“Why?” Lucian’s voice trembled with a rare, raw anger.

“Sinclair pays in gold, Lucian. You pay in loyalty. Loyalty does not buy a life outside of this swamp.”

Victor raised his gun slightly, pointing it at Alina’s head.

“The drive, Mara,” Victor said, his eyes shifting to me. “Put it on the crate in front of you. Or she dies right now.”

I felt my heart drop into my stomach.

Beside me, Bishop let out a sound so low it was more of a vibration than a growl.

I reached down, my hand brushing the thick fur of his neck.

I pressed two fingers firmly against the soft skin behind his left ear, a gesture we had practiced in the quiet hours of the restaurant’s basement.

It was the signal to stay silent, to wait, and to watch my eyes.

Bishop’s body went completely rigid under my touch.

“The drive, Mara,” Victor repeated, his finger tightening on the trigger. “I will not ask again.”

Two more men stepped out of the darkness behind Victor, their rifles raised.

One of them carried a thick coil of nylon rope.