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“No!” I hear myself scream, surging forward as if I could reach through the screen and shield him. Z's arm finally wraps around my waist, anchoring me as I watch helplessly.

“That's enough!” Alex's voice, ragged but suddenly strong, cuts through the chaos. Despite his battered state, he manages to push himself upright, drawing the guards' attention away from Luca. “You want to hurt someone? Try me.”

The guard laughs, abandoning Luca to stalk toward Alex. “Always the hero, aren't you, Rafner? Let's see how heroic you feel after this.”

He raises his baton, but before it falls, Luca's voice stops him.

My brother's attention is fixed on the camera, desperation etched across his bruised features. The guard's boot connects with Luca's stomach, cutting off his words. But he doesn’t look away. His focus is steady on the camera, on me, mouthing something I can't quite catch before another blow sends him sprawling.

Alex struggles against the wall, using it to lever himself into a more upright position. His good eye finds the camera again, and through the blood and bruising, I see something burning there.

His entire body shudders under the pressure of consciousness, but his focus is resolute. I watch, transfixed and horrified, as he fights through the haze of pain to mouth words he needs me to understand. They're slow and deliberate, his determination carving clarity from the chaos.

“Remember,” he seems to say, but his struggle to form the words is palpable. The effort costs him, each letter shaped with excruciating slowness. His chest heaves, ribs visibly contracting as he forces air through his battered lungs.

The screen flickers for a moment, threatening to steal this fragile connection. I grip the tablet harder. His lips continue their agonizing movement, a rehearsal of his earlier plea to me. reminder, I cling to now more than ever. One of the guards swings wide. His fist connecting with Alex’s jaw. He falls slack against the wall.

“Your grandfather wants us to remind you of the terms. The clock is ticking.” He taps his wristwatch meaningfully. “Sixty-five hours left.” The screen goes black, leaving only my own reflection staring back at me, wild-eyed, pale with fury and fear.The tablet slips from my trembling fingers, Z catching it before it hits the floor, and places it back on my lap.

“Seven minutes,” Oz states, checking his watch. “The feed lasted exactly seven minutes.” His mind is already working, cataloging details while I sit frozen, the images of Luca and Alex's broken bodies burned into my retinas.

Talon crouches in front of me, his expression grave. “Vesper, look at me.”

I can't.

“Vesper.” His voice is firmer now, his hand gently tilting my chin upward until I have no choice but to look at him. “They're alive. Focus on that.”

I pull away from both of them, standing abruptly. The room spins for a moment, grief and rage making me lightheaded. I need to move, to act, to do something besides sit here while the men I love suffer.

“Oz, keep working on the files,” Z interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. In one fluid motion, he rises from the couch and grabs me, lifting me effortlessly against his chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand, struggling against his hold, but his arms are like steel bands around me.

“Something you need.” His jaw is set in that stubborn way I know too well as he strides toward the stairs, carrying me like I weigh nothing.

I pound against his chest. “Put me down! We don't have time for whatever this is!”

Z ignores my protests, descending the stairs to the basement level. Instead of turning toward Alex's workspace, he continues past it to the door at the end of the hallway—the gym.

The moment we cross the threshold, I'm hit with the familiar scent of leather and sweat. The space is dimly lit, the punching bags hanging in the corner, the sparring mats empty and waiting.

He finally sets me down. “Hit me,” Z says, stepping back and spreading his arms wide.

I stare at him, anger momentarily giving way to confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Hit me.”

“Why would I hit you? Are you crazy?”

“You need to get it out, Vesper. The rage, the fear—it's poisoning you from the inside out.”

“I don't have time for this,” I snap, turning toward the door, but Z moves faster, blocking my path.

“Yes, you do,” he counters. “You think clearly when you're fighting. Always have. Right now, your emotions are clouding your judgment, and we need you sharp. Alex and Luca need you. That’s the only fucking way we get through this.”

“My judgment is fine,” I hiss, trying to sidestep him.

Z shifts with me, his movements fluid. “No, it's not. You're spiraling, moya koroleva.”