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It decorated the bed and curtains, the carpeting, the hint of color on the accented walls. I should’ve been relieved that Addie hadn’t been placed in a prison cell to die, but all I felt was a chilling numbness. Falling through a slate of ice into the cold water below. Drowning, the air rapidly leaving your lungs while your mouth opened in a silent scream, desperate for air.

Only minutes earlier, a red light began to flash intermittently. The first Rager we saw had been already dead, shot in the head. The second and third had been engaged in a fierce battle with a soldier.

I had no doubt in my mind who was behind this little assault.

Ryder and Tamson had been up to no good.

I knew the others were talking behind me, but I ignored them, trailing my fingers over the still warm bed. The blankets were twisted near the foot, almost as if someone had kicked them off in a hurry. I narrowed my eyes at the damning stain in the center of the bed, darkening the sheets.

A fucking stain.

My stomach clenched and tightened, dozens of possibilities running rampant in my mind. What had happened to Addie on this bed?

Nausea had me gripping my stomach and my eyes feathering closed. I didn’t want to think about it, let alone imagine it. All I could picture was her body, flesh blue in death, lying helplessly on the bed as men ravaged her. Used her. Discarded her.

I turned my face away, breathing erratic.

One thing was for certain: I couldn’t let my brothers see the stain. No doubt, they would fly off the handle.

Composing my features, I stepped into Fallon’s line of vision. Immediately, he took up ASL as well as speaking normally.

“She’s obviously been kept here. But why? Why provide her a comfortable bedroom? Why provide a dying girl clothes?” His expression crumbled, shattered, when he said “dying.” Asher’s jaw clenched so tightly I was afraid he would break a tooth.

“Maybe this isn’t just her room,” Ronan suggested, a dark finger caressing the gilded edge of the mirror. I focused on his lips as he spoke. “Maybe someone else stayed here before her.”

“Maybe,” Fallon agreed. He didn’t look convinced.

Shaking my head, I pushed past them and peered into the hall. A few bodies were lying against the far wall, blood splattering around their heads like a macabre halo. Two more were on the ground, limbs disconnected and thrown further down the hall.

Fuck. It was a massacre in here.

Not all the soldiers had guns. Not all of them were trained for an enemy who couldn’t be killed or incapacitated by a mere shot to the chest. Ragers kept coming for you, kept attacking, even when they were missing arms and legs. Even when you shot their chests, their legs, their stomachs. Only a direct hit to the head, the brain, assured their deaths. Or their hearts.

Everything else was just an annoyance, for these monsters didn’t feel pain.

Without preamble, I moved down the hall, poking my head into each door as I passed. I knew my brothers were following behind me, rigid and alert.

I grabbed a gun off a fallen soldier, momentarily feeling a brief stab of pain when I caught sight of his distorted face. What was this man’s story? Was he an active participant in Addie’s kidnapping, or was he an innocent man attempting to do what he thought was best for the country?

I knew to some that we may not have appeared as the heroes, and I was okay with that. I didn’t need to be a hero or walk on the side of good. There was such a fine line between good and bad, light and darkness. The definition changed and contorted depending on the situation, different facets of each blending together until everything was a murky shade of gray.

Let me make something clear: there were no heroes. No villains. Just two sides attempting to survive this chaotic world, driven by entropy. An atom explosion, lighting everything on fire.

I embraced my darkness but celebrated my light.

Fallon placed a hand on my shoulder, and I paused, cocking my head to the side. Obviously, he heard something I couldn’t.

A second later, his face went slack with shock even as his muscles stiffened. Tightened. My confusion only grew when a pretty blonde woman raced around the corner, tears smearing her mascara. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of us before resting on Fallon. She cried out his name, arms twining around his waist.

Fallon’s face could’ve been cut from granite. I wouldn’t be able to tell you what he was feeling, what he was thinking. He didn’t hold her back, but he didn’t push her away either. His mouth opened and closed and then opened again. Shaking his head, almost as if he was clearing his muddied thoughts, he shoved at her shoulder, and she staggered back a step.

Her eyes were wide with terror as she glanced fearfully at Ronan’s gun, pointed her way, and then Asher’s knife aimed at her throat. She noticeably gulped.

Friend of Fallon’s or not, she was not leaving here without answers.

“Olivia,” Fallon said, mouth twisting with that one name. “What the fuck are you doing here? What’s going on?”

The girl, Olivia, began to cry, wiping at her eyes dramatically.