Page 103 of The Final Contract

“Killian!” Jaxon shouts from behind me, but I don’t stop.

The door crashes open and I see them.

Lucian, kneeling. His massive frame bowed in a way I’ve never seen, as if even he’s crushed by the weight of it. A ring of security stands frozen around him, faces pale. And at the center, sprawled on the concrete, is a body covered by a sheet.

A sheet already stained through with blood.

Lucian rises when he sees me, hands outstretched like he means to stop me.

“It’s not Seraphina, Killian.”

I don’t care. I’ll plow through him, tear the world apart if I have to. I need to see.

“Move.” My voice is a growl, feral.

Lucian doesn’t fight me when I shove past him. My knees hit the concrete hard as I grip the edge of the sheet. My hands shake when I pull it back.

The sight beneath rips me apart.

It’s not Seraphina.

It’s Sylvia.

The decoy. The Companion we used to give Sera a night of peace at her niece’s birthday. The blonde hair on those silver platters. The word LIAR sprayed in blood. They’d figured it out. Turned the game back on us.

Her face is nearly unrecognizable. Bruises, cuts, split lips. Her nails torn to the beds, jagged and broken like she clawed across the ground, fighting for her life. Her shirt rides up, showing a stomach carved open by stab after stab after stab.

Too many to count.

Like they kept going long after she was gone.

There’s a blood trail from the back of a car across the concrete. She made it as far as the driver’s side door before she collapsed. Before she couldn’t crawl any farther.

My vision blurs red.

This has Cormac written all over it. His brand. His cruelty. Just like our father—he doesn’t flinch using innocents to wage his wars. Collateral damage isn’t collateral to him. It’s the point.

And I know without a single doubt in my mind—he’s planning on making Seraphina the next body I find.

Sylvia’s hand looks wrong.

I don’t notice it at first, not until I lean closer and see how tightly her fingers are curled, rigid even in death. Something has been forced there, shoved between them. I ease it free, the paper crinkling in my blood-slick gloves as I unroll it.

Two words stare back at me, written in thick black ink.

Time’s up.

The same words that had been painted across the atrium wall yesterday.

The sound of the garage door crashing open behind me makes me whip my head around. Jaxon bursts in, his laptop already open, his face pale with sweat.

“We’ve got two problems,” he announces, voice carrying over the heavy silence of the parking deck.

I push to my feet, the note still clutched in my fist, and shove it at Lucian. “And another message,” I grind out, the words thick with rage.

Lucian takes it, his eyes scanning quickly before his jaw locks hard enough I hear the faint crack of his teeth.

Jaxon doesn’t pause. He strides to the nearest car and slams the laptop down on its hood, the glow of the screen washing his face in cold light. “Seraphina’s apartment has gone dark again. And—” his voice falters, just for a breath, “—there’s already a 911 call about an explosion.”