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I’ve failed her once.
I’m not doing it again.
Not with her.
Not with our baby.
I stand, fists clenched, throat raw.
“I’m getting them back,” I say. “Even if it kills me.”
And I mean every goddamn word.
I don’t hear most of what Nina says. She’s on the phone behind me as I head for the door, her voice sharp with orders. “I’ll send backup—units on both flanks—Damien, wait, don’t be reckless?—”
I don’t stop. I don’t look back. My body is already moving.
She could send an army. I don’t care.
This—this is between me and them.
The drive out of the city is a blur. The sun’s gone, replaced by fog thick enough to choke on. I follow the coordinates like they’re a noose around my neck, and I keep gripping the wheel tighter every time my thoughts spiral.
Sasha.
Sasha pregnant.
Sasha terrified and alone and—God, what if she’s cold? What if she’s hurt?
What if I never get to tell her I’m sorry?
I drive faster.
Trees blur past. Asphalt gives way to gravel. Gravel gives way to dirt. I don’t even notice when my car starts bouncing over rocks and roots—my eyes are on the path, my mind replaying every mistake.
I shouldn’t have sent her away.
I thought I was protecting her, and now Lev has her.
He has her.
And if she’s scared right now, if she’s crying—if she even thinks I abandoned her.
No.
No.
I slam the door shut as I reach the edge of the tree line and move fast, ducking through shadows, every step heavy with rage.
There’s nothing but woods and silence.
Then—
A faint sound.
Something crunching.
I slow down, stepping lightly over a root. There—movement, just up ahead.