A flash bang grenade dropped from the rafters, landing right between Victor’s men.

The blast was deafening.

White light filled the warehouse, turning everything into sharp, violent silhouettes.

I covered my ears, pressing my face into the dirt.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the rapid, rhythmic pop of suppressed gunfire.

Lucian’s tactical team had opened fire from the walkways.

The second guard went down instantly, his rifle clattering across the floor.

But Victor was already moving.

He was a professional, trained to survive the worst situations.

He did not stay to fight the unseen shooters.

He ran toward the back exit, a heavy iron door that led to the docks.

“Secure the perimeter!” Lucian yelled to his men.

He was already running toward me, his long coat billowing behind him.

He dropped to one knee by the crates, his hands grasping my shoulders.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

His eyes searched my face with an intensity that made my breath catch.

“I am fine,” I said, my voice shaking slightly.

“My hands are free.”

He looked down at my bleeding wrists and hissed through his teeth.