dirt.

I picked up his pistol and tossed it into the dark corner of the arena.

Julian looked up at me, his eyes wide with a terror he had once inflicted on others.

“Mara, please,” he wheezed, clutching his chest.

“Do not ever look for me again,” I said.

Dante walked up beside me, his gun still raised.

He looked down at Julian, then up at his men, who had already disarmed the rest of Kroll’s shooters.