Page 251 of Lana Pecherczyk

Pandora struck without hesitation. Her fingertips split open, revealing razor-sharp metal claws. Blood welled around polished steel as the crow shifter’s struggles ceased.

Efficient. Clean. Perfect.

Another flicker. Another hit on the box screen. Another skip in the footage.

The scene shifted. Still at the markets, but now Pandora was eavesdropping on male voices.

“The Collector is here. She’ll be at the Shadow Market tonight. Midnight.”

Nero leaned forward. The Collector was exactly who Pandora had been sent to find.

Tick-tick-tick-tick.

The rhythm quickened as the footage jumped ahead. Pandora stalked through shadows. Twisted stalls flashed through her view. He watched it all, losing patience until finally, she located a hideous bird woman and attempted a trade.

“The cryptex is not for sale,” the Collector hissed at someone off-camera.

“So you admit to having it.” Pandora’s voice, triumph evident even through the mechanical speakers.

The Collector leaned forward, talons extended. “Unless my son returns to his rightful place, it remains with me.”

Nero’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the terminal’s edge. Hideous,greedybeast.

The screen flickered, went dark for three agonizing seconds. Nero could have sworn he saw his daughter’s face in the dark reflection and checked over his shoulder. Empty, withering greenhouse. No. Her ghost hadn’t returned since she’d put him in check.

When he faced the screen again, the footage had returned with crystal clarity.

Cloud now stood twenty feet from the Collector, every line of his body radiating controlled violence. A dark stain was painted on his face in the shape of a V.

Even through Pandora’s sensors, Nero felt the wrongness in the air, the electric potential that he’d once witnessed firsthand.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Lightning erupted across the screen in blinding sheets. When it cleared, chaos reigned. Stalls were being overturned. Merchandise was thrown and scattered—glimpses of destruction and agonized screams.

The footage skipped again, stabilized. Now he saw the aftermath.

Bodies. Smoke. The Collector and Pandora were both lying together on the ground, the night on fire around them. One sizzled and screamed in agony, the other pretended to do the same.

“All of this for your enemy’s brass puzzle tube?” The Collector’s voice was weak but mocking, and directed at someone approaching.

Cloud stepped into view, blood streaking his face. His expression was cold, remote, and utterly without mercy.

“Not the cryptex,” Pandora croaked, “but what was inside it.”

Nero almost bellowed at her stupidity—giving away their secrets—but then Cloud’s head whipped Pandora’s way.

“What did you say?” His eyes narrowed. His hand moved toward the dagger at his hip.

“All this for the last warhead.”

Cloud’s hand fell away from his weapon. For a moment, he dropped his head, shoulders shaking.

Silent laughter? Nero leaned closer to the screen.

Cloud crouched down, bringing his face level with Pandora’s—level with the camera. His smile was sharp as broken glass, painted with someone else’s blood.

“If that’s what you think is still in there, then I guess she got what she wanted.”The sneering words hit Nero like physical blows. Cloud’s gaze seemed to pierce through the screen, through time and distance, to stare into his soul.“She learned to be better than you.”